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You can find a wide range of his excellent gambling satires below. Simply click the article title to be redirected to the article on the page.
14. Santa's North Pole Casino
15. The Future, According to Melvin
16. Dummie's Gambling
17. Scalping the Indians
18. We Always Pay
19. Rog For Prez!
20. The Day Dementia Left Me
21. TV Josh
22. Royal Luck Watch
23. Romeo and Juliet, Vegas-Style
24. Bet-On-Anything Frank
25. Why We Won't Pay
26. Music to Make Love By
27. My Number Is Up
28. Great News -- The News Is Bad!
29. Savannah's Sand Gnats and Dickie Moppers
30. Alitalia -- Flights to Somewhere Maybe
31. The Sky's The Limit!
32. Kathie's Readjustment
33. The Longest Bet
34. Solon Votes "NO" to On Line Gambling
35. The Right of the People...
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Santa's North Pole Casino
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde
When I stopped into his office the other day, Santa was definitely not "Jolly Old St. Nick."
"They're doing it again!" Santa screamed. "Those little brats are trying to rip me off."
"What? No, 'Ho, ho, ho?'" I asked.
"You wouldn't be chuckling either if you were me," said Santa. "Kids all over the world are writing in for Christmas bonuses without meeting our minimum gambling requirements."
"Bonuses? I thought they were Christmas gifts," I told him.
"We like to refer to them that way in our publicity," Santa admitted, "but the whole idea behind them is to get the kiddies to play at our North Pole Online Casino."
"But that's illegal," I protested. "Only adults are allowed to play."
"Not under North Pole law," Santa explained. "Why do you think I decided to open here instead of in Costa Rica? It sure wasn't for the climate."
"Do kids even have credit cards?" I wondered.
"Sure they do," Santa replied. "Their parents'. We just tell them to write down the numbers while their folks are asleep and then log in."
"And the parents don't object when they get the bill?"
"They usually have a fit," Santa said with his first hardy laugh of the day. "They tell us they are going to tell their banks not to pay. I write back saying that is their right, but I will then bring criminal charges against their children for credit card fraud. Of course, I can't really do that, but most parents don't know that so they shut up and fork over the cash."
"I have to admit that you are not exactly the Santa Claus I always imagined," I said.
"I'm just a guy trying to earn a living," Santa said, "but the kids aren't making it easy. Bonus abusing is really getting out of hand. So far this year, we've had over 3.5 million requests for Nurse Barbie dolls. Now you KNOW that any little girl who is dreaming about being a nurse is not going to start hitting the slots."
"So what will you do?" I asked.
"I don't know," said Santa. "Last year I tried giving them Casino Slut Barbie instead. But instead of playing, they just started standing near boys who were gambling on line and then hit on the winners."
"At least the boys are betting," I said.
"A few," said Santa, "but plenty of them are bonus hunters also. Here's a letter from a boy in Washington who wants 500,000 GI Joes. I have no idea of what he plans to do with all of them, but he wants them outfitted for Iraq."
"The Iraqis will be happy to hear that," I told him.
"Don't get me started on THEM," said Santa. "They kept writing in asking for chemistry sets and anything that has even the tiniest bit of radium. But not only didn't they play at the casino, but they kept interrupting our big gamblers in Kuwait."
"Do you ever think of giving up and closing the casino?" I asked him.
"I've considered it," Santa replied. "But a lot of people depend on me for a living. I have the Elves who work in Customer Support and the Ogres who work in our Security Department -- not to mention the Gnomes in Zurich who take care of our banking."
"That's a lot of responsibility," I said to him.
"True," said Santa, "but one night a year it all becomes worthwhile."
"Christmas Eve?"
"Don't be silly," Santa replied. "That is a nightmare for me. I have to get all over the world before sunrise. In fact, if reindeer gave frequent flyer miles I would chalk up enough on that one night to let me travel first class for the rest of the year."
"Then when does it become worthwhile?" I wondered.
"June 15," said Santa. "That's when I go to Las Vegas and the showgirls sit on my lap and tell me what they want for Christmas."
"Do you give it to them?"
"Only to those who give me what I want," Santa said. "I make a list, and check it twice, of which showgirls were naughty or nice. The naughty ones collect big time."
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The Future, According To Melvin
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde
As my loyal readers -- both of them -- know, in the beginning of every year I go to the Sacred Mountain Casino and Motel to consult with the Prophet Melvin and to learn what will be happening in the coming year.
"Damn!" I heard Melvin shout as I walked into the casino. "That's the third time in a row that I busted."
"Didn't you know that you were going to be dealt a face card?" I asked him.
"No," said Melvin. "Does that make me a lousy prophet?"
"It makes you a lousy blackjack player," said the dealer. "What kind of idiot hits on 19? Especially when I'm showing a six."
Melvin left the table and walked with me to the bar.
"You're here to learn the future, right?" he said.
"Right," I answered.
"See?" Melvin asked. "I *do* know all and see all."
"That's not much of a trick," I said. "I come every year to learn the future. Why don't you tell me something I don't know?"
"All right," said Melvin. "Do you see that blonde cocktail waitress? She is going to have a major disappointment in the beginning of the year."
"You're going to have sex with her?"
"Yes," said Melvin. "But that's only going to be a little disappointment for her. The big one will come later -- when she finds out I'm only a prophet and not the head of casting for MGM, like I told her."
"What about sports events?" I asked. "Can you let me in on any results, so I can get down some big bets?"
"That's going to be hard," said Melvin. "I rely on CNN for all my sports info, and in February Ted Turner is going to ban all sports news until his Atlanta Braves win a World Series."
"That may take a long time," I said. "The Braves always look good, but they are notoriously untrustworthy."
"Turner likes those qualities," Melvin told me. "That's why he married Hanoi Jane."
"How about some stock market tips?" I asked. "The market is almost as safe as the roulette table."
"Buy Enron," Melvin assured me.
"Enron! Are you joking? That went bankrupt in the biggest scandal of the decade."
"I know," Melvin said, "but I still have a lot of their stock and I was hoping you would buy it off of me."
"You must think I am really a fool," I replied.
"Whose your favorite senator?" he asked,
"Jon Kyl of Aizona," I told him. "I like what he says about respecting individual liberties."
"I rest my case," Melvin answered.
"Isn't there anything I can do to get some money this year?" I asked in frustration.
"How about working?" Melvin wondered.
"I can't work," I objected. "It's against my professional ethics -- I'm a journalist."
"In that case, you are destined to remain broke," Melvin told me. "Unless.."
"Unless what?" I asked hopefully.
"You said you won't work, right?"
"Right."
"Are you willing to lie?" Melvin asked.
"Of course," I said, "I told you I am a journalist."
"Can you be bribed?" he challenged me.
"Easily and cheaply," I assured him.
"Don't you have any moral fiber at all?"
"None," I said proudly.
"In that case," said Melvin, "you're in luck. In June there will be an opening which will be perfect for someone with your qualities."
"O.J. Simpson will need an assistant?" I asked.
"Don't be ridiculous," Melvin replied, "you are far from being morally bankrupt enough to apply for that job. First you need to get some experience. But we can start you off small -- as chairman of the New Jersey Casino Control Commission."
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Dummie's Gambling
Copyright 2008 - Josh Wilde
When Cogress debated the Homeland Security Act Sen. Jon Kyl of Arizona attempted to get amended to include a ban on on line gambling. It was Kyl's contention (which the Congress rejected) that internet gambling is a major source of funding for international terrorism.
Like most people, I too, thought that Kyl had gone off the deep end on this one, but I discovered differently when I was kidnapped by the Disturbed, Unhinged, Maniacal Movement for International Events (DUMMIE).
It was actually my own fault -- I had ignored the State Department Travel Advisory and gone to Biloxi. In the middle of the night I was dragged out of my hotel room by four masked men and taken to DUMMIE's headquarters, which was fronted by a restaurant that specializes in catfish and grits.
When my blindfold was removed, I found myself in a large room containing dozens of men in various national outfits, all sitting at computers and playing at on line casinos.
"This is it," I heard a man in kilts call out. "If I double down on this hand and win, I'll have enough money to buy those cluster bombs I've always wanted. Damn! The dealer hit 21!"
"That's why you're here," said one of kidnappers, Aiwa -- a member of the Japanese Red Army. "You know about gambling on line -- you have to show us how to win."
"Never!" I responded bravely. "I don't care how you torture me -- I won't help you."
"Have you ever tasted a Mississippi dinner of catfish and grits?" Aiwa asked with a cruel smile on his face.
"What do you want to know?" I inquired.
"Take Achmed over there," said Aiwa. "He is a nice, friendly, sort of guy who simply wants to make his whole family proud of him by destroying Tel Aviv. He's been trying to raise the money for a small nuclear device by playing roulette at the Miami Beach Casino. But he's had no luck. Can you help him?"
"He's got to switch casinos immediately," I told Aiwa. "Everybody knows that Miami Beach has a large Jewish population -- they'll never let a Palestinian terrorist win there. Tell him to try Pharaoh's instead."
"And what can you be telling me?" asked a man with a thick North Irish brogue.
"Are you an IRA Catholic who wants to kill Protestants or an Ulster Protestant who wants to kill Catholics?" I wondered.
"Actually," he said, "I'm Jewish."
"But are you a Catholic Jew or a Protestant Jew?" I persisted.
"I'm a member of the Jewish Defense League and I want to raise enough money to travel to Gaza and kill an Arab," he told me. "Would I be better off playing roulette or craps?"
"Neither," I said. "Just sit next to Achmed over there and advise him to split face cards and sixes and to double down whenever he is holding five. Before long he will kill himself and save you the trouble."
"Wow!", exclaimed Aiwa. "You ARE good!"
"I've had a lot of experience at losing money at blackjack," I replied modestly.
Just then a man in fatigue outfits, with a green beret on his head and a bunch of stars on his collars, walked up to me.
"Are you Army or Marines?" I asked.
"I'd never be a part of either of those Commie outfits," he said in disgust. "I'm Maj. Gen. Krinchley of the Patriots Militia."
"How did you get to be a major general?"
"It wasn't easy," said Krinchley. "I had to eat an awful lot of cereal to get enough box tops for them to send me the stars."
"Why do you want to win money?" I asked him. "What do you want to blow up -- the Kremlin? The Great Wall of China? Castro's headquarters?"
"None of those," Krinchley said. "I told you. I'm a real patriot. I want to blow up a Federal building somewhere."
"I suggest you look for an on line casino that offers 'War'. It would be the perfect game for you," I advised him.
"That's a great idea," the general enthused. "Just one thing, though -- 'War' is safe, isn't it? I mean, I don't want to get hurt. I bleed easily."
"You sure have a lot of different types of terrorists in DUMMIE," I told Aiwa.
"That was my idea," said a voice from behind me. "I started DUMMIE."
I looked around in shock. Could it be? A long, gray, beard. A kaffiyeh on his head. A Koran in his hands. Humus stains on his robes. It had to be him: Osama Bin Laden.
"But why?" I asked. "You're a billionaire. You don't have to gamble to get money. You can afford to kill all the people you want and just take the money from the allowance your daddy gives you."
"That's true," said Bin Laden. "But I felt sorry for Sen. Kyl when I heard him say that internet casinos were supplying cash to terrorists. The poor guy is wrong about everything. I figured that this way I could give him a chance to be right, just once in his life."
"I never figured you for being a softie," I told him. "After all, you go around murdering and maiming people just for kicks."
"That's a lie!" Bin Laden said. "I only murder, maim, and torture in the name of Allah the All Compassionate. Besides, I felt a need to do a favor to Kyl -- the Koran teaches us to have mercy on the mentally infirm."
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Scalping the Indians
Sometimes, I don't have to do much work to write a gambling satire -- real life does it for me. This is exactly what happened in New York State.
Shortly after the Sept. 11 attack, Gov. George Pataki presented the Legislature with a plan which he said would help the state recover. Pataki proposed that six casinos be built, all on the Seneca Indian reservation in Niagara Falls and adjacent Buffalo.
Not only would this help counteract the terrorist attack, but, as there are no other casinos in the region, the Senecas would have a monopoly which would help balance out past injustices to Native Americans.
Apparently, no one in the New York State Legislature has a map of the state. If they did, they might have noticed three things:
1. Buffalo is 500 miles away from Manhattan so there is not likely to be much of an impact on New York City from its casinos.
2. Niagara Falls, Canada, which has a major casino, is only a three minute walk from Niagara Falls, N,Y.
3. The Senecas don't have a reservation in either Niagara Falls or Buffalo.
The governor solved that last problem by immediately declaring parts of both these cities to be a Seneca reservation. Pataki also took major strides towards helping Native Americans by signing a pact with the Senecas guaranteeing them gambling exclusivity. Of course, some Indians don't quite understand how this helps them -- like the Tonawanda and Tuscarora tribes who now have no chance of building their own casinos.
One tribe which will benefit, however, are the Malays. Okay, so the Malays are not Americans nor are they Indians. It's the thought that counts. And, in fact, not all Malays will make any money from the casinos -- just one.
His name is Lim Goh Tong, son of the Malaysia's only casino magnate, and a dedicated philantropist who immediately offered to pay to build the casinos. He also put his money where his mouth is and coughed up $80 million for the construction costs.
Lim asked nothing in return for his generosity. Well, almost nothing. He did ask for a slight return on his investment -- 29% per year interest. Although the casinos opened this month, the terms of Lim's loan were kept secret until November, when the Buffalo News broke the story.
The readers screamed that the Indians were being scalped. They argued that this was undoubtedly the worst deal that Native Americans in New York had been suckered into since they agreed to sell Manhattan island for $27 worth of beads. Some even went so far as to call the deal "usurious" -- pointing out that 29% is about twice the interest rate charged to an unsecured credit card.
Not true! The 29% is not usury. At least not in New York State. The usury law there specifically exempts any loans over $2.5 million, so Mr. Lim has every right to declare that his interest rate is kosher. (He probably wouldn't use that term, however, as Malaysia is an Islamic country.)
The Seneca on the street (or, after reading the Buffalo News story, on the warpath) was shocked to learn the details of the agreement. After all, the tribe had relied on the financing skills of an expert on casino operations, a gentleman with the full-blooded Indian name of G. Michael Brown.
Brown had been the CEO of Foxwoods Casino in Connecticut, owned by the tiny Pequot tribe. The Pequots gave Brown the axe (tomahawk?), chiefly because they don't get to see very much of the billions which are poured into their casino.
The reason? Lim had also loaned them money to build Foxwoods. In return, they had to put 9.9% of their gross into a holding company owned by -- Lim. As the take is about $1 billion a year, this means they are paying Lim about $99 million yearly and have been doing so since the early 1990's. (Not a bad return for Lim, who had invested $130 million. The gentleman may not go to the casino tables, but he certainly hit the jackpot with the Pequots.)
Admit it -- if I hadn't told you in the very beginning that this is a true story, wouldn't you be saying that this week my gambling satire had really gone off the deep end?
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We Always Pay
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde
After almost a year of trying to cash out $83 from the Easy Life Casino, I decided to take matters into my own hands and flew down to Costa Rica to see what the problem is.
"I've never had a customer actually come in here before," said Miguel Rodriguez, their head cashier. "Most seem to think that it isn't good business to spend a thousand dollars in airfare to collect $50 or $100."
Not wanting to let Miguel know that I didn't realize I would be losing on the deal, I just said, "Well, I happened to be in the neighborhood."
"Okay," Miguel answered, "let's see what your situation is. Ah, here's your account. We owe you $83."
"I know," I told him, "but why won't you pay me?"
"Who said a thing like that?" Miguel challenged. "Of course we will pay. We always pay -- as soon as you satisfy all our terms and conditions. Let's see, you deposited $100 and we gave you a matching bonus. That's $200. According to the rules clearly posted on our website, before cashing out you have to play that $200 times the square root of year in which the Battle of Hastings was fought. That comes to a minimum of $6529.93."
"How much did I actually play?" I asked.
"Only $6500," said Miguel. "Don't you believe in what you read on websites or are you some kind of bonus abuser or something?"
I certainly don't want anyone thinking that about me, so I immediately pulled out my lap top, logged onto Easy Life, and put $30 down on a single hand of blackjack. I lost.
"That still leaves me with $53," I told him. "You can send it to my credit card."
"No," said Miguel, "we can't."
"Why can't you refund it? It says right on your website that you will credit my card up to the amount that I deposited."
"Never believe what you read on websites," Miguel said. "That was the way we used to handle it. Credit card companies no longer allow us to credit back."
"Then how come the other casinos still do?" I wondered.
Miguel ignored that question and asked me for some identification.
"We just have to verify that you are really Josh Wilde. This is for your own protection. May I please see your passport? And driver's license, birth certificate, social security card, and record of immunizations?"
I was prepared for that! I had brought all of them with me. For a moment, Miguel sat in shocked silence, but then a sly smile came over his face.
"And now," he said in triumph, "let me see the front and back of your credit card -- at the same time!"
Victory! I knew I had him beat. I took out my credit card, borrowed a pocket mirror from his secretary, and held the front of the card towards him. The rear was clearly visible to him in the mirror. Miguel visually sagged in defeat.
"You win," he said. "All I need now from you is a your signed fax back sheet."
I handed it to him and the smile returned to his face.
"This is not notarized," Miguel told me.
"It doesn't have to be," I said. "I signed it in front of you."
"That makes no difference," Miguel argued. "But fortunately for you, I am a notary public so I can handle the problem."
He then took out a rubber stamp, marked the fax back sheet, and deducted a $20 notary fee from my winnings.
"I still have $33 coming to me," I reminded him.
"Not quite," said Miguel. "There is a $10 cash out fee. That leaves you with $23. Let's see, if I send it to you by bank transfer, there will be a $25 fee. If you want Fedex service, it will cost you $30."
"Either way will cost me more than what you owe me," I objected. "How about if you just give it to me in cash?"
"I don't have any American money here," Miguel said. "Will you accept Costa Rica colons?"
I agreed and Miguel handed me 500 colons.
"That is your full $23," he told me, "minus, of course, a slight fee for international currency exchange."
"How much, exactly, is 500 colons worth?" I asked.
"$1.37," Miguel replied. "See? I told you that Easy Life Casino always pays."
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Rog For Prez!
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde
My next door neighbor, Rog, stopped in yesterday to give me the big news, "I've decided to seek the Democratic nomination for president."
"Why?" I asked, a bit stunned.
"Why not?" Rog replied. "Everyone else is and I have as much experience being president as any of the others do."
"I didn't even know you were interested in politics," I admitted. "I thought your life centered around bowling, booze, and babes."
"It does," he said. "But presidents have been boozing openly since U.S. Grant, Lyndon Johnson put a bowling alley in the White House, and I think I can go Bill Clinton one better by getting on television and bragging that I *did* have a sexual relationship with an intern 25 years younger than me."
"What issues are you going to run on?" I asked.
"On line gambling, for a start," Rog said. "Do you know that millions of Americans play every year? I bet that I can get their support by publicly promising to oppose any move to ban it."
"That won't make the Nevada Casino Owners Association very happy," I told him.
"No problem," Rog winked. "I will get their support -- and more importantly their cash -- by promising privately to ban on line gambling."
"You've got the makings of a great politician," I said in admiration. "You'll promise anybody anything. But what will you do if you are actually elected?"
"I'll keep everybody happy," he told me. "I'll pass a law making on line casinos completely legal, but the only ones who will be allowed to operate them will be the owners of Nevada casinos."
"You might be stepping into murky waters with that one," I warned him. "Costa Rica is certain to view that as an unfriendly act."
"Wonderful!" Rog exclaimed. "It has fantastic beaches. The Marines will love landing there."
"It doesn't seem fair to go to war against Costa Rica," I said. "After all, it doesn't even have an Army."
"In that case, I will form a coalition," Rog told me. "Every Marine will be accompanied by a Vegas showgirl. The Marines will be too distracted to fight, which will balance out the fact that Costa Rica has no one to fight them anyhow."
"Then what will those thousands of young men do on the beaches?" I wondered.
"With all those showgirls -- need you ask? Let me put it this way: After this invasion, no Marine will ever vote for anyone except me."
"Aren't you concerned that you will upset people in the Bible Belt?" I asked him.
"I'm sorry," said Rog, "but there is only so much I can do. The needs of the military come first. The religious fanatics will have to get their own Vegas showgirls."
"What does Jean think about all of this?" I questioned.
"My wife? She's all for it. She loves the idea of being First Lady. After all, she has rarely been first at anything and has absolutely never been a lady."
"What about the part where you brag about having an affair with that intern? You can't tell me she likes the idea of being publicly humiliated."
"She wasn't too thrilled about that," Rog admitted, "but I made it up to her. I promised that after I leave the White House, she can become a senator from New York."
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The Day Dementia Left Me
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde
St. Valentine's Day is the anniversary of the bust up of my marriage. To this day I can't figure out why my wife, Dementia, decided to leave me.
The day had started out very romantically. I woke up, turned to Dementia, and told her that in honor of the day, I had bought her a very special present. I'll never forget the look of childish pleasure on her face as I handed her the gift-wrapped package. I was very proud of myself -- it is not every husband who would be thoughtful enough to give his wife a heart-shaped waffle iron.
To top it off, I let her know that she could use it right away, and while she was at it, along with my waffles she could make me some Eggs Benedict and a rasher of bacon.
Dementia had always been very close to her family, so I planned a special Valentine's Day trip for her. We got in the car and drove out into the countryside to see her parents. This was really a big sacrifice on my part, as I never really liked her mother -- who I called "Eva Braun." So when we got there, I let Dementia get out of the car. Her father got in and the two of us drove off to the race track. I had a great day there -- picking up over $200 on the ponies. Frank -- Dementia's father -- didn't do quite as well. He loves the horses but has no idea of how to bet -- by the end of the day he was down almost 50 grand.
"How could you take him there?" Dementia asked when we got back. "You know that Daddy is in Gamblers Anonymous."
"Of course I do," I assured her. "And I was very careful -- I didn't tell anybody his name."
"But he's retired,"Dementia said. "How will he ever pay off those losses?"
"Don't worry," I told her. "I discussed it with him on the way home. He's going to sell the house and get a small apartment in the city. In fact, I am going to help him find one. I know some places that are perfect for a man living by himself."
"Himself? What about Mom?"
"He can't afford a place big enough for the two of them," I told her, "so he's going to file for divorce. Come to think of it, I guess this really was a lucky day for him after all."
For some reason, Dementia was not in a very good mood for the rest of the day, so I decided to throw a little a party that evening to cheer her up. I invited five of my closest friends -- the guys I play poker with. I didn't invite their wives. After all, this was St. Valentine's Day and it would have been very crass of me to have other women at the house.
Poker was a family event at our place, with something for everyone. I played. The kids went out to the movies. Dementia got to make the refreshments and then stay in the bedroom and read. Every so often I would call her to refresh our plates and drinks.
It was really a fun evening. Mike Chadwick got a little soused and tried balancing the antique vase that Dementia had inherited from her grandmother on his head. Of course, this gave us even more quality time together as Dementia had to come down to vacuum up the pieces.
She was in the middle of doing all of this when the conversation turned to the blonde divorcee next door.
"That is some shape she has," commented Steve DiRoma. "I saw her sunbathing in what has got to be the world's tiniest bikini -- she is gorgeous."
"True," I said, "but I wonder whatever made her get that heart tattoo."
"What tattoo?" asked Steve. "I didn't see it."
"I guess you wouldn't have," I agreed. "It's in a place which would have been covered by the bikini."
At that point, Dementia walked out of the house. She never came back. Like I said earlier, I still can't figure out why.
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TV Josh
Copyright 2008 Josh Wilde
While on a recent gambling junket along the Riviera I received a call from Jeannette, a French television producer, begging and pleading with me to take time from my busy schedule to appear on her dating show and give millions of her countrywomen the opportunity to get to know the real me.
Later, I had a transcript made of the interview to share with you:
Jeannette: When your agent called and begged and pleaded with me to put you on the show, he said that you speak French fluently.
Josh: I do.
Jeannette: Then why do you insist on speaking English?
Josh: As I said, I speak French perfectly. The French, however, don't know the language very well. In fact, when I talk to them in French they can hardly understand a word I am saying. So I worked out the system we are using here: I speak in English and, at the same time, have French subtitles run across my chest.
Jeannette: What made you decide to visit France right now?
Josh: As you know, there are some serious diplomatic problems between our countries, but I decided that in the interests of better international relations I would ignore the fact that you are a bunch of idiots and play in the casinos here anyhow.
Jeannette: And why did you come on this show?
Josh: I was told you would get me a date. I saw this incredibly gorgeous brunette in a shopping center in Paris and would like you to get her for me.
Jeannette: Why didn't you speak to her yourself?
Josh: I was going to. I figured if I walked into her shop and looked around I could start a conversation with her. Unfortunately, they only sold women's clothing and I didn't think it would get me off to a very good start to have her think I am a transvestite.
Jeannette: Our show works a little differently than you think. You don't get to choose the woman -- we do.
Josh: I didn't realize you were in that kind of business! Is it legal here? And how much will she charge me?
Jeannette: No, you still don't understand. First you tell me a little about yourself and the kind of woman you would like, and then, if any are interested in meeting you they write in and we choose the one we think would be the best match for you.
Josh: So I go out on a date with some woman who I have never even seen? I guess its a good thing that I'm a gambler.
Jeannette: Actually, it is our hope that we can bring people together for a more permanent relationship.
Josh: You mean marriage? Forget it! I am a recreational gambler -- not an addicted one.
Jeannette: What kind of woman would you be interested in meeting?
Josh: How about a gorgeous blonde in her 20's? Or a beautiful brunette in her 30's? Or a sexy redhead in her 40's?
Jeannette: You mean you are open to many possibilities?
Josh: I mean I am an equal opportunity lecher. I don't discriminate on race, religion, age, or national origin. I do, however, discriminate on sex -- especially if she won't give me any.
Jeannette: You can't be serious.
Josh: Look, I don't want you to get the impression that I am one of those shallow men who ignore a woman's intelligence and personality and are attracted only by her looks. I am, but I don't want you to get that impression.
Jeannette: Is nothing but looks important to you?
Josh: Of course there are other things which are important. Like money. Try and find me one with a lot of it. It would also help if she had a nice house, so I could go to the casino there.
Jeannette: What does a nice house have to do with a casino?
Josh: Nice has one of the best casinos in France.
Jeannette: You mean you want her to have a house in the city of Nice, which is pronounced "Neese"?
Josh: Well, that's ridiculous. If you want to call it "Neese" why don't you spell it that way? I can see why America is having so much trouble to get you people to understand about Iraq. You French are not very bright, are you?
Jeannette: I think your interview is over, but don't get your hopes up too high. I doubt that many women will want to go out with you.
Josh: How about you? I don't fly home until tomorrow, so we can spend the night together.
Jeannette: We could never go out together. After all, I have good taste.
Josh: Of course we could -- I have no taste at all!
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Royal Luck Watch
Copyright 2008 - Josh Wilde
On a recent vacation in the Swiss resort town of Lugano, I was fascinated by an old pocket watch I spotted in the window of a tiny antique shop. What really interested me was the sign attached: "Royal Luck Watch".
"It's true," the owner assured me. "This watch was manufactured by Zenith, one of Switzerland's oldest companies, and each Zenith watch has a registration number that allows us to track its history. This one was originally purchased by an emperor. Every owner who has had it since has had tremendous luck."
How could I pass it up? True, it cost me 1500 Swiss Francs -- about $1000 -- but it was going to be worth it. I could see myself getting the money back in my first visit to the local casino.
I must have been thinking too much about the watch because as I stepped out of the shop I wasn't paying attention and ruined my new suit by brushing up against a freshly-painted lamp post.
Francesca, the beautiful Swiss brunette I had met earlier in the day, had agreed to meet me for lunch at a lakeside restaurant. I couldn't wait to tell her about my new, lucky, watch!
Unfortunately, when I got there I saw that Francesca was sitting with another man.
"Did you really expect me to wait for you?" Francesca asked indignantly. "I sat here for a half hour before asking Bruno, here, if he would mind if I joined him."
A half hour? It couldn't be. My watch said it was exactly noon now -- which was when we had agreed to meet.
"That's a beautiful pocket watch," Bruno told me with a very self-satisfied smile, "but you have to wind those antiques -- watches didn't have batteries when that was made."
Okay, I thought to myself, so Francesca was the incredible beauty that I always hoped to find. So what? After I win my millions at the casino, women will be throwing themselves at me.
I walked around Lugano, looking in all the expensive shops, and imagining what I would be buying the next day. Then I went back to my hotel, stepped into the shower, and found that there was no hot water. Shivering, I managed to get dressed and headed to the casino in nearby Campione d'Italia.
Actually, I did not head straight there -- I took a very long detour because the autostrada was closed -- a freak accident involving a Swiss candy truck had spread chocolate all over the highway, stopping traffic in both directions.
Finally, I made it into the casino! This time, I decided, I would play with the big boys and sat down at the high-stakes blackjack table. What could I lose? After all, I had my lucky watch with me.
What could I lose? How about $12,000? I played for $500 a hand and still can't believe that I busted 24 times in a row!
That night, I sent an e-mail to the Zenith Watch Company. I told them what the salesmen had said about the Royal Luck Watch, gave them the registration number, and asked if I had been told the truth.
"Of course he was being truthful," said the reply I received a few days later. "Swiss watch merchants never lie. After all, they are not Swiss bankers.
"Your watch is very well known to us. It was manufactured in early 1917 and purchased by Kaiser Wilhelm on April 5 of that year. The following day America joined the allies fighting Germany and in 1918 Wilhelm's army was defeated and he fled into exile.
"He sold the watch in the late 1920's to a very wealthy Wall Street investor who was completely wiped out in the stock market crash of 1929. Being left with almost nothing, the investor managed to get a few dollars for the watch from a famous silent movie star -- whose career was destroyed when talking pictures were invented and his public discovered that he had a very bad lisp.
"In 1941 he sold the watch to Admiral Kimmel, who was in California on leave. The next day, Kimmel returned to the base he commanded at Pearl Harbor -- just in time to see it bombed by the Japanese."
"Out of a job, Kimmel sold the watch to a young PT boat commander by the name of John F. Kennedy. In fact, he had it with him when PT 109 was sunk. Kennedy kept the watch and later gave it to Richard Nixon. Many people believe that the watch was responsible for Nixon losing the election to Kennedy.
"Nixon's daughter, Tricia, held onto the watch until a visit about six years ago to Florida. She had a very big smile on her face when she gave it to Al Gore. Gore, finding himself unemployed, went on a vacation to Europe, ran short of cash sold the watch to the store where you found it.
"Yes, it really was originally owned by a king and really has brought its owners much luck -- all of it bad."
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Romeo and Juliet, Vegas-Style
Professor Fuddwinkle, the highly respected expert on Shakespeare who gave me an "F" in English Lit when he was my mentor, told me something I will never forget: "The Bard was full of bull."
Careful research had led me to conclude that Fuddwinkle was right. At least half right. After spending days poring over ancient tomes in the Verona Public Library, I found that every word he attributed to Juliet was correct. On the other hand, Romeo never did say, "But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?" or any of the other crap Shakespeare had him spewing.
More than that, all the action took place not in Italy, but in Vegas. Fortunately, I am now able to reveal the true story of the star-crossed lovers:
ACT I, SCENE I
(A Las Vegas Hotel lobby)
Juliet: Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?
Romeo: I was just checking out the blackjack tables. Damned if I could find one with a table minimum less than 10 bucks.
Juliet: Be but sworn my love and I'll longer be a Capulet.
Romeo: Honey, you no longer are a Capulet. You're a Montague now. Don't you remember? We got hitched at the Elvis Wedding Chapel. It was part of our Las Vegas package deal.
Juliet: What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man.
Romeo: Wait until we check get up to the Honeymoon Suite. I'll show exactly what part of a man it is.
Juliet: Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, brags of his substance, not of ornament.
Romeo: Listen, sweetie, it's a lot more than ornament. But how about if we use some of these coupons in our Vegas Guide Book and get some dimes first and play the slots?
Juliet: Can Heaven be so envious?
Romeo: Look at this machine, honey. It pays $25,000 if you hit the jackpot!
Juliet: Beautiful tyrant!
Romeo: Gee, you lost.
Juliet: Fiend angelical! Dove-feathered raven! Wolfish-ravening lamb!
Romeo: Hey, don't take it so hard. There are thousands of other slots in the place. Or you can try some of the table games -- or maybe one of the sports books.
Juliet: Was ever book containing such vile matter so fairly bound?
Romeo: Isn't there anything you want to do in Vegas?
Juliet: Romeo, take my maidenhead!
Romeo: I will, honey, I promise. But not here in the middle of the casino. I think they have rules against that. Wait until we get into our room. Where is that blasted bellboy, anyhow?
Juliet: He made you for a highway to my bed.
Romeo: I'm not sure that I like the idea of you having a bed along the highway. Okay, so this is Vegas and there are streetwalkers all over the place, but still!
Juliet: Ah, my poor lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name when I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it?
Romeo: Okay, so you thought of being a hooker. Don't be so hard on yourself. After all, it's not the thought that counts. You didn't actually do any business, did you?
Juliet: I have no joy of this contract tonight.
Romeo: Then it's cool.
ACT I, SCENE II
(The hotel's honeymoon suite.)
Romeo: Well, dollface, how was it for you?
Juliet: Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be.
ACT I, SCENE III
(Same suite, later that night.)
Juliet: Romeo, I come!
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Bet-On-Anything Frank
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde
Even when we were kids, my buddy Frank was not happy unless he had a little action going.
"I'll lay you 5 to 3 odds that the teacher wants us to bring something in tomorrow for 'Show and Tell,'" I remember Frank offering back in kindergarden.
The years may have passed, but not Frank's love of betting. When I meet him in the drug store last week he suggested an even money bet on whether Crest or Colgate would make teeth white faster. When I turned this down, Frank offered a good spread on Excedrin over Tylenol in a headache pain killing race.
"Forget it," I told him. "In fact, YOU are giving me a headache with all these propositions. Do you always have to bet on everything?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Frank replied. I only bet once in a rare while -- anybody will tell you that. In fact, I'll give you 7 to 3 odds on it."
"Have you ever considered going to Gamblers Anonymous?" I asked him.
"I went once," Frank admitted, "but they were worthless. I couldn't get anyone to bet on my chances of kicking my gambling habit."
"I think you should take up some other interests," I advised him.
"I have plenty of interests," Frank objected. "I love music, for example. In fact, just last night I went to the opera to see La Traviata. I even managed to make a small profit when I bet the guy next to me that she would knock herself off at the end."
"Of course she did," I said. "It's in the script. She has to commit suicide."
"Really?" Frank asked with interest. "I figured she was going to do it because the New York Times critic walked out after the first act."
"Religion," I said. "You should become religious. At least there is nothing to bet on in religion."
"No?" asked Frank. "It may be a bit early, but I am already making book on who will be selected as the next pope. One guy bet $500 on the Archbishop of Canterbury."
"But he's not Catholic," I objected. "He's Anglican."
"I know," said Frank, "but think of the great odds the guy got."
"How about art?" I asked. "Do you ever visit museums?"
"Of course," said Frank. "The Museum of Modern Art is one of my favorites. I can always get some action on what a Jackson Pollock painting is supposed to be. Settling the bet is a bit of a problem, however, as nobody can supply an answer."
"Why can't you just bet the same way that everybody else does, by going to casinos?" I asked.
"Casinos? What are they?" Frank wondered.
"I can't believe you don't know about casinos," I told him. "They are places dedicated to gambling. They have craps, roulette, slot machines, blackjack and semi-dressed cocktail waitresses who bring you drinks for free."
"I've heard of such things," Frank said, "but I always thought they were just wonderful children's fables -- like Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny."
"You mean you've never been to Atlantic City?" I asked in shock. "But it's only a few hours from here."
"A few hours by car," Frank corrected me. "And those few hours are spent on the New Jersey Turnpike. Have you ever seen how people drive in New Jersey? Forget it! I like to gamble, but not with my life!"
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Why We Won't Pay
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde
Dear Mike,
Thank you for opening an account at Winning Worlds Casino.
We have locked your account because we noticed that you live in Wisconsin. Although it is not published on our website, we do not accept accounts from Wisconsin. We will return your deposit eventually, but not your $580 in winnings.
We hope you live in a truly Winning World.
Betty
Customer Service Rep
*****
Dear Karen,
Thank you for opening an account at Winning Worlds Casino.
We have locked your account because you played 100 straight hands of blackjack. Although it is not on our website, we have a strict rule against playing 100 straight hands of blackjack. We will return your deposit eventually, but not your $173 in winnings.
We hope you live in a truly Winning World.
Betty
Customer Service Rep
*****
Dear Robin,
Thank you for opening an account at Winning Worlds Casino.
We have locked your account because you did not play 100 straight hands of blackjack. Although it is not on our website, we have a strict rule requiring all new accounts to play 100 straight hands of blackjack. We will return your deposit eventually, but not your $63 in winnings.
We hope you live in a truly Winning World.
Betty
Customer Service Rep
*****
Dear Frank,
Thank you for opening an account at Winning Worlds Casino.
We have locked your account because you are a bonus abuser. You took a bonus from us and won money with it, which we consider a major abuse of our generosity.
According to our records, You played roulette at $2 per roll, won 600 rolls and lost 700. You made a deposit of $200 and were given a bonus of $250. You cashed in $50. However, as we have cancelled your bonus, this now means that you had an actual loss of $200.
As soon as you send us the $200 we will be happy to unlock your account.
We hope you live in a truly Winning World.
Betty
Customer Service Rep
*****
Dear Marsha,
Thank you for playing at Winning Worlds Casino.
We have locked your account because we found that you actually cashed the check we sent you with your winnings. This violates one of our most fundamental rules. Gambling is supposed to be fun, but it is no fun for us when you take our money.
Please return the $150 we sent you along with an additional $3 fee which our bank charged us for cashing the check.
We hope you live in a truly Winning World.
Betty
Customer Service Rep
*****
Dear President Ahmadinejad,
Thank you for opening an account at Winning Worlds Casino.
We have locked your account because we have been informed that you are developing weapons of mass destruction.
We will neither return your $100 million deposit nor pay you the $23 you won.
We hope you live in a truly Winning World.
Betty
Customer Service Rep
*****
Dear Prince Albert,
Thank you for opening an account at Winning Worlds Casino.
We have locked your account because we have been informed that Monaco have any weapons of mass destruction and therefore can't do anything about it.
We are keeping your deposit, your winnings, and Princess Caroline.
We hope you live in a truly Winning World.
Betty
Customer Service Rep
****
Dear Boss,
We had 100 new accounts today. Of these, 75 lost money and are therefore welcome to continue playing at Winning Worlds Casino.
The remaining 25 have all be sent excuses of why we will not pay them their money.
Once again, we live in a truly Winning World.
Betty
Customer Service Rep
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Music to Make Love By
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde
There are three things in life that I pride myself on knowing well: Gambling, music, and women. So when my friend Jerry offered a bet about my being able to use music to attract women I jumped at it.
The deal was this: I would travel to five different cities, anywhere in the world, and if I could seduce even one woman Jerry would pay for all expenses. The only requirement he set was that upon meeting each woman I would have to play a song for her.
This was going to be easy! I had been conducting internet romances for years and now I would get to meet all these women -- and at Jerry's expense. I carefully decided which five to visit and then chose the perfect song for each, taped it, and headed off to the airport for my first flight. And what better place to start than in the city of love, Paris?
Upon landing I soon learned that most Parisians are not very loving -- at least not towards Americans. I got a small hint of this at Charles de Gaulle Airport when the Immigration officer refused to put a stamp on my passport and instead slammed it into my forehead. But what did I care? I knew that my sweet mademoiselle was waiting for me with open arms.
That night we enjoyed all of Paris. We ate dinner at the Tour d'Argent, went to a wonderful jazz club on the Left Bank, and closed out the night with a shared bottle of Burgundy at a little bistro near her home.
Then, in her living room, I took her into my arms and whispered that I had a song to play especially for her -- I slipped the tape into her CD player and waited for her to melt as the Beatles sang, "Michelle, Ma Belle."
"Michelle?" she screamed. "Je m'appelle Louise!" Filling the air with Gallic curses she tossed me, my tape, and my suitcase out of her house.
Okay. I still had four more chances and the next one was a sure thing. Francesca was a Milanese music lover. She even had season tickets to La Scala, arguably the world's finest opera company. My song, an Italian classic, was certain to cause her to swoon.
I learned something that night. Dean Martin singing "When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's amore" is not considered classical Italian. Francesca was so busy laughing at me that she almost cracked up the car four times while she drove me back to the airport.
My next flight was a short one -- to Sicily. Knowing that Maria was an old-fashioned sort of woman, I had chosen an authentic Italian song for her: "Come Prima". Literally, it mean's "like the first time" and tells how the singer falls in love with a woman upon seeing her -- just like she was the first love of his life.
"Come prima?" Maria asked. "LIKE the first time?" She grabbed my ticket from me, saw that I had gone to Paris and Milan before flying to her and started making some quick telephone calls. Within a few minutes her brothers, all three of them and all giants, showed up at the door and hustled me into their car. On the way to the airport, they, too, put a song in their CD player: the theme from "The Godfather".
From there I flew to Tel Aviv, where Shoshana was waiting for me at Ben Gurion Airport. Shoshana is a major in the Israeli Army and it was quite a strange feeling to be picked up by a woman carrying an Uzi submachine gun. To put her at ease, I didn't wait until we got out of the airport -- as soon as we got into the car I slipped my tape into her tape player.
Shoshana didn't even turn on the engine. Instead, she cocked the Uzi, aimed it at me, and marched me back to the Airport Security Office. Hey! How was I to know that the song wasn't in Hebrew? It's not my fault that it sounds so similar to Arabic.
Four down and only one to go. A lesser man than I would be worried, but I had saved the best for last. I would be playing on home ground -- almost. I flew back across the Atlantic and headed to Savannah, Georgia.
I had never met Betty Ann but had been exchanging e-mails with her for years. I knew everything about her. She was a real Georgia peach and very proud of it. She is also a history buff who specializes in the Civil War (which she indignantly insists should be called "The War of Northern Aggression") and has a fascination with things military. While wearing my old Army uniform might have helped me, I doubted very much that I could still fit into it. Instead, I decided to light her fire with martial music.
That night, we ate a candlelight dinner in her house. She had spent the whole day cooking and was very proud of her barbecued ribs, hush puppies, grits, black-eyed peas and collard greens. It was all topped off with a peach cobbler. Of course, I had never even heard of half of these things much less ate them before, but I didn't let her know that.
After dinner, she said she wanted to listen to my music and I knew I was in! I had decided to avoid the obvious -- "Dixie" -- and instead chose a World War I favorite, "Over There".
Here's something for all you men to remember: If you want to impress a Southern belle, do not play a song which includes the words, "So beware! Say a prayer! For the Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming, and we won't come back 'til it's over, over there."
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My Number Is Up
Copyright 1008 -- Josh Wilde
"Forget it!" I told my boss, Big Tony. "Those things always cause problems and I won't carry one."
"Forget it?" Big Tony repeated incredulously. "FORGET IT??!! Aren't YOU forgetting something?"
Big Tony's hand moving towards the bulge in his jacket was a quick enough reminder of his former position -- hit man for the mob. I knew I had no choice.
"You'll take it and you'll carry it with you all the time," Big Tony said, removing a mobile phone from that pocket and handing it over to me. "You're being ridiculous about them causing problems and this way, I can always reach you in an emergency."
"I write satires," I said to him. "What kind of emergency could possibly happen in my job?"
"I might not like what you write," he told me, "and then it will be a life or death situation for you to fix it up -- YOUR life or death."
I guess it wouldn't be all that bad, I decided. After all, only Big Tony had my number and I sure as heck wasn't going to be giving it out.
That night, I headed to Harrah's in Atlantic City. I played some blackjack and was down about $300 when I suddenly started hitting a streak. Whenever this happens, I slowly increase my bets and was soon a little bit ahead. I put $350 down on the next hand and was dealt a king and a nine. The dealer was showing a five.
The phone rang. It was my daughter, Dyslexia.
"I got your number from Big Tony," she told me. "I explained that it was an emergency. I need you to send $500 immediately. It's really important, Daddy -- there's a fantastic dress at Saks I want to get."
"This is the third time this month you've hit me up for cash," I told her. "Can't you take it easy?"
The dealer heard the conversation. Or at least part of it: the words "hit me." He looked at me like I was crazy and threw another card on my 19. I busted.
Two days later I had a good chance to get my money back. I was in a neighborhood poker game playing some seven card stud and got the ideal hand. One guy was showing three kings. Another had an obvious flush. I was pretty certain that the two pairs showing on my left was really a full boat. I was in heaven -- I was holding the only straight flush I had ever gotten in my life!
The two pair opened for $100 and was immediately bumped another $200 by the flush. The three kings got a big smile on his face, met their bets, and raised another $300.
"It's $600 to you," the dealer, Fred, told me.
The phone rang. It was my sister, Sue.
"Dyslexia told me I could reach you at this number," she said. "I want to bake you a birthday cake. What do you think of a chocolate fudge cake with vanilla sugar icing and whipped cream?"
"I'm tempted," I said, "but it's just too rich for me."
"Josh folds," said Fred. "How about you, Marty -- is it too rich for you, too?"
Marty threw in his cards but the flush bumped the bet another $100 and the kings called him.
The trip kings had nothing else but the flush wasn't bluffing and walked off with the $1100 pot -- MY pot!
That weekend I managed to get Laura, my incredibly gorgeous next-door neighbor to come over to my house. Laura is an English teacher at the high school and I convinced her that I needed help with a speech that I was writing for a casino owners convention.
She corrected a few grammatical mistakes and then looked at the slides I intended to show. In the meantime, she relaxed with a couple of martinis and made a few remarks which led me to believe that she might well be interested in continuing our meeting in the bedroom.
The phone rang. It was Big Tony.
"I just wanted to see if you remembered what I told you about that speech," he said. "You have to have some visual aids to go with it. Do you need me to get some for you?"
Knowing that the slides were all that I would require, I answered, "No. I have aids."
Laura heard that and went flying out of the house.
"Well, in that case I guess you're set," Big Tony said. "Hey -- how about that mobile phone you were so worried about? I told you it wouldn't cause you any problems."
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Great News -- The News Is Bad!
Copyright 2008 - Josh Wilde
"What a wonderful month April was!" exclaimed my old friend Mordred. "We had wars in Iraq and Africa, SARS in the Orient, and even a little earthquake in Georgia."
"Color me 'stupid' but I don't see what is so great about all of that," I replied in confusion.
"That's because you're an optimist," he explained, "just like those idiots at insurance companies. They're willing to give you 100 to 1 odds that you won't die this year or that your ship won't sink. Not me. I know better."
"I don't follow," I admitted.
"Tragedies and disasters are sure to happen," Mordred said, "they always do. So why shouldn't I make a little money betting on them?"
"You have to be kidding me," I said. "No bookie I know would be sick enough to take bets on wars breaking out or tornados wiping out towns."
"Of course not," said Mordred. "Bookies have integrity and morals. But there are plenty of other people who don't. Like Wall Street, for example."
"Wall Street doesn't make book," I objected.
"Of course it does," Mordred said. "In fact, that's the only reason it exists. It gives the bulls a place to bet that things are going to be good and the bears a place to play the 'Don't Pass' money.
"In March, for example, people were afraid to invest in Western airlines, but thought that the Oriental lines would be safer. I sold short on JAL and Singapore Airlines. When SARS broke out and people were afraid to fly to the Far East their stocks tumbled and I made a fortune."
"But what made you think that something was going to happen in the Orient?" I asked.
"I have an inside source at the National Center for Disease Control," Mordred told me confidentially. "He always lets me know when a new bug shows up someplace. He's one of my most valuable tipsters. Thank God for deadly diseases, that's all I have to say!"
"I imagine that you also made a lot of money by selling stocks when it looked like we would be fighting in Iraq," I said.
"Don't be silly," said Mordred. "I bought. I figured that the military is going to be shooting off all those cruise missiles, artillery shells, bullets and other fun stuff so they are going to have to replace them. I invested heavily in munitions factories and cleaned up. Of course, the trick was in finding out which weapons would be used. There would be no point in my buying stock in one type of bombs if the Air Force would be using a different one."
"Don't tell me," I said. "You have another tipster in the Pentagon."
"Of course not!" Mordred said in shock. "That would be illegal. I'm an investor, not a spy. I just looked up the public records showing which munitions manufacturers donate regularly to the Republican National Committee. I had faith that Donald Rumsfeld would be big on their products."
"But what about that Georgia earthquake?" I asked. "I realize that you could make money by selling property before the quake and buying it back afterwards, but how did you know that it would happen?"
"CNN is headquartered in Atlanta," Mordred told me. "As soon as it admitted covering up for Saddam Hussein for years, I knew it was just a matter of time until the shockwaves would be felt throughout the state."
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Savannah's Sand Gnats and Dickie Moppers
Copryright 2008 -- Josh Wilde
A few years back, finding myself in casinoless-Savannah and feeling the need to do a little wagering, I called my Philadelphia bookie, Maggie, and asked what kind of odds she was giving on Dickie Mopper.
She slammed the phone down on me.
When I called back, Maggie opened with, "Is this another one of your sick propositions? I've told you a thousand times to forget it -- I don't date weirdos."
"No," I said. "I'm serious. Savannah is full of signs reading 'Dickie Mopper for Mayor'. I'd like to get a bet down on his opponent."
"If some guy named Richard Mopper is calling himself 'Dickie Mopper' and running for mayor, I'm not going to bet on him at any odds," said Maggie. "After all, Savannah is NOT San Francisco."
"How about the Sand Gnats?" I asked. "Can you give me the odds against them?"
"Sand Gnats are also running for mayor?" Maggie asked in confusion.
"No," I said. "They're the city's baseball team. They're playing tonight and I want to put a few dollars on the other side."
"Who do you think you're fooling?" asked Maggie. "I know every major league team and there isn't one called the Sand Gnats. Not even in Baghdad."
"Do you know what the Triple A leagues are?" I asked her.
"Of course," she said. "That's where they send the pros who can't make it in the big leagues."
"Right," I said. "And if they can't cut it there, they're sent down to the Double A'a. From there, the next step is the A leagues. That's where the Sand Gnats are."
"What happens if a player isn't good enough to play there either?" Maggie asked.
"His mother comes and takes him back to his Little League game," I told her. "But the Sand Gnats are playing the Capital City Bombers tonight and I want to get a bet down on the Bombers."
"Not with me, you won't. I wouldn't even know how to start figuring the odds. I never accept bets on any games played in Georgia -- or for that matter in any other foreign country."
I decided that the only place I would be able to get any action on the game would be at the park itself and called their ticket office to see if they still had any available seats.
"You're in luck," said the ticket agent. "We have 18 seats."
"And I can have my choice of any of them?"
"No," he said. "I meant we have 18 seats that are sold. You can have your choice of any of the other 7982 seats which are still empty."
I got there early in order to find someone who would take my bet.
"Forget it," said the first person I spoke to. "Nobody in Savannah is going to bet against the Sand Gnats. We're very loyal here."
"I understand that," I said. "Actually, I want to bet against them -- I'm looking for someone who is willing to be for them."
"I said we were loyal," he told me, "not crazy."
That's how it went all night. I went from person to person in the stadium trying to get at least one small bet down. There wasn't a single person there willing to risk even $2 on the Sand Gnats.
"That's big money for a game like this," one of them told me. "I don't think that the Gnats' manager is getting that much."
It didn't take me long to realize that the manager was actually being overpaid. I came to that conclusion when he didn't take out the starting pitcher until after he had given up 7 runs. He did better with his relief pitcher, however. He took him out after one inning -- probably because the guy hadn't given up any hits at all.
The big excitement of the night came in the fifth inning, when both teams stormed the field for a fight. To tell the truth, it wasn't much of a brawl but people from the various chiropractic and medical centers who have big billboards in the park got all excited. They figured that with a little luck, one of the players might even connect with a punch and they could get some business.
By the bottom of the ninth, I was getting depressed. The Gnats were behind 7 to 6 and there were two outs. I kept thinking of the money that I could have made if somebody had been willing to bet.
Then, with men on second and third, the Sand Gnat batter hit a high fly to right field. The Bomber first baseman backed up to get it. The right fielder rushed in to get it. The ball plopped down between the two of them and two baserunners crossed the plate, ending the game in a Sand Gnat victory.
I was thrilled! I saved the money I would have lost if I bet.
One the way out of the park, one woman walked up to me and said, "You know that was a lucky hit, don't you? That batter is really a bum."
"Hush, Ma," said her son. "You know Daddy doesn't like it when you talk about him that way!"
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Alitalia -- Flights to Somewhere Maybe
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde
A while back, an Alitalia pilot caused an international incident when landing in Israel by announcing, "Welcome to Palestine." He compounded it by adding, "Happy Independence Day to Palestine."
The immediate assumption was that he was making a political statement and the Israelis were up in arms.
Palestinians were a bit confused by his remark. The following day would be Israeli Independence Day -- which the Palestinians call "the naftah" (catastrophe) and they couldn't quite figure out why he thought they should be happy.
Although Alitalia has announced that the pilot would not be allowed to fly into Israel anymore, it refused to reveal his name. I only learned that it was Guido when I happened to run into him in the casino in Venice.
"It wasn't a political statement," Guido told me as we sat together at the blackjack table. "I just got confused. All those countries look alike from the air. I really thought I was landing in Palestine."
"But Palestine isn't a country," I pointed out, "and its only airport is closed."
"Sure," said Guido. "NOW you tell me. Where were you when I needed you?"
The dealer gave Guido two kings. He doubled down.
"I can't believe you did that," I said. "I have never heard of anything so ridiculous."
"Can't you get off my back about it?" Guido asked. "After all, its not as bad as the time that I thought I was landing in Malta and it turned out to be an American aircraft carrier. Wow! Did I have to slam on the brakes hard then!"
"No," I said, "I'm referring to doubling down when you're holding 20."
"Don't tell me how to play this game," Guido replied. "I learned it in the same school where I studied geography."
On the next hand, the dealer gave Guido two 6's. He split them.
"So I see," I told him. "How does Alitalia feel when you make these mistakes?"
"Why should the company care if I split 6's?" Guido wondered.
"I mean the flying mistakes," I said. "Doesn't it upset them?"
"A bit," Guido admitted. "Those guys in the front office don't understand how difficult it is to be a pilot. You have to remember to do things like take off and land and this can get complicated, especially when you are required to make sure that the wheels are down in both cases. So naturally I get confused once in a while. Last December, for example, I was scheduled to fly from Rome to Stockholm. I made a perfect landing in Sweden and the company was furious."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because of one, itsy-bitsy tiny mistake. I got in the wrong plane. It was a Thai Airways flight to Bangkok. I learned one important thing from that, though -- a planeful of passengers dressed in shorts and t-shirts can get mighty cold when they walk out into a snowstorm."
The dealer gave Guido a 5 and a 4. He refused another card.
"Why?" I asked him.
"Because t-shirts are not really good protection against the snow," he explained.
"No, I mean why didn't you take another card?" I wondered.
"Because I didn't want to take the chance of getting a 10 and busting."
"But 10 and 9 make 19," I said. "It would be impossible to bust."
"Don't tell me how to count," Guido replied. "I learned mathematics in the same school where I studied navigation."
When the dealer got a 17 he took Guido's chips and the pilot turned to me and said, "That's it for tonight. I should have known better than to play here. I never have any luck here in Vegas."
"But this is Venice," I pointed out.
"Wow!" Guido replied, "that sure explains why the streets are so wet. I guess I didn't break the world's speed record from Rome to Las Vegas after all."
"Venice is located on the Adriatic Sea," I objected. "Las Vegas is in the middle of a desert. Didn't you notice that when you were flying in?"
"It did look a bit strange," Guido admitted, "but I thought they were just playing some kind of joke on me. After all, the people in Las Vegas are known to have the best sense of humor in all of Ohio."
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The Sky's The Limit!
Copyright 2008-- Josh Wilde
Always anxious to build up my frequent flyer miles, I was thrilled to learn that my favorite airline, Crashland Airways, had opened its own casino in Vegas and was giving miles for gambling.
"Welcome to Crashland," said the doorman when I arrived. "Our bellhop will be happy to bring in your luggage after sending it through our scanner. Please make certain that it is unlocked as he might have to open it if he spots anything suspicious. "
"I don't have a lot," I responded. "Can't I just carry it myself?"
"You may bring one piece with you," the doorman replied, "as long as it does not weigh more than 20 pounds and doesn't exceed our size limits. Just put it on this x-ray machine but first remove any computers for a closer check."
When he was satisified that I had no intention of hijacking the casino, I was allowed to go to the front desk to check in.
"I'd like a smoking room," I told the clerk.
"I'm sorry, sir," she replied. "There is no smoking section in this hotel. Also, there is a $200,000 fine for disabling the smoke detectors in the bathrooms. After all, there will be other guests using the bathrooms so we don't want anything in our toilets that could have an offensive odor."
"Can I at least get a room with a queen size bed?"
"That's only available for our Business Class guests," she told me. "You bought an Economy Class ticket so you get a narrow bed. The hotel is fairly full and I'm afraid that the only spot available is in the center -- you will have people sleeping on both sides of you."
"Showgirls?" I asked hopefully.
"Forget it!" she replied. "For those accomodations you would have had to buy a First Class ticket."
She then told me that my room would cost $350 a night.
"But your advertisement offers rooms for $40," I protested.
"That's only if you order them two weeks in advance, and are staying for between six nights and three weeks and have at least one Saturday night included," she explained.
After unpacking, I headed towards the blackjack tables. When I got there, the dealer, Barb, asked me sit down, buckle my seat belt, and then proceeded to show me where the emergency exits were located.
She dealt me a king and an ace but paid me for a regular win.
"Doesn't blackjack pay 3 to 2?" I asked.
"It used to," she admitted, "but with the airlines losing so much money we have had to cut back on the frills."
"I imagine that includes the buffet," I said.
"I'm afraid it does," Barb confirmed. "But you will still get a two-week old turkey sandwich in a paper box if you stay at the same table for more than three hours."
"Do you still offer free drinks?" I asked.
"I love customers with a good sense of humor," she giggled.
"Well, at least I am getting frequent flyer points for gambling here," I consoled myself.
"You certainly are," said Barb, "and under our new, improved, program you only need 50,000 miles for a free domestic round trip. Under the old program, you needed 25,000 miles."
"I need twice as many miles?" I asked. "How is that an improvement?"
"Isn't that obvious?" Barb replied. "Now you will only spend half as much time in our planes!"
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Kathie's Readjustment
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde
Recently, in a series of three articles, I told the story of Kathie, the customer service rep for an on line casino who met and married one of her customers.
Thousands of my readers have written in since then, asking how Kathie is managing the readjustment to civilian life. Naturally, I was hesitant to invade her privacy and reveal any of the details, but have since decided that the public has a right to know.
(Translation: I was hoping to sell the story for big bucks, but seeing as the National Enquirer turned me down flat, I might as well spill the beans.)
----
R. H. Macy
Fifth Avenue, N.Y.
Dear Mr. Macy,
I am so sorry to hear that you have not yet received the check for the bill you sent me three months ago.
Unfortunately, my bank in the Cayman Islands was hit by an extremely strong hurricane and all records of outgoing checks were destroyed. I want to straighten this matter out for you as quickly as possible, so please send me a photocopy of both the original bill and the check that you did not receive.
Have a wonderful day!
Kathleen Smythe
----
Con Edison
New York City
Hi Con,
I will be happy to expedite payment of your bill but firstly you need to go to my website, download my faxback form, and send it to me along with copies of your driver's license and the front and back of your credit card.
I am certain that you realize that this is for your protection. (I am not exactly certain how, but you have to admit that it sounds good.)
Have a wonderful day!
Kathleen Smythe
----
United Way of New York
Manhattan
I have received your request for a donation for 2003. Unfortunately, according to my records I made a donation in 2002. My website clearly states that no organization will be allowed to collect more than one donation.
I have therefore put you on a list of donation abusers and will make certain that you are blacklisted throughout the on line community.
Have a wonderful day!
Kathleen Smythe
----
Bill Gates
Microsoft Corporation
Dear Bill,
I want to assure you that the rumors which you have heard contending that I am using illegal copies of Microsoft software on my computer are totally false.
The validity of all my software has been verified by the accounting firm of Price Waterhouse, and if you have any question about that feel free to read the copy of their report which I have placed on my website.
As to your other question, I have no idea of why all letters sent from my Outlook Express program have "Made in China" written on the top.
Have a wonderful day!
Kathleen Smythe
----
Amazon.com
Seattle, Washington
Dear Mr. Dot Com,
I am afraid that I must refuse your request for payment for the outstanding balance due on my account which was opened on Feb 12, 2003.
I have discovered that I have another account with you, opened on May 16, 2002, and my rules firmly prohibit me having duplicate accounts at any location.
Have a wonderful day!
Kathleen Smythe
----
Rev. William Whittaker
United Methodist Church
Dear Rev. Whittaker,
I received your letter asking me to send you the $300 I pledged for the church's building fund.
As I recall, I made that pledge immediately after an out of control truck slammed into my living room while I was asleep on the sofa.
You pointed out at the time that I was saved "only with the help of God" and said I should show my appreciation by making a donation to His house.
Unfortunately, I can not send you the money as the Terms and Conditions on my website clearly state that "no payments will be made if there is proof of Divine Assistance."
(If you have trouble locating this provision, please try again tomorrow. I should have it posted by then.)
Have a wonderful day!
Kathleen Smythe
----
Hi Marcie!
It was great to get your letter! I thought you had forgotten about me after I left the casino.
No, I haven't changed since getting married. The biggest difference is now Frank gets in bed with me at night and does to me what I used to spend the days doing to our players.
Love,
Kathie
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The Longest Bet
Copyright 2008 - Josh Wilde
We are closing in on the 65th anniversary of the invasion of Normandy (D-Day), at which time the Pentagon will unclassify top secret documents detailing the secrets behind the attack. Fortunately, one of General Eisenhower's top aides, PFC Melvin Snodgrass (retired), is a close friend of my cousin Bertha and agreed to give me the details beforehand.
"It was all part of a bet that Ike had going with the Desert Fox," Snodgrass informed me.
"British Field Marshal Montgomery?"
"No," said Snodgrass. "He was 'the Desert Ass'. The Desert Fox was Erwin Rommel, the German commander. He was in charge of defending Europe and Ike bet him 100,000 Reichmarks that the Allies could make a successful invasion. Actually, it was a pretty stupid bet on Ike's part."
"Why?" I asked. "After all, the Allies had the advantage in both manpower and equipment."
"Sure," said Snodgrass, "but what Ike failed to realize was that if he did manage to pull off the invasion, Reichmarks would be worthless.
"Anyhow," he said, "Ike used a variation of three card monte. He set up three invasion beaches, Juno, Sword, and Omaha and Montgomery had to guess which one the Allies would invade. But Ike pulled a swifty on him and invaded all three."
"But that's not how three card monte works," I protested. "No matter which one Rommel chose he would find Allied troops and win the bet."
"You underestimate Ike," Snodgrass told me. "You see, at the same time, he told Charles De Gaulle that he was actually going to invade at Pas de Calais. De Gaulle, of course, immediately leaked the secret."
"De gaulle of the man!" I exclaimed. "Ike must have been furious."
"Not at all," Snodgrass countered. "It was exactly what he wanted. Ike knew that De Gaulle liked clean toilets -- unusual for the French, really -- and he sent his chief urinal scrubber, a young Resistance lieutenant by the name of Jacques Chirac, into Pas de Calais to make certain that the crappers were shiny. Chirac was immediately captured by the Germans and told them everything."
"He didn't have much Resistance, huh?"
"Actually, the Germans tricked him," said Snodgrass. "They told him they were really Arabs and Chirac never was able to refuse an Arab anything."
"But why did the Germans believe Chirac?" I asked. "Nobody else ever did."
"That's where George Patton came in," Snodgrass explained. "You see, he was the Americans' best general and the Nazis knew that Ike wouldn't be stupid enough to have the biggest invasion of the war without putting old Blood and Guts in charge of it."
"But Patton didn't lead the invasion forces," I protested. "Bradley did."
"Right," Snodgrass confirmed. "Because Ike was actually smart enough to be stupid enough not to put Patton in charge because Rommel knew that Ike was too smart for that."
"That makes no sense at all," I said.
"Exactly," Snodgrass agreed. "You see, Ike told Patton to back up Chirac's story. So Patton started calling ahead to Pas De Calais to make hotel reservations and find out where the best places in town were for dinner and getting pearl-handled revolvers cleaned. When the invasion came, Rommel was so certain that it was going to be there that he didn't even bother checking the three beaches. It was a perfect three card monte switch, except that Ike used four cards."
"Rommel must have been furious," I told him.
"Well, I can tell you this -- he wasn't going around wearing any 'I Like Ike' buttons," Snodgrass answered. "Of course, he wasn't anywhere as annoyed as De Gaulle was."
"Why was De Gaulle upset?" I asked. "After all, he was with the Allies."
"He was?" Snodgrass asked in surprise. "Nobody at Ike's headquarters knew that. Actually, De Gaulle thought he should be the Supreme Commander. He took it as a personal insult that anybody else would hold that title."
"But there were very few French soldiers in the D-Day invasion," I objected. "Why should De Gaulle have been in charge?"
"De Gaulle didn't see things that way," Snodgrass told me. "In fact, he still doesn't."
"What do you mean 'still'? I thought that De Gaulle died a long time ago."
"He did," Snodgrass said. "He entered the Pearly Gates in 1970 -- and even though there are very few Frenchmen in Heaven, he still thinks he should be God."
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Solon Votes "NO" to On Line Gambling
Copyright 2008 - Josh Wilde
The Honorable Herbert J. Solon, my district's representative in Congress, welcomed me into his office.
"This is truly an honor," he said to me. "I want you to know that I've always been a big fan of your satires. In fact, I used to study them in college. But somehow I figured that you would be much older."
"I guess you're thinking of Oscar Wilde," I told him. "I'm Josh Wilde. I write on line. The only college where my work is studied is Las Vegas University -- for some reason it is part of the required course in Craps."
"Is your website one of those big lobby groups that payoff unscrupulous congressmen?"
"No," I told him. "We don't believe in bribery."
"That's a pity," Solon sighed. "But in that case, what can I do for you?"
"We have hundreds of thousands of members who enjoy on line gambling," I told him, "and I'd like to know how you stand on it."
"Do all of those people live in my district?" Solon asked.
"No," I said.
"In that case, I'm against it," he replied. "I think it is immoral and I will be putting all my effort into getting it banned. Err, you're SURE that you don't give bribes?"
"Positive," I said. "But what is wrong with someone sitting in his home and gambling?"
"It's a direct attack on the sanctity of the American family," Solon told me. "Traditionally, the home has been the place where husbands assaulted their wives, parents ignored their children, and wives cheated with their neighbors. How are they going to have time to do all of that if they are busy playing at on line casinos?"
"You're in favor of attacking wives, mistreating children, and adultery?" I choked.
"Of course," Solon said. "Without those things we would have to close the battered women's shelters, juvenile reform homes, and marriage counseling centers. Don't tell me that you are one of those fanatics who are against these vital social services."
"But what about my right to enjoy myself?" I asked.
"Whoever told you that you had such a right?" Solon retorted. "If you did, marijuana would be legal, you could smoke wherever you wanted, and all sex between consenting adults would be permitted. Then what would the police do? They would have to spend all their time chasing murderers and other violent criminals and that can be dangerous."
"But you allow gambling in land casinos," I pointed out.
"That's different," Solon told me. "We also allow women to appear naked in strip clubs, but on line porn should be banned."
"Why? Are you afraid that children will see it?"
"Of course not," Solon told me. "Why would they bother going on line for porn when they can simply switch on their televisions? Porn and gambling should be illegal on line for the same reason: Money."
"I don't follow," I admitted.
"I'm a congressman," Solon said. "My salary -- not to mention all my perks -- come from tax dollars. Land casinos are taxed, just like televised porn. But the government gets no money from the internet. If we were to allow people to bet on line there wouldn't be any funding for me to fly to Las Vegas and get in some action of my own. You want to deprive me of the simple enjoyment of gambling? What kind of a fiend are you, anyhow?"
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The Right of the People...
Copyright 2008 -- Josh Wilde
"How are you doing with that new constitution thingie?" Ben Franklin asked Jimmy Madison.
"Pretty good," Madison replied, "although I have to work out a few kinks in the Bill of Rights. I seem to be running into some flack with the second one: 'Congress shall not enact any laws proscribing the right of the people to be happy as long as it does not harm others."
"That sounds pretty straight forward to me," Franklin replied. "What's the problem with it?"
"Some of the congressmen seem to feel that this amendment would take all of the fun out of being in Congress."
"You're darned straight it would," interjected John Adams. "Remember, I'm from Boston -- and there is nothing we enjoy more than banning something."
"But you were one of the leaders of the Revolution," objected Madison. "You demanded that the king stop imposing his will on us."
"Only because I wasn't the king," Adams said. "But I am in Congress and what would be the point of being there if I didn't get to impose my will on people?"
"What kind of things would you like to ban?" Franklin asked.
"Oh, you know, sex, gambling, alcohol -- anything that someone might get some fun from," Adams said.
"That's going to make this a very boring country," Franklin replied.
"Right," said Adams. "Just like Boston."
"You'll never get away with it," Madison said. "The people will be furious."
"We'll do it so slowly they won't even notice," Adams told him. "We'll start with alcohol. We'll pass a law called 'Prohibition' and make it illegal to even take a sip of the stuff."
"You surprise me, John," Franklin said. "You're in the shipping business and you make a lot of money importing rum. Won't this ruin your profits?"
"Oops. I forgot about that," Adams replied. "Okay, we won't do it right away. We'll wait about 150 years. By that time my family should be into something respectable, like growing marijuana."
"They'll have a hard time selling any," said Johnathan Witherspoon. "I plan to make it illegal to smoke anything, any time, anywhere."
'Forget that!" screamed Tommy Jefferson. "I'm from Virginia and make a darned good living growing tobacco."
"How about if we do it gradually?" Witherspoon suggested. "First we'll only allow smoking in the rear of carriages. Then we'll ban it in the entire carriage. Then we'll make it illegal to smoke in carriage ports. Any time somebody travels he'll be so miserable about not being able to get a cigarette that he won't even care about all the security procedures, the delays, and the horrible food that carriage lines serve."
"Let's not forget gambling," said Adams. "We have to ban that."
"Why?" asked Madison.
"Because it's a sin," Adams replied. "It is against God's will. Besides, I could never figure out the rules in Craps."
"That's going to put a lot of Mississippi riverboat gamblers out of business," Franklin told him.
"Who cares?" said Adams.
"I do," Franklin said. "Wherever you find riverboat gamblers you find hookers -- and I like hookers."
"Okay," said Adams. "We'll compromise. We'll allow gambling on riverboats and in casinos, but we will make it illegal to do it in your own home."
"That's completely ridiculous," said Jefferson.
"So what?" asked Adams. "Most laws are ridiculous. Why should this one be any different?"
"Where are you going to find a congressman stupid enough to put his name to such a silly law?" Madison asked.
"That's easy," said Adams. "Of course, we'll have to wait until Alabama becomes a state."
"Okay, guys, you win," said Madison. "I'll change the second amendment. Now it will say, 'the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed."
"I'm not sure if I like that one at all," Adams objected. "Proper women in Boston never walk around with bare arms."
"That's not what I said," said Madison. "It means that they can carry guns."
"That sounds harmless enough," Franklin agreed, "but why will they have to?"
"Because as soon as Congress starts passing laws," Madison explained, "there are going to be an awful lot of people who will want to shoot themselves."
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