On the bandwagon

My man Jim put together a blog for himself recently, to highlight all the tomfoolery and hijinks of his time on the Ice Planet of Hoth, and I've added a link to it on the right. Did you know he works with the Iron Sheik, of WWF fame? If that isn't enough to get you to check it out, I don't know what is. Oh, and he'll be appearing topless on his site, from what I hear, so run on over there ladies!!

A hole in the sand

By nature, I'm not much of a gambling man, as long ago I learned that I was born under a hexed moon, and Lady Luck has been a harsh and often absent mistress to me over the years. And so it was with a bit of trepidation and caution that I went to Jackpot, Nevada, for a bit of that old time gambling fun with Chris and Tom.
Before I begin, it is vital to understand a few things about Tom and Chris, especially for those who don't know these two. Chris is the Burger Baron of Pocatello, owner of one of the finer fast food restaraunts in town, and is equal parts the Hamburglar and C. Montgomery Burns.
















Tom, on the other hand, is electrician by trade, and all around general handyman. A good man at heart, he has but two weaknesses: his undying loathing for the presence of wolves in Idaho, and his general lack of self-control, and the latter is what puts him in ridiculous binds now and again. You know that little levee that people have inside their heads that holds back the swelling tide of bad ideas? The one meant to guard against bad impulses? Well, I think Tom's periodically breaks, much like New Orleans in the face of Hurricane Katrina. As an example from this trip, when we phoned Tom while on the road to see where he was (we took two cars), he was scarcely 45 minutes in front of us. When we phoned again when we had reached Jackpot, Tom had, in those 45 extra minutes, Tom was already down over $200 on the poker table. Ouch.

My luck would soon prove to be equally poor, as I lost money at a rate of over a dollar per minute before I gave up on gambling for the trip. The only upside to my time spent on the casino floor was that I saw an elderly woman get arrested for drunken brawling. Only in Nevada.

Others (cough, cough..Chris...cough, cough) would prove to have much more luck in gambling. Chris, the one man who had plenty to gamble with and didn't need the extra money, won over $1000. Goddamn Jackpot. That place is like a Bizarro Robin Hood, robbing from the poor to give money to the wealthy, and it was the reality of this that drove Tom and I to the verge of madness. Luckily, I escaped, by virtue of giving up on gambling quite quickly; Tom, alas, tried to beat the Devil in his own domain, and lost much because of it. I'm still haunted by the look on his face when he came back to the hotel room to announce he was cutting the trip short and driving home that day. He looked like a man who had wagered his soul and lost it; now he had to flee with all the Hounds of Hell unleashed on his heels. So rapid was his escape that he left behind several bottles of liquor in our hotel fridge, which I rescued for him.

And so I warn all ye, do not venture into Nevada unless you are already wealthy, and have money to lose. The poor man has no friend in the land of gambling.

Mandy's not "Bad to the bone"

Due to some concerns being raised about me besmirching the parenting reputation of Gregg and Mandy, I just wanted to clarify that the thrust of my last post was to point out that while they are both fine parents, they are powerless in the face of such an evil entity as myself. Keep trying to raise a fine kid, guys, but I have to say it's too late for you both: she has already been tainted by my sinister nature. Thems the breaks, kids.

Bad to the bone

I'll readily admit that I'm not the greatest role model for children. As a matter of fact, I consider myself to be an entity of pure, unadulterated evil. And yet little did I know how easily my presence can contaminate the purity of youth until I spent a little bit of time around Gregg and Mandy's daughter. You see, a group of us get together for football and poker every Sunday, and their two-yeard old daughter is always with us, meaning she gets at least a few hours of contact with me each week.

Over the last two weeks, it has become apparent that I have utterly and wholly corrupted her soul. This last week she decided to take up residence in Raquel's toilet; yes, inside her toilet. And the week before, in the span of five minutes, I saw her carrying around cigarettes, bottles of both beer and hard lemonade, and, in the absolute topper, walking around the kitchen with a butcher's knife nearly as large as herself.

I had to admit, my eyes welled up with tears at this evil little girl. She's got a bright future of cussing, fussing, drinking and fighting in front of her.