Heart Smarts: Gambling is Naughty
Balloonman sez: "HEY KIDS DON'T GAMBLE OR I'LL RUN YOU OVER WITH MY BALLOONCYCLE!"
Hello there faithful weekend readers. For those of you unlucky enough to have to work today, I offer my sincere condolences. Just keep in mind that you can be replaced by an Indian robot drone for 2 cents an hour at any time, so be thankful you still have a job. Most of my friends have computer science degrees from U of M and are now giving blowjobs for nickels on Michigan Avenue. It is indeed a troubled time, but I digress. Today I am launching another one of my self-help series designed to give aid to my legions of needy Internet readers who I try to help with my wealth of wisdom acquired through years of drunkenness and depravity. You might have noticed that the name has changed from "Life Lessons", to "Heart Smarts". The folks at marketing thought the name was a little catchier, and the change will also avoid a nasty lawsuit from Life cereal that threatened to take us to court because I claimed they were the sponsors and that their cereal gives puppies cancer. Sure I was feeding them asbestos and mercury as well, but I know in my heart it was the Life cereal that caused the horrible malignant growths.
Today we are going to take a stern and flirtatious look into the sordid social disease that is gambling. Ever since gambling was invented in 3948 BC by a Mesopotamian who put 4-9 odds that the crops would be swarmed and destroyed by locusts that year, it has been the scourge of mankind, overwhelming our psyche with greed and helplessness. All throughout history, our love for risk and the elation of winning has been our weakness. When the white man introduced the Native Americans to gambling, they thought it was just another wonderful gift from the gentle pale people from the east. Soon they couldn’t get enough and started staking their entire possessions against the white folk, who often cheated and took everything from them. Even now that the tables are turned and the Native Americans are taking money from the stupid white folk, it still does not justify this most evil of vices. Today I will show you how gambling is worse than sex, drinking, tap-dancing, and murder combined. I'm sure there is a Bible passage against gambling somewhere, but my copy broke in half after thumping on it with my fist too often while preaching and teaching. Do not gamble with your eternal soul!
I vividly recall going to my first casino as a young child. As I walked in, my senses felt assaulted by lights, beeps, whistles, and sirens. Shuffling between the endless rows of blinking slot machines were a motley collection of frightening zombies, each carrying a bucketful of assorted coins. Just as I was about to grab my shotgun to dispatch the ghouls like I have been trained to do after years of playing video games, I realized that these poor tormented souls were not real zombies, but just gamblers that had not left their precious slot machines in days. I continued to walk into the casino, feeling the pleasing beeps and hypnotizing lights drawing me deeper inside. I then made the mistake of wandering too near one of the three machines an old lady was frantically working. She bared her teeth and let out an inhuman guttural growl, a warning that I had come too close to her territory and if I did not back off she would attack without mercy, probably ripping my throat out with her sharp nicotine stained teeth and resuming popping quarters in the machines without bothering to wipe my sweet blood from her chin. I knew then that I was in a dark place of failure and tears, and my only chance of survival was to put $20 on black and flee. I left a little richer, and much wiser.
You might ask why I am qualified to preach about the evils of gambling. To that I would normally respond by cutting your face open with a switchblade, but this is the Internet so I will instead indulge your inquiries. After my first experience in a casino as a young lad, I learned that gambling has the power to destroy the lives of people, but was still irresistibly drawn and fascinated by the nature of it. So I started my own craps game on the corner of Michigan Avenue and Inkster Road, adopting the moniker of "Lil’ Red". Soon it became the biggest craps game in town, and I became the target of local competitors and authorities. With the money rolling in, I wasn't about to back down, so I had my rival wise guys put on ice, pay off the coppers, and gave the mayor Indian burns until my game could run with impunity. I opened up more games on various corners, and soon my empire stretched from Wayne to Dearborn, and I had all of its residents in the palm of my little ruddy hand. But my extreme power and wealth came at a price; the destruction of a community who took to rolling my dice instead of buying diapers for their babies. I had singlehandedly turned the neighborhood into a dangerous slum, and had my own mother roughed up for tipping off the Feds. It all suddenly ended when a rival gang riddled me with Tommy gun bullets and dumped me off the Ambassador Bridge. I retired from the gambling business, and opened my own hair salon where I still reside today. My only hope is that I can keep the kids out there from making the same mistakes I did.
This is what we are fighting folks; a socially acceptable vice that is on every street corner of the city, reducing even the strongest of wills to lime Jell-O. The only way we can fight against it is to educate ourselves through sharing, caring, and baring our feelings. Testicular electrocution works pretty well too, but we'll only use that as a last resort.
March Madness, more like March Sadness.
I am convinced that the NCAA tournament is run by a collection of Masonic vampires that control the world’s oil supply and like to toy with us mere humans by playing cruel pranks. Every single year I get screwed over by upsets that could only be rigged by evil men in control of these games, laughing with malice as I mark off my decimated brackets with an orange highlighter, my lower lip quivering on the brink of an explosive outburst of tears. I mean, Stanford and Kentucky both losing in the 2nd round? I am positive this is a major plot orchestrated by various evil organizations throughout the world that wants to make me cry and steal the DNA from my tears to make a clone army to take over the planet and then the universe. Why can't I win just once?
The worst thing about it is that these teenagers are playing their little hearts out on that court while flocks of old men in frightful plaid suits are profiting from their hard work, spending it on hookers and whiskey. The next thing you know, little league games will be marred by sports betting, immersed in the dark underbelly of gambling. Kids will be popping steroids, and have their knees broken if they don't strike out in the 4th inning, while racketeers will be shouting out odds and snatching up dollar bills on the bleachers. Is this really what we want for our children? So please, for once, let me win a March Madness bracket or I will kill myself. Don't tempt me Frodo!
A comic for those too lazy to read words.
I know some of you are far too lazy and/or stupid to read text, so I made a comic to illustrate my point that gambling is a naughty, dirty habit. I think you will be pleased at the pretty shapes and colors. Actually you probably aren’t even reading this right now. You are a stupid fatty pants jerkface. SO owned, and you don't even know it. Let's get on with the comic shall we?
Wow, what a fantastic tale! So, what did we learn today from Pepperidge Piglet’s follies into the world of high stakes gambling? Well, for one thing, piglets should always listen to their farmer masters or they are liable to get in all kinds of trouble. On most farms when a piglet is rebellious and is disdainful of the farmer's rulings, he is put to death swiftly with the farmer's axe. But this farmer is a kindly old man that loves his wayward piglet since his wife died in a thresher accident. The Pepperidge Piglet is whisked away by the bright lights of Vegas; the free comps; the sexy showgirls; and the adrenaline rush of the big win. Soon, however, he finds himself in quite a pickle, and has his legs broken, only to be sent back to the farm penniless and shamed. I would like to point out one inaccuracy in the comic. We see that Pepperidge Piglet returns to the farm in a wheelchair in the 7th frame. Casinos don't really give you a free wheelchair after they break your legs; they just throw you out into the street where you scream in pain and are harassed by Mexicans handing out pornographic pamphlets. I took this liberty for the sake of the plotline, and hope it didn't cause too much confusion. If any of you are worried about the future health of the piglet, sleep well knowing that he overcame his gambling addiction, could frolic in fields of hay after a year of rehabilitation, and won the blue ribbon at the state fair. Also, the kindly old farmer was elected President of the United States and gave all his farm animals high-ranking cabinet positions. It's a pretty awesome story and I'll show it to you next time.
In conclusion, gambling is very, very naughty and you all should not partake of it in any form whatsoever. No matter how fun it seems, you must realized it is destroying lives as well as your own. That even goes for things like board games (just a fancy way of rolling dice), gumball machines, and having unprotected sex with various partners. There is no such thing as harmless gambling. Also stay in school and watch for communists. If your parents say anything against the current government or any anti-patriotic comments like, "I'm voting for Kerry", report them to Homeland Security immediately. Good job children.
Howdy there, Dennis "Corin Tucker's Stalker" Farrell here.This week the boys at State Og pulled together and really created ahumdinger. However, the humdinger chewed through the protective steelcage we kept it in, and it had to be put down after it ran into theparking lot and ate three people and scratched my car.
In the biz, we call that a "teaser. And in the biz, we call this a "link".