Indian Casino Dweller


I was shuffling slowly around the casino floor half asleep at 3 a.m. (3 hours ago) dead in the water and pretty pissed off at myself and the Aztec Temple machines that took somewhere around $4,000 off of me in the previous six hours. My hopes weren’t high for obtaining any money at that late hour on a slow Friday morning but then miraculously I saw a familiar face and I screamed, “Paula!!” Paula was the lady friend of this guy named Frank. Frank is a 65 year old fellow who has money. I’m not really clear on where his money comes from but he literally does have a good bit of it. I’ve heard a couple of different stories about the source of funds. One of them is that he bought a thousand or so shares of Berkshire Hathaway stock back when a share was somewhat affordable at $5,735 a share. We’re talking 1990 era.   Now a single share of Mr. Buffett’s stock is like $214,000. That would explain Franks source of cash. Another story that I heard from this chick named Lissa Giles is that Frfank invented keyless entry. That seems a bit farfetched to me but who knows. I can’t really refute it since I have not done any research on the claim and actually I don’t even know Frank’s last name. In any event 65 year old Frank and I have a little bit of history together. He is actually a really cool guy who I have sort of followed around the casino chatting up during the many periods where I have been so fucking broke and desperate that it was almost paralyzing me. When I very first met him I noticed right away that he liked young pretty girls, girls that had a bit of a hard edge to them, whether they were official hookers or just gamblers who would fuck for a bankroll or whatever, Frank liked them. He gave these little bitches hundred dollar bill after hundred dollar bill and I was immediately jaded and jealous of the fact that these chicks had pussies. They even managed to be stuck up and arrogant in that way only someone with cash can act toward someone with zero cash.   Anyway old Frank was a big fan of the dollar slots with five reels and nine lines where you could bet up to $45 a spin and the variance was fucking massive. Thousands of dollars, small fortunes for just about everyone else on the planet were literally being lost and won and lost again in a matter of 60 seconds to five minutes. If you managed to push cash out after you won a spin that paid you $1,111 instead of playing it down to nothing again 90 seconds later and being forced to stuff crisp new $100 bills in the fucking thing then you could make money. Streaks where you win several thousand are commonplace.   Just as commonplace though are the streaks where you lose several thousand. The losing streaks seem to happen quicker than the wins. They are infinitely more painful than the pleasure derived from the wins. For one thing it is painful as fuck to feed all those hundred dollar bills that look so beautiful in your new Roberto Cavalli wallet into the 12 year old slot machine and not get one thing in return so it seems like the stupidest fucking decision only a block head moron idiot suicidal piece of shit dunce would make. The wins though are not a pile of hundreds appearing in your hand. No they are just a digital number, one that causes undue concern that it doesn’t disappear, located in the top left or bottom left corner of the screen. Its absurdly simple to lose thousands of dollars that exist only in the form of that digital number on the screen because it is often hard to see the reality of that number in its real money real world counterpart either currency like 20s and 10s and fives and hundreds and fifties or in merchandise or rent paid or cars or pussy or clothing or so many other things that I desperately need on a daily basis but do not possess because I am a compulsive gambler without any financial security or nest egg whatsoever. Literally the cash I have at any one moment is the only cash that keeps me from being in abject poverty, a street bum without a penny. Good god how I do go on. Like Scarlett O Hara in Gone with the Wind I just love to hear myself talk or type. So back to Hank.

Like I said I was broke as shit and I saw Paula who is Franks girlfriend. She is about 45 and good looking. Good looking enough that I would like to fuck her. I heard she used to be a hooker and I can believe that but I like hookers so that is not a disparaging remark as far as I’m concerned. Anyway she led me to Frank who was in the high limits room playing the Indian Pyramid game which was anywhere between 15-150 dollars a spin. I arrived he had $700, within 4 seconds he had $1500 and Paula was telling him to cash out because they had a 4 am breakfast appointment to purchase some meth I think or that is the impression I got. Anyhow Frank is a real asset to me in times like this because he has a sexual appetite that is very healthy; however like many other men in his age group I’m pretty sure he is erection challenged and I have the cure for that in the form of chewable sildenafil citrate (Viagra) that I buy from a friend of mine for $1.50 per pill and I turn around and sell them for a minimum of $5 each. Which is a good profit margin but an overall material total amount only if I can sell 40 pills or 60 pills and only Frank buys them in that quantity basically whenever I see him and he has some cash. That’s a $300 shot in the arm at the witching hour where I would say 99/100 people that go bankrupt at that time are dead in the water and will need to get to stepping the fuck out of the casino. A good opportunity to make yet another run at fortune and fame to be sure. One of several hundred mini opportunities I have been blessed enough and privileged enough to receive during my casino career. As often happens on Aztec Temple I was quicker than shit down to the last hundred dollars bill and down to the end of that hundred to boot. I think I had less than $18 left total when I hit the free games and then a bunch of queens and then some aces and then free games again and before I knew it I had over $1,200 in the machine which was a miracle. A real miracle. I had gathered up $2,500 earlier and very quickly got it up to $4,000 and then turbo speed lost every penny of it in two ill-advised donation sessions on a .25 Aztec Temple game and a $1 Aztec Temple game. From $4,000 (which originated out of nowhere) back to the nowhere from which it originated in honestly a 20 minutes session in the high limits room and a two hour session at the quarters by the north cashier.   Dejected rejected sad as fuck just like I explained above. So 1,200 was a miracle. Why then did I stop by and throw every single dollar I had just won (cashed out exactly $1,000 from that Aztec   Temple game) into the nickel Where’s the Gold and that other stupid game with the blue dots as the free game getters that come on the first three reels. The losing quickly got out of hand for a paltry $1,000 bankroll and I desperately sunk ten one hundred dollar b ills in either one or the other with neither of the piece of shit machines hitting even a win of $100. On where’s the gold I got the free games after spending like $500. I got two wilds and five free games which would have been hundreds of dollars of payback at any other time but this time it fucked me hard and I won like 350 nickels or some stupid ass fuck shit like that. Long story short I lost that whole grand like a fucking toxic samurai warrior and it’s so tragic that I have to laugh. That’s where I sit right this second at 7:08 a.m. on Friday April 24th, 2015. In my room at Pechanga typing this entry out on the laptop I got for $160 bucks from the same asshole named Devin who sold me a stolen Honda Accord which got confiscated by the police and nearly put me and my baby mama Clarice  in jail for a slew of felonies. This is the same Devin that I was informed yesterday started licking Clarice’s bloody pussy one night in the motel room I paid for in Valencia  for Clarice and my daughter Avondra. She said it felt good when she woke up so she went with it and let him fuck her too. There are so many aspects of that story that make me want to really hurt Devin very badly. He’s got a lot of nerve to put it mildly. I didn’t even ask Clarice what Devin was doing spending the night in the room that was in my name to begin with. Not to mention what gave him the mental green light to somehow get Clarice’s pajamas and panties off of her while she is sleeping and just start going to town on her pussy. How is that considered okay by anyone in this day and age? I don’t really think that it could have possibly gone down like that but I tell you what I’m going to find out how it went down because I’m going to go find Devin today and have a talk with him. After I have a little discussion with him, I then plan on challenging him to a bit of fisticuffs and hopefully I will prevail since I have taken so many mental MMA lessons. You know…each time I watch the UFC fight night on Fox or an old Pride Fighting Championships classic like Shogun Rua vs. Quinton Rampage Jackson; I am taking mental notes and really studying technique. Mentally only though. Not physically. I’m hoping this will be enough to get my 46 year old nonsmoking self through a street fight with a 27 year old ex-convict druggie hustler dude like Devin intact with me actually coming out on top and bloodying up his face a bit and thoroughly humiliating him as much as I can. Just a little side note that you might find interesting. Clarice has this friend named Doris who is a silly bitch to be sure but kind of hot in a way. Flabby out of shape stretchy skin but pretty face but poisoned mind big time. Toxic as fuck but yet I do kind of like her as a friend at the same time. It’s hard to explain. Anyway, Doris and Clarice have been friends for about two years and in that time Clarice has had affairs with three of Doris’s current at the time boyfriends. Mike Cook, this dude named Dreaddie and now Devin. Doris actually has a kid or two with Devin. That’s neither here nor there but suffice to say that Clarice really likes Doris’s taste in guys. So much so that she has let all of them fuck her multiple times. I don’t know if Doris is just a really good Christian friend disguised as a druggie hustler Valencia bimbo or what but good for Clarice who is getting shown what unconditional love in the form of Doris’s friendship is really all about. I sincerely admire Doris for being so cool about it. There is a lot more to all of these little topics I have brought up here. Believe that. In Clarice’s case for instance I have done a lot of things to push her towards fucking everyone who gets a sniff of her. I’ve fucked girls hooked up with guys and cheated in many different ways and my story is even uglier than Clarice’s which is pretty fucking ugly. None of that has much to do with me being broke right now except it does at the same time because I really need to give Clarice some cash today for food for Avondra and whatever else and I just had $4,000 lost it and then got it back to a healthy $1,200 and lost that and now I have nothing again but this two hour long creative writing exercise. I’m going to go ahead and post it on my blog I think. People don’t need to know all this shit about me and my life but so what if they do. I’m just a tragically underperforming actor in my own screen play but I still deserve to be heard if someone wants to listen.I find myself identifying with this more and more

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