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Monday, August 19, 2019

Magic Marker

The Moonar environs around Futility Base are surprisingly teeming with activity. Where we expected dust, craters, and desolation, we've found taxis, hotels, hookers, and degenerates.

It's almost as if I'm not on the moon at all. Regardless, I will continue my mission and fulfil the scientific explorational objectives of mapping the surrounding area, taking food and beverage samples, and performing multiple exchanges of our Earth currency.

My body seems hell bent on staying on Eastern time, which in practicality means I hit the sleep hammock in Vegas time and wake up at zero dark thirty Flusherville time. No matter, I'm not here to sleep, right?

My Amazon Primenow moonar supplies provided all kinds of nourishment for breakfast. While the Little Giant burbled away, spewing hot brown joe out of it's basket, I munched on Punishement Cheese, Emergency Nuts, Redemption Oatmeal, and 'What Was I Thinking When I Said Yes to Greek' Yogurt.

It's a great way to start the day, and I like to get some writing in while gather get my wits, which are scattered about the suite.

My plan was to go downtown and take a marker. I only brought $400 cash with me. Not that I'm optimistic - I recognize wholeheartedly that $400 is a non-starter here in this money-gobbling town.

No, you'd better be thinking a bankroll of at least $425 or even $437.50.

I had just a few bucks on me, so I went down to the casino and cashed in two Canadian hundred dollar bills that Mrs. Flusher doesn't know about, to get me a startin' bankroll.

It's a shame Canadian currency shares the same nomenclature as American - I wouldn't feel as bad getting $140 dollars for 200 loons or 200 poutines or 200 gretzkys or whatever.

Regardless... I HAD MONEY AGAIN. And I was gonna gamble that money. On something stupid.


And why not? This miserable losers game, which you should never play, keeps paying me.

Twelve feet from the cage, my brain did a "SHINY! THERE! BUFFALO!" and so I played Buffalo. Then I made it to video keno.

This all looks great but in a repeat of every other time, I blew much of it back, and whatever I didn't blow back, I blew on video poker. Triple play short pay Bonus.

I don't chase comps as much as I once did, but I do like the offers I'm getting from MGM and I'm within striking distance of making Gold this trip. And with that, I can tier match to Diamond at Caesars, with which I can waive resort fees at those properties. Seems worth a shot.

After a decently long session of screwing around in the Luxor casino, I was down to $3 - which I kept back only because I'd need a tip at breakfast. Because I had a plan, a daring plan, a bold plan - that involved using $20 freeplay at the Four Queens to parlay from quarter Jacks to a dollar royal for $4000. Barring that, I'd eat lunch on points.

Lyft was swyft, and all of a sudden, there I was. By the way, does every Lyft driver run their car through the Gallons of Sickening Putrid Floral Scent Carwash every fucking morning - or is it just me?

People, it's not like we're in the 1700s when perfume was a replacement for bathing.

I entered the Four Queens with feet firmly planted and a determined look on my face.

Within four minutes, I was at the cage, taking a marker, in a heartbreaking case of premature elimination, disappointing both me and the Four Queens.

Off to Magnolia's for lunch.

My phone zooms. So I use it for no real reason. But I use it.
I didn't deserve a reward, but I got one anyway, a sea of country throw-up gravy, slathered over a chicken-fried steak (aka hamburger). And eggs. And hash browns.

If you're worried about my wellbeing, rest assured, I left behind at least a tablespoon of country throw-up gravy.

I used points to cover the meal, and went at the Jacks again. It wasn't cooperating at all. This was discouraging.

Next stop, the bar. Double Double Bonus. I put in a hundred and went at it, and was almost out after much thrashing and no quads. But things turned.

Those four queenie bitchas like my button pushing enough to come back and see me again. And with this additional stake, I nailed a bagfull of threes, avec kicker!

Interesting time - 12:34.
Things were definitely looking up! But the day's roller coaster was just around the first bend.

    1 comment:

    1. I "lol'd", guffawed and shot Arnold Palmer out my nose when I read this: "I wouldn't feel as bad getting $140 dollars for 200 loons or 200 poutines or 200 gretzkys or whatever."


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