Soldier of Fortunes

Bear with me, readers - I have no idea where this is going to go. First of all, let me thank all those yahoos out there who bought Power Ball lottery tickets. If it wasn't for your fastidiousness (hope I'm using that word properly) and desperation, I might have been having paltry $100 million fantasies instead of the more robust $340 million fantasy that I wrestled with for a handful of days. If you're like me - and God bless you if you are - you queue up with other shifty-eyed citizens when the jackpot breaks the $100 million membrane. A lot of people buy their tickets in convenience stores, supermarkets, or off the big sweaty Lottery Fairy. Me? I go to the local newsstand-cum-gigantic-humidor. Normally, this place would be replete with itchy middle-aged men who pretend to find interest in magazines with such titles as "Civil War Pumpkin Carving," "Heavy Metal Pan Flute," and "Condensed Stories of Rickets Survivors". What everyone knows is that they're just trying to see how long they can hold out before letting out a rebel yell and barreling towards the adult magazine rack. Why go through this whole charade? Embrace your perversion! Stride mightily and purposefully towards your super-glossy, thick-stock pages of smut. Let the other customers think, "Now HERE is a man with direction and a clear vision. THIS guy lives by his own rules." Yeah, and he probably still plays Dungeons & Dragons, but 15 seconds of fleeting respect is about as much as he can reasonably expect each month. I never buy lottery tickets with the expectation that, hey, SOMEONE has to win - why not me? Sure, and SOMEONE has to be the first to hump a whale's blow hole, but it sure as hell is not going to be me. I only buy tickets when it's an intoxicatingly large jackpot. I'm not buying a chance to win - I'm buying a dream, or to be more exact, the RIGHT to dream. The right to dream of super-cool power boats, gargantuan houses and acres and acres of naked women. Could I instead put that effort into being industrious, thrifty and organized? Sure, but, spending $10 once or twice a year is much easier.

So, there I am, waiting behind the enterprising guy who has a list of "his" numbers - you know, the numbers he plays for every lottery, no matter what the size? Somehow, this modern-day Euclid has calculated that the gods of random chance have pre-ordained his inevitable jackpot if he just keeps his hands on the wheel every night the ping-pong balls are dropped. Let me put this gently: You have just as good a chance of winning if a stoned baboon hurled handfuls of warm dung at a giant bingo card and used those numbers. It's not like counting cards at the Black Jack table, watching for the lip-twitch of a slightly toasted businessman with a pair of Queens, or calculating the probability if the Redhead at the Roulette Wheel is a crumpler or a folder. Yet, there are people out there convinced that they have the system beat. Hell, there are lottery junkies so addicted that even past winners are still known to play the numbers. And how about the people in the office - you know, 50 people in the office chipping in $5 a piece, everyone from Darlene the receptionist to Frank in Accounting to Marci in Marketing going in on a jackpot, that, should they win, might net them each 500 bucks once the money has been split up. And should they win a substantial amount, who is going to bother to show up for work the next business day? Oh sure, you'll get the people who return to pick up the photographs of their spotty teenagers, their "special" pens and their "I Hate Mondays" coffee mugs, but other than that, they're busy booking flights to get their flabby pale bodies on a stretch of hot sand quicker than you can say "Jack Robinson". What if this was a vital utility office such as a gas company in the middle of Winter? What if it was a garbage-collection company? What if it was the local phone sex company? I'll tell you what - it would be anarchy, dear citizen. Anarchy.

Personally, I think lotteries and other games of chance are loaded pistols in the hands of a nation full of Bubbas if the proper perspective isn't maintained. Gambling is an addiction and if you have to ask yourself if you might be a gambling addict, then you probably are. For those of us who are not addicted to gambling, have a bit of perspective and realize that, well, you just might be a loser every time you play. Don't take it personally. There's not an Angel of Gambling who peers down at you through the toes in his sandals and says "This ain't your day, Butch" as he's chomping on a ratty cigar and hurling lightning bolts of bad luck your way. Meanwhile, you're cashing in savings bonds to maniacally scrape the silver coating off yet another serrated rectangle of chance with your lucky buffalo-head nickel.

I am a consumer of Coca-Cola products. I am not doing a commercial for them unless they want to offer me an oil tanker full of money, and even then, they wouldn't risk the profitability of their company by having a clown like me advertise for them.

But, I digress...

Coke runs contests constantly. Lift the cap and win the panhandle of Florida, have a disease named after you or get to punch out the actor or actress of your choice. Millions of prizes! One in three wins! Let me tell you something, I have NEVER won anything from these so-called contests. I'd have a metric ton of soda caps saying "Drink Coke - Play Again" while some lucky bastard out there is up to his pucker in winning caps. Yet, for all of my indignant posturing, I can let it go and focus on more important things, like the NEXT contest, the NEXT $100 million jackpot, the NEXT winning hand.

After all, I'm a man with direction and a clear vision. I live by my own rules. And will you look at that - it's time for Dungeons & Dragons.