Nit-tastic Tales
11-03-2015
, 02:05 AM
11-03-2015
, 11:27 AM
Thanks man, that's further than I would've made it.
You might like the 2nd half, where I consider going home crying to my parents.
You might like the 2nd half, where I consider going home crying to my parents.
11-03-2015
, 11:35 AM
11-03-2015
, 01:32 PM
11-03-2015
, 02:38 PM
11-03-2015
, 03:52 PM
Wow, I never made that connection. Mind blown. No, I was amused because my hero had become his table image and I had become mine; and he was dead and I was a bum.I don't know who took it. I got it out of GIS. It definitely struck me immediately.
11-06-2015
, 06:46 AM
11-06-2015
, 07:06 AM
11-09-2015
, 07:54 AM
Here's Part II.
I peeled myself off the sidewalk and made it to the Plaza coffee shop. There I wolfed down their lunch special and drank a glass of water, and I felt better almost immediately.
Now I had 3 cents rattling around in my pocket. I also had a long distance calling card with some minutes on it. It was time to find a quiet payphone to make the Call to my parents, and to Admit Defeat. My parents are solidly in the "But how much did you lose?" school of gambling skeptics, and I was a grown-ass man. This was not going to be easy.
"Dad, I um...I kinda..."
"Let me ask you something: have you checked your mail recently?"
"No not really. Why?"
They hadn't junked my car like I'd asked them to. They'd sold it and sent me a check for $400, which had been sitting uncollected in my PO box for more than a week.
"So how's the blackjack scheme working out?."
"Great, yeah, great. It's working out great. I'm winning uh...you know. I'm winning."
I needed a job. Not a full time gig, just something to fall back on. I managed to snag a part-time job at a chain bookstore. Back at the turn of the century the US still had bookstores in malls. They're gone now for the most part. Slinging books paid $5.75/hr before taxes, not much of a bump from the Western, but I could count on the bookstore to never wipe out two weeks worth of my life roll over a few hours.
After that--really for the next year and a half--things went along swimmingly. During the day I put books in people's hands; at night I dropped in at the Western and got my drink on. I also fell in with a group of booksellers who liked to party, and I was hanging out with them some nights. I was enjoying myself tremendously. At some point fairly early on I was able to separate my gambling roll from my life roll, and at that point I knew I'd made it in Las Vegas.
Six months into my second-chance run I found I was rolled for the $2 and $3 games, and I set about trying to find good games at those buyins, and I found plenty of them out there: El Cortez, Golden Gate, Nevada Palace, San Remo, Barbary Coast, Arizona Charlie's...the list went on and on. But nowhere on that list could I find a place where I could safely spread above $40 when the count was high, not without drawing some sort of heat from the pit. Any bets over $25 at the $2 games or over $30 at the $3 games would inevitably get the floorman hovering around, staring daggers at me. This drove home the point that the Western was still the best game for my roll: $1-$40 is always a more profitable spread than $2-$25 or $3-$30.
About a year into the run I took a few slightly underolled shots at the $5 games. Even some of the major Strip hotels had decent $5 tables, but I couldn't find a place where a $50 bet from me wouldn't draw heat. I just told myself that I'd have to be very patient and to keep playing at the Western until the gambling roll hit around $7500, then I could jump in on the $10 games and hopefully get a cozy and profitable 1-8 spread going.
I went back and played the Western for another six months, until the night when I lit my career on fire and drove it over a cliff. I should never have been playing that night. I should not have been drinking at all. It was a Monday after a full weekend spent with some of my bookstore friends, hiking around Red Rock Canyon during the day and partying at night...most of the night. I'd had very little sleep, had worked all day at the bookstore, and I hadn't stopped after work to eat something. This sort of thing can cause a blackout with me when I drink. It doesn't have to be much alcohol. I know this all too well, and I manage to stave it off it for years at a time, but sometimes I forget, and the results are always very bad.
As I mentioned, "Eric" was the pitboss on the second shift, and his crew dealt way down into the double deck until there were just a few cards left. Then the third shift would show up at midnight along with a new pit crew. The third shift dealers were also mostly Eritreans, but their pitboss had them all shuffling less than halfway through the double deck. That was not a good game for me and I made a point to be out the door every night before the shift change. Except that this night Eric was pulling a double shift and covering for the third shift pitboss, at least that's what I can piece together from my scattered memories.
Now I know only two things about the Entity that takes over when I black out from drinking: (1) it hates every single thing about me and (2) it sets its sole purpose towards ruining my life as much as possible in the short time it's allotted. I'm guessing that I didn't notice the shift change, since Eric was still in the pit. All I know is that when I came to, out of my blackout, I caught up with myself in the middle of complaining to Eric about the dealers only dealing through half the double deck.
I could not believe what I was saying. Me, complaining about deck penetration! I might as well have been saying, "Hi, you think you might know me, but did you know that my real name is County McCounterson, the counteriest card counter in all the West? Did I mention that I count cards? Drunk as I was, I knew that I had just burned the place down for myself. I clamped my mouth shut mid-sentence, turned around and stumbled out into the night.
The next day I had to go back and be sure, much in the same way one sometimes feels compelled to glance into the toilet before flushing. Maybe I hadn't actually said the things I'd heard myself saying? Maybe I didn't say things clearly enough to be heard, or maybe what I'd said hadn't made any sense? I took a seat at a crowded table and nodded at Eric across the floor. He nodded back, making no move towards me. Maybe things were going to be okay. The first shoe was neutral and I bet the min throughout. On the second shoe count went up quickly. On the third hand of that I put a $12 bet out.
"Check change twelve." announced the dealer.
Check change twelve? WTF? The dealer would only make that announcement if someone put twelve dollars down and asked for chips. No one had done that.
"Shuffle" said Eric from across the room.
The dealer shuffled the double deck, though we'd gone less than a quarter of the way through it. I left the $12 bet out there for the first hand of the next shoe. Pulling your bets back between shoes is suspicious, better to leave it out and take a slight EV hit on the first hand, then adjust the bet as needed from there. The third shoe went negative and stayed there, and I ramped my bet back down to a dollar. It was too early to jump out on a bathroom break, so I rode it out. I started the fourth shoe with a dollar out, and it quickly went positive. I put a $4 bet out on the 2nd hand and slipped out a $10 bet for the third bet.
"Check change ten." Announced the dealer.
"Shuffle." said Eric.
I got up and walked to the cage and cashed my chips in for the last time. I supposed I could have been stubborn and rejiggered my betting pattern to raise the bet to $10 when the shoe went bad and I wanted them to shuffle, but that would not have worked for long, and the hourly from that would have barely paid for my drink tips if it had worked.
I wanted to say goodbye to Eric before I left. After all, I'd worked with him for almost two years. He surprised me by telling me he'd let me stay if I kept my spread to 1-8. The dealers and waitresses all liked me, and I was friendly to the rest of the players at the tables. It was a nice gesture from a good kid, but 1-8 wouldn't pay for my drink tips either.
I found myself with a $2800 bankroll and no real outlet for it. Why not, I asked myself, sink it into slot machines?
Slots: Easy Game
For a short period in the early 00's the slot manufacturers made the mistake of introducing a few dozen models of machines that could be beaten fairly easily. These models all had a secondary bank, separate from the main payouts, which accumulated credits until a certain combination of reels was hit. The side jackpots hit fairly often, usually more than once an hour. They all worked on a similar principle, whether the credits were in the form of cherries or diamonds or fireworks or coins or bingo numbers. Once a certain number of credits were banked on a given machine, that machine became +EV until the side game jackpot was hit and the credits were won. If the payout wasn't hit these credits stayed banked in the machine and did not reset when one player left and a new one sat down
A lot of tourists didn't understand the principle behind these models, and they would sit down and plop in enough money to build the side bank up to a +EV condition, then get up and head to another machine. Anyone who sat down next would be playing at an advantage courtesy of the previous customers, until they hit the side bank jackpot, which would then reset the bank and drop the machine back into a -EV state.
A statistician named Charles Lund became intrigued with these models. He sat down and played each of these machines and took detailed notes on them, eventually figuring solid estimates of the number of cherries or fireworks or diamonds needed in the banks of each model to make it a +EV play. He wrote a book on it called Robbing the One-Armed Bandits. When I bought the book in early 2000 there were hundreds of these machines parked all over Las Vegas, and I found that many were in the +EV state, quite often indeed.
Before long I had an interior map in my head of the locations of every advantage slot in nearly every casino in Las Vegas. My favorite spot was Downtown at the Fremont Street Experience: lots of casinos with lots of duplicate models packed into a tiny area. I called my trips through there the Downtown Fun Run, and completed them with a bluegrass quartet playing in my head, singing "Downtown Fun Run!" over and over again over a snappy banjo refrain. And it was a lot of fun: playing slot machines and making money? Holy ****!
I had no idea how long I needed to play these things before I got into the long-ish run. The variance seemed to be pretty small, but we all know that none of us are built to understand variance intuitively. This is why gambling will always be with us. In any case, I gave it 200 hours, and after 200 hours I was making $14.45/hour. Easy game.
Now I didn't think about quitting the bookstore because (1) I was picking up regular raises and promotions there, (2) I liked putting books in hands and (3) are we forgetting that I'm a nit? Also, the fourth reason had to do with the slot meta-game and how quickly it went bad. I'm going to make an assertion here, and I don't have any empirical evidence for it, but I'm guessing that wherever and whenever there is easy money to be had, before long a bunch of hard-eyed dudes will show up and ruin it for everyone.
Within a year or two of Lund's book coming out, these guys could be found on the casino floors in increasing numbers, parked near the various advantage slots and ready to pounce when a tourist got up from one. Myself, I preferred the walking method. My game was to keep moving and see as many machines as possible, but these guys mostly liked to lounge and lurk. Competition grew fiercer as time went on, and scuffles and fistfights started to break out. Some of the guys would even hover over a tourist if they weren't getting up from a +EV machine quick enough for their liking. The casinos started barring the hard-eyed dudes. I shaved off my beard, put my hair in a neat ponytail, and started going out to play in nice pants, a dress shirt and a tie, and I didn't pull any heat.
But it was all for nothing in the end. The advantage slots were not costing the casinos any profit per se: they still pulled in their drop percentage, but the hard-eyed dudes were scaring the customers, so the casinos gradually phased out the advantage machines in favor of standard machines. When it became no longer profitable for me to go out looking for dwindling numbers of already staked-out machines, my bankroll stood at just shy of $5000.
That's it. That's all the gambling content. The rest is just personal crap. I stayed in Las Vegas for 3 more years and completely fell to pieces. I moved back to New England and got better. At one point, when I was in a pretty bad shape, I had a brief IRL run-in with an admin on this site, and I was kind of a jerk to him. I regret that. It's not that great of a story imo but I wouldn't pass up a chance to apologize if people wanted moar, as long as it doesn't end up stickied up with the Dutch Boyd apology.
I peeled myself off the sidewalk and made it to the Plaza coffee shop. There I wolfed down their lunch special and drank a glass of water, and I felt better almost immediately.
Now I had 3 cents rattling around in my pocket. I also had a long distance calling card with some minutes on it. It was time to find a quiet payphone to make the Call to my parents, and to Admit Defeat. My parents are solidly in the "But how much did you lose?" school of gambling skeptics, and I was a grown-ass man. This was not going to be easy.
"Dad, I um...I kinda..."
"Let me ask you something: have you checked your mail recently?"
"No not really. Why?"
They hadn't junked my car like I'd asked them to. They'd sold it and sent me a check for $400, which had been sitting uncollected in my PO box for more than a week.
"So how's the blackjack scheme working out?."
"Great, yeah, great. It's working out great. I'm winning uh...you know. I'm winning."
I needed a job. Not a full time gig, just something to fall back on. I managed to snag a part-time job at a chain bookstore. Back at the turn of the century the US still had bookstores in malls. They're gone now for the most part. Slinging books paid $5.75/hr before taxes, not much of a bump from the Western, but I could count on the bookstore to never wipe out two weeks worth of my life roll over a few hours.
After that--really for the next year and a half--things went along swimmingly. During the day I put books in people's hands; at night I dropped in at the Western and got my drink on. I also fell in with a group of booksellers who liked to party, and I was hanging out with them some nights. I was enjoying myself tremendously. At some point fairly early on I was able to separate my gambling roll from my life roll, and at that point I knew I'd made it in Las Vegas.
Six months into my second-chance run I found I was rolled for the $2 and $3 games, and I set about trying to find good games at those buyins, and I found plenty of them out there: El Cortez, Golden Gate, Nevada Palace, San Remo, Barbary Coast, Arizona Charlie's...the list went on and on. But nowhere on that list could I find a place where I could safely spread above $40 when the count was high, not without drawing some sort of heat from the pit. Any bets over $25 at the $2 games or over $30 at the $3 games would inevitably get the floorman hovering around, staring daggers at me. This drove home the point that the Western was still the best game for my roll: $1-$40 is always a more profitable spread than $2-$25 or $3-$30.
About a year into the run I took a few slightly underolled shots at the $5 games. Even some of the major Strip hotels had decent $5 tables, but I couldn't find a place where a $50 bet from me wouldn't draw heat. I just told myself that I'd have to be very patient and to keep playing at the Western until the gambling roll hit around $7500, then I could jump in on the $10 games and hopefully get a cozy and profitable 1-8 spread going.
I went back and played the Western for another six months, until the night when I lit my career on fire and drove it over a cliff. I should never have been playing that night. I should not have been drinking at all. It was a Monday after a full weekend spent with some of my bookstore friends, hiking around Red Rock Canyon during the day and partying at night...most of the night. I'd had very little sleep, had worked all day at the bookstore, and I hadn't stopped after work to eat something. This sort of thing can cause a blackout with me when I drink. It doesn't have to be much alcohol. I know this all too well, and I manage to stave it off it for years at a time, but sometimes I forget, and the results are always very bad.
As I mentioned, "Eric" was the pitboss on the second shift, and his crew dealt way down into the double deck until there were just a few cards left. Then the third shift would show up at midnight along with a new pit crew. The third shift dealers were also mostly Eritreans, but their pitboss had them all shuffling less than halfway through the double deck. That was not a good game for me and I made a point to be out the door every night before the shift change. Except that this night Eric was pulling a double shift and covering for the third shift pitboss, at least that's what I can piece together from my scattered memories.
Now I know only two things about the Entity that takes over when I black out from drinking: (1) it hates every single thing about me and (2) it sets its sole purpose towards ruining my life as much as possible in the short time it's allotted. I'm guessing that I didn't notice the shift change, since Eric was still in the pit. All I know is that when I came to, out of my blackout, I caught up with myself in the middle of complaining to Eric about the dealers only dealing through half the double deck.
Spoiler:
I could not believe what I was saying. Me, complaining about deck penetration! I might as well have been saying, "Hi, you think you might know me, but did you know that my real name is County McCounterson, the counteriest card counter in all the West? Did I mention that I count cards? Drunk as I was, I knew that I had just burned the place down for myself. I clamped my mouth shut mid-sentence, turned around and stumbled out into the night.
The next day I had to go back and be sure, much in the same way one sometimes feels compelled to glance into the toilet before flushing. Maybe I hadn't actually said the things I'd heard myself saying? Maybe I didn't say things clearly enough to be heard, or maybe what I'd said hadn't made any sense? I took a seat at a crowded table and nodded at Eric across the floor. He nodded back, making no move towards me. Maybe things were going to be okay. The first shoe was neutral and I bet the min throughout. On the second shoe count went up quickly. On the third hand of that I put a $12 bet out.
"Check change twelve." announced the dealer.
Check change twelve? WTF? The dealer would only make that announcement if someone put twelve dollars down and asked for chips. No one had done that.
"Shuffle" said Eric from across the room.
The dealer shuffled the double deck, though we'd gone less than a quarter of the way through it. I left the $12 bet out there for the first hand of the next shoe. Pulling your bets back between shoes is suspicious, better to leave it out and take a slight EV hit on the first hand, then adjust the bet as needed from there. The third shoe went negative and stayed there, and I ramped my bet back down to a dollar. It was too early to jump out on a bathroom break, so I rode it out. I started the fourth shoe with a dollar out, and it quickly went positive. I put a $4 bet out on the 2nd hand and slipped out a $10 bet for the third bet.
"Check change ten." Announced the dealer.
"Shuffle." said Eric.
I got up and walked to the cage and cashed my chips in for the last time. I supposed I could have been stubborn and rejiggered my betting pattern to raise the bet to $10 when the shoe went bad and I wanted them to shuffle, but that would not have worked for long, and the hourly from that would have barely paid for my drink tips if it had worked.
I wanted to say goodbye to Eric before I left. After all, I'd worked with him for almost two years. He surprised me by telling me he'd let me stay if I kept my spread to 1-8. The dealers and waitresses all liked me, and I was friendly to the rest of the players at the tables. It was a nice gesture from a good kid, but 1-8 wouldn't pay for my drink tips either.
I found myself with a $2800 bankroll and no real outlet for it. Why not, I asked myself, sink it into slot machines?
Spoiler:
Slots: Easy Game
For a short period in the early 00's the slot manufacturers made the mistake of introducing a few dozen models of machines that could be beaten fairly easily. These models all had a secondary bank, separate from the main payouts, which accumulated credits until a certain combination of reels was hit. The side jackpots hit fairly often, usually more than once an hour. They all worked on a similar principle, whether the credits were in the form of cherries or diamonds or fireworks or coins or bingo numbers. Once a certain number of credits were banked on a given machine, that machine became +EV until the side game jackpot was hit and the credits were won. If the payout wasn't hit these credits stayed banked in the machine and did not reset when one player left and a new one sat down
A lot of tourists didn't understand the principle behind these models, and they would sit down and plop in enough money to build the side bank up to a +EV condition, then get up and head to another machine. Anyone who sat down next would be playing at an advantage courtesy of the previous customers, until they hit the side bank jackpot, which would then reset the bank and drop the machine back into a -EV state.
A statistician named Charles Lund became intrigued with these models. He sat down and played each of these machines and took detailed notes on them, eventually figuring solid estimates of the number of cherries or fireworks or diamonds needed in the banks of each model to make it a +EV play. He wrote a book on it called Robbing the One-Armed Bandits. When I bought the book in early 2000 there were hundreds of these machines parked all over Las Vegas, and I found that many were in the +EV state, quite often indeed.
Before long I had an interior map in my head of the locations of every advantage slot in nearly every casino in Las Vegas. My favorite spot was Downtown at the Fremont Street Experience: lots of casinos with lots of duplicate models packed into a tiny area. I called my trips through there the Downtown Fun Run, and completed them with a bluegrass quartet playing in my head, singing "Downtown Fun Run!" over and over again over a snappy banjo refrain. And it was a lot of fun: playing slot machines and making money? Holy ****!
I had no idea how long I needed to play these things before I got into the long-ish run. The variance seemed to be pretty small, but we all know that none of us are built to understand variance intuitively. This is why gambling will always be with us. In any case, I gave it 200 hours, and after 200 hours I was making $14.45/hour. Easy game.
Now I didn't think about quitting the bookstore because (1) I was picking up regular raises and promotions there, (2) I liked putting books in hands and (3) are we forgetting that I'm a nit? Also, the fourth reason had to do with the slot meta-game and how quickly it went bad. I'm going to make an assertion here, and I don't have any empirical evidence for it, but I'm guessing that wherever and whenever there is easy money to be had, before long a bunch of hard-eyed dudes will show up and ruin it for everyone.
Spoiler:
Within a year or two of Lund's book coming out, these guys could be found on the casino floors in increasing numbers, parked near the various advantage slots and ready to pounce when a tourist got up from one. Myself, I preferred the walking method. My game was to keep moving and see as many machines as possible, but these guys mostly liked to lounge and lurk. Competition grew fiercer as time went on, and scuffles and fistfights started to break out. Some of the guys would even hover over a tourist if they weren't getting up from a +EV machine quick enough for their liking. The casinos started barring the hard-eyed dudes. I shaved off my beard, put my hair in a neat ponytail, and started going out to play in nice pants, a dress shirt and a tie, and I didn't pull any heat.
But it was all for nothing in the end. The advantage slots were not costing the casinos any profit per se: they still pulled in their drop percentage, but the hard-eyed dudes were scaring the customers, so the casinos gradually phased out the advantage machines in favor of standard machines. When it became no longer profitable for me to go out looking for dwindling numbers of already staked-out machines, my bankroll stood at just shy of $5000.
Spoiler:
That's it. That's all the gambling content. The rest is just personal crap. I stayed in Las Vegas for 3 more years and completely fell to pieces. I moved back to New England and got better. At one point, when I was in a pretty bad shape, I had a brief IRL run-in with an admin on this site, and I was kind of a jerk to him. I regret that. It's not that great of a story imo but I wouldn't pass up a chance to apologize if people wanted moar, as long as it doesn't end up stickied up with the Dutch Boyd apology.
Last edited by suitedjustice; 11-09-2015 at 08:07 AM.
11-09-2015
, 08:36 AM
11-12-2015
, 07:55 PM
I'm drinking tonight so it's time to post in this fred. I'll try to cover a lot of ground here so I don't have to bump it too many times, but AMA if you want. I will be happy to answer.
I fell into the Charleston Underpass back before they fixed it. One night, drunk off my ass, I kind of teetered my way up to the overpass, balancing on the concrete rail to the side of the sidewalk, which looked to me like less work than walking downhill on the road then back uphill again, which led me onto the railroad tracks. From there I stepped off into space. Luckily I fell to the sidewalk on the right side (facing East) and not into the road.
Thanks, man. Little Guy loved people so much after I freed him. I fed him a lot and they fed him a lot and he got a little chunky, but not fat per se. My friends told me he would climb up on anyone's shoulder and he never pooped on anyone.
Sorry about the ban, unless you deserved it: I don't know what happened. Good luck with the new gimmick, should you choose one.
Thanks Morph. I know it sucks but what can you do? Gotta keep up the good modding.
Thanks man. Did you have the kitty dj gif as an avatar for a while? I liked that one. If not (1) sorry! and (2) I suggest a dj kitty gif as an avatar.
Thank you sir. Maybe pirates stole the border? I think the Sudans should get it sponsored and split the maneys "The Official Draft Kings© Sudan - South Sudan Border©."
Thanks for reading! That was some serious tldr to get through.
I work a regular office job, and have about 14k as a standby roll for when the MGM Springfield opens up. I'm going to play live NLHE though (if they have a poker room and they ****ing well better), not blackjack. Grinding blackjack is like being a bbv reg in that (1) it was always better back in the day than it is now and (2) sooner or later you're going to get b&nt.
Yeah but I angle shot bingo sloots at some point! I thought you might like that 
Thanks! I thought I might see the FranFran story for your 10k post 
Sheeeeit. I bet the comps were good though. You gave them your rewards card, right? Right?
No ****, dude. I could certainly use an editor.
Thank you. That meant a lot to me. I really thought I'd laid an egg on the second part.
When's the next Location Earth tr? Some of us like those, you know.
Thank you! I don't know, though: the last part is all personal **** and it's hard to write, and it's probably going to follow the Diminishing Law of Returns.
Like all the other vanilla biographies it will have the standard 3 Ms: Meth, Management, and Mormonism, so I don't know if there will be anything unique to report. We'll see.
Try not to keep too may threads open at once.
Thanks man. Here's Howard Nemerov on shipping the nickels.
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/171412
Really he could've made it about 1/3 shorter, but I think that's appropriate to this thread.
Sorry about the ban, unless you deserved it: I don't know what happened. Good luck with the new gimmick, should you choose one.
Thanks Morph. I know it sucks but what can you do? Gotta keep up the good modding.
Thanks man. Did you have the kitty dj gif as an avatar for a while? I liked that one. If not (1) sorry! and (2) I suggest a dj kitty gif as an avatar.
Thanks for reading! That was some serious tldr to get through.
Quote:
I went on 30k upswing using Arnold Snyder Easy Red 7s system
practiced for about a month...tons of hours...played maybe 300 shoes to prove the concept...was a big winner with fake money
So I took a shot at the casino ..$100 min bet table.. 1-5 unit spread...sometimes 1 -10 spread if i was getting very lucky or unlucky , but only during amazing counts....started with about 50k to my name...played for more than 100 hours in 2 weeks...they just thought i was a reg poker player/pit degen, in town for their big poker series ( I was there for the 1st event and main event)
practiced for about a month...tons of hours...played maybe 300 shoes to prove the concept...was a big winner with fake money
So I took a shot at the casino ..$100 min bet table.. 1-5 unit spread...sometimes 1 -10 spread if i was getting very lucky or unlucky , but only during amazing counts....started with about 50k to my name...played for more than 100 hours in 2 weeks...they just thought i was a reg poker player/pit degen, in town for their big poker series ( I was there for the 1st event and main event)
Spoiler:
Thank you. That meant a lot to me. I really thought I'd laid an egg on the second part.
When's the next Location Earth tr? Some of us like those, you know.
Like all the other vanilla biographies it will have the standard 3 Ms: Meth, Management, and Mormonism, so I don't know if there will be anything unique to report. We'll see.
Quote:
All my life I was looking for profitable slot grinder, found him on 2+2. Real life story has more value then any briliant philosophy book (well, unless you are polishing diamonds in Amsterdam all your life' then it is premier league). Immediately from your style came to mind http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/177229
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/171412
Really he could've made it about 1/3 shorter, but I think that's appropriate to this thread.
Last edited by suitedjustice; 11-12-2015 at 08:13 PM.
12-19-2015
, 02:28 AM
Thanks man, but you're the second poster who was bant soon after liking this thread.
01-05-2016
, 11:01 AM
