I
hope y'all can forgive me for ignoring you for a couple of days,
but I've been doing vital work for cancer charities. Most of the
cancer charities in my area (with one exception, that I won't
harp on about) asked me to invest money for them. I had a plan,
batman, and with enough Monet, I could be guaranteed to give them
a handsome return on their investment. Armed with nearly £1
million channelled away from 12 year old girls with throat cancer
and chain letters, I headed for the nearest casino.
"Foooool!" I hear you cry, "You can't win at
gambling unless you are in the Mafia." First up, those of
you that know me will know I will now claim to be in the Mafia;
secondly, I can win at gambling. It's called the Doubling Method
where I come from, it may be called by its proper name where you
come from, but I don't come from where you come from, and even if
I did come from where you come from, I would come from it better
than you ever could, from.
The
Doubling Method consists of starting with a fairly large amount
of money (in my case £1million) and then betting a small amount
of it (£100) at any game with payout odds of 2-1. If you win,
you walk out with a profit. If you lose, you double the amount
you bet next time. If you win this, overall you'll be up and you
quit. If you lose, you re-double your bet and continue. My sneaky
plan was this: when it came time to quit - i.e. I was making a
profit - I'd just start again from the beginning. After the first
four £100 wins, I twigged that I needn't walk out of the casino,
change into new clothes and walk back in as an ostensibly new
person; I could just put the £100 profit into one of the
thousands of pockets in my combat trousers (which go surprisingly
well with a tuxedo) and then start the betting at £100 again.
There were a few dicey moments at the roulette table; after an
unbelievably long streak of red (on which some lucky bastard
managed to win about £80,000 before losing it down the back of
the sofa) I was down to my last £700,000. Feel the tension.
Quake with me. Imagine all those young children dying painfully
of cancer if black doesn't turn up in the next few spins. The
ball bounces round like it did in Indecent Proposal, Demi Moore
is blowing me under the table, Robert Redford is offering me
millions to penetrate him, talk show hosts are flitting around in
various states of undress with dinosaurs and the drugs are
beginning to take hold. The wheel begins to slow. The ball
bounces. Click. Click. Click. The casino switches on the magnets
and bang. I win. Black. £100 goes into my pocket with the other
8 profit chips, and I brace myself for my 27th straight hour
playing roulette. Who said you can't win at gambling?
I
win the next two spins. My knowledge of chance informs me that
the roulette table knows no history; there is no such thing as a
lucky streak and I should quit while I'm ahead. I have made the
cancer charities £1000, minus about £80 that I spent on
non-Nestle (baby-killers) coffee and other stimulants (Demi
Moore). I hand the money back. The charities are delighted. They
ask me to do the same next year; how can I say no? I'm also
offered a papal knighthood which I turn down to avoid giving the
semblance of being pro-Fascism. I can't be doing with that: brain
damage. NEEEEEXXXXXT.
PS
Don't shop at The Gap. Hitler wore khakis.