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I could not watch. I could not watch.

I paced violently, staring at the acrylic spangly blue carpet. Please Global Draw, be nice to me. Please. Please. I heard the chuntering and clacking of the simulated ball. I heard it stop. I heard the simulated croupier's voice, but not with great clarity. I waited for the duffduffduffduffduffduff of the bank clocking up £300.

I waited.
I waited.

THERE IT WAS!! SWEET RAPTUROUS JOY!!!! I had inhaled the most stimulant rich smoke of the cocainiest devil game of all time. I had lived to tell the tale. I had cycled against the gradient and had won the polka dot jersey albeit feeding the mouths of some real kings on the way up the mountain. Duffduffudufffffdufff. Then the penny dropped.

It wasn't from 'my' terminal, it was the Chinese guy on the next terminal. My terminal was, as, quiet, as, a, mouse.

I wept tears of sorrow. I was being pulped brutally by the corporate FOBBO fat cats and queen of the bitches, Lady Luck.

There were £250 notes available in my newly diagnosed bulimic wallet. I was out of control now. The autopilot was set for the runway and the undercarriage was poised to rip up the tarmac. I was pressing buttons of rationality in my logic centre but the messages were being diverted by the destructors of reason and sense.

This, this well overdue dose of 'luck' for the £15 easy to swallow, the £15 loss.

Twelve whirrs, thirteen lucky whirs as a stray tenner rolled in last of all.

£250 boys and the fattest even money gamble laid out before me. Red was so over due, it had to be, just HAD to be red. A potential £500, as good as mine, was there a jackpot sequence for the £500?

Let's try and find out.

Place bet.

The oscillating squirreling of the ball, this was safe territory. Enjoyable. I had neither won nor lost, why couldn't life be like this all the time? No cruel realities. Everything was about to be alright. I tried to sooth my tachycardic physica. This was my anxiolytic, except it wasn't, it really wasn't, the squirreling thinned out and I knew a few rythmic metallic clacks would follow, hopefully bringing £500 in tow.

I took a breath so deep it could have filled up the starved oxygen tanks of an underwater football team with Scuba apparatus. I looked at the football coupons and wished I 'd taken the fiver loss and done a silly acumulator and left the building with the hope of a win on Saturday. Triple Yankess, union crossovers and other crazy betting shit I didn't really understand. I understood this though, my retina was going to convey a message of extreme elation or extreme dissillusionment to me. I closed my eyes.

"Number 30" announced the dealer.

Not being a keen roulette player I cheered to the whole shop, thirty was a red number for sure like 5 and 15, a red number....except it wasn't. It was black, the realisation of my mistake. BLACK. BLACK. My hot blooded raised lofty arms turned to goose pimpling dejection and deep depression and a hollow hollow stabbing feeling of pure and utter intense misery flooded my soul and I wanted at that very moment to die. What a f*****g f*****g f*** up. I swore profusely, all my adrenalin spent. I had no anger, I had no sympathy with myself. All I knew was that I had done a very bad thing. Where were the Cluedos? Where were the dials? Where were the p1 Cash Attacks? The safe games. They weren't here. They were somewhere else. This was the lair of addicts and I belonged.

Then the girlfriend voice popped into the head. The responsibilities. The other voices. Goading, nagging, chiding, patronising, disapproving, reproachful, unsympathetic voices. I had to block them out, but I knew at the same time that I had promised to buy some pan scourers from Wilkinson for 49p.
My God, I had blown enough cash to keep the whole street in pan scourers for life. "TWAT!" I shouted out loud, my inner angst, self loathing and vitriol spilling out as cursive vocalisations. "f*******!".
I hated myself and I hated the corporation whoever they were.
The side effects had hit home. The Nausea and vomiting prevelant, I took stock. Still a maelstrom of turbulent waters. Shaky hands opened the thin wallet and counted the remaining £280 sheets. The plan. Chinese guy had left. £140 in each. Red on each. Do it. Don't do it. Do it. You have NOTHING to lose. You can't feel any worse and this will make you feel better if you win.
Do it. I obeyed and shakily loaded up 2*£140.

I pressed and jolted out my seat, pacing around the shop like a whirling dervish tied to some waltzers. Spinning like a sycamore seed in a gale in a tunnel I paced frenetically in a chaotic mess.

The respite. Stereo duff duff duffs with only my terminals in play. I had a £560 pay back and I calculated a £235 loss over the day. I felt not jubilation but a sense that an unbearable weight had been supported somewhat from another quarter. £35 on red and in it popped in for the £200 loss.

I started to walk but could not. I was locked, embroiled. This was the moment of fight. The point when you turn and square up. The proverbial point of no return. A highly aggressive confrontation. A sphincter rebelling. A bubble ready to burst.

£200 black.

I've never been crsuhed by a 16 ton weight and rebounded back to shape when it was dissipated BUT I'm guessing it feels like how I felt when black came in.

I wanted to smile at everybody. I was even. I'd had the dirtiest, filfthiest adrenaline fest ever. It was pure dirty, kinky adrenalin fuelled selfish pig gorging horrible shallow superflous soul destroying emotionally degrading fun. It was f*****g good fun. I wanted to smile at everyone, but I'd smile more if I was £200 up. No thought process, inject the poison play quick repeat bet BAM! I'd win the £200, go straight home after buying the pan scourers, have a serious word with myself, pretend I'd won the £200 by grinding out the value on fruit machines and wait for the adrenalin to subside to a level where I could think rationally and sustain an erection and go back to being normal. Hell I might even buy The Daily Mail for a week and talk about golf clubs to my friends for a while.
JOLT! I was bought back to life, or death, once more by the rudish interruption that I was now £200 down.

It was then I realised I had five minutes to buy pan scourers.

£250 red.

It lost.
I lost.
I didn't get the pan scourers.
I lost all my money. I lost all my self esteem. I wanted to cry so much.
The Smiths could have made a whole album of lyrics with the thoughts and feelings in my head at that moment.

The dirty pans in the sink, the reminder of the folly of mankind.
The sulky girlfriend, the reminder of the folly of greed in finance and sociability and relationships.
The feelings of self loathing will pass in due course. We all need to escape and I don't plan to wait long for the next holiday.
It's a dark world, but I'm not that bothered about finding the light switch.
He went to sleep, a glimmer of optimism eminating from an unknown and unexplained location. It didn't drown out the doom, but he knew that it soon would. That was the beauty and the downfall of the human mind.
Would he gamble his life on red? He didn't need to answer that question. Pointless anyway, pathological gambler, pathological liar. The cuddles blanket of the degenerate.

The End.

Or is it?

876121276378162355435
2345
3425
423
5
32
45
23454235
23
45

23
45
23

43
5
234
5
23
54
423
5

432
5
32
25

23
5
23
5
2
453
25

If you've just joined at this point and are wondering why there are loads of numbers in the posting then I'm afraid you've skipped a beat. Go back and read it all again. No cheating now!

The following information is from credible intelligence sources on the latest viruses sweeping across our nation's information superhighway, so take extreme caution and be on high virus alert at all times!

THE GEORGE W BUSH VIRUS - Causes your computer to keep looking for viruses of mass destruction

THE JOHN KERRY VIRUS - Reverses every position each time you turn your computer on

THE AL GORE VIRUS - Causes your computer to keep counting, recounting, recounting ... ad nauseam

THE BILL CLINTON VIRUS - Gives you a permanent hard drive, with no memory

THE LORENA BOBBITT VIRUS - Reformats your hard drive into a 3.5 inch floppy, then discards it through Windows

THE BOB DOLE VIRUS - Makes a new hard drive out of an old floppy

THE LEWINSKY VIRUS - Sucks all the memory out of your computer, then emails your best friends about what it did).

THE RONALD REAGAN VIRUS - Saves your data, but forgets where it is stored

THE JESSE JACKSON VIRUS - Warns you constantly about illegitimate file reproduction, while illegitimately reproducing files in the background and rhyming it all

THE MIKE TYSON VIRUS - Quits after two bytes

THE OPRAH WINFREY VIRUS - Your 300 mb hard drive shrinks to 100 mb, then slowly expands to restabilize around 200

THE JACK KEVORKIAN VIRUS - Deletes all old files

THE PROZAC VIRUS - Totally screws up your RAM, but your processor doesn't care

THE JOEY BUTTAFUOCO VIRUS - Only attacks minor files

THE ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER VIRUS - Terminates some files, leaves, but will be back

THE MICHAEL JACKSON VIRUS - Attacks only minor files

THE LORENA BOBBITT VIRUS - Reformats your hard drive into a 3.5 inch floppy, then discards it through Windows.

Edited by kriss, 15 January 2009 - 01:25 PM.

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