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So, I’m hanging out on this cruise ship and there’s this craps table in front of me.  Well, it’s not like it suddenly appeared, but you get the idea.  I never had gambled in my life, but I know that it looks pretty neat on TV when the dude in the black tux, with drink in one hand, luscious babe in the other, suddenly goes for the big roll with the dice.  So, I figure I would give it a try.  Well, minus the tux, the drink, and the luscious babe.

You have to remember that I have never really even seen a craps table before, so you would have to bear with me.  The dealer slides six dice over toward me with this crooked stick.  He looks so debonair using that stick.  I could tell he has been well-experienced for many years with the stick.  He waves it around like a third arm.  Quickly my mind flashes to old Kung Fu movies I watched on Channel 5 while I was a kid, and my mind suddenly whips back as the dealer calls out, “Pick up the dice.”

So, I pick up the dice – all six.  The man slides six dice to me, and tells me to pick up the dice, I pick up the dice, right?  Wrong.  “You’re only supposed to take two.  Put the dice back down.”  So, hey, I figure I am good in math, and I place back four dice, leaving two in my hand.  I had performed the calculation in the head at light speed.  Actually, I was kind of proud of myself.  “Put back all the dice,” he calls out to me again.

Guess what?  He takes the six dice that I gave back with his stick and throws them away, like I have some hand disease or something, and slides me another six, “Take two dice.  Only two.”  He sounds a little irritated at this point.

Grabbing two dice.  I prepare to toss them up the long table.  So, what do I do?  I cup my hands together, blow in there, and shake them about.  Guess what?  Mr-dealer-man is upset again, “You can’t cover the dice!  Please return the dice.”  Once again, he takes the dice, throws them out, and slides me more dice.

Grabbing two dice again, I am careful not to cup my hands over them.  Dealer-dude is about to have a fit.  The table looks pretty long from here, so what do I do?  I shake the dice in one hand, mind you, this is not as satisfying when I feel the dice crackling about in both hands, and raise my arm overhand style to make sure the journey of the dice is pleasurably distant.  Dealer-dude raises his voice again, “No! Your hands must not leave the table.  Please return the dice.” Once again, he takes the dice, throws them out, and slides me more dice.

It is about this time where I am noticeably irritated.  And for some reason, this is seen as bad karma, for people stop placing bets on the table.  All eyes are upon me.  I look at the dealer.  I look at the table.  I look at the people.  I look at the dealer again.  I see a stack of chips at the far end of the table.  I look at the dealer again.  Pause.  I yell out, “C’mon, papa needs a new pair of shoes!” The dice fly through the air, float, and twirl.  My head turns slowly toward the dealer.  I can see as his face changes to a look of anguish as he mouths out the word ‘No’.  People look horrified.  All eyes are on the dice.  I feel a revengeful pleasure dwelling within. The dice hit the stack of chips and they splatter about.  I forgot to see what the dice read, but I just state, “Aww.. I don’t want to play anymore.” And, I left.
 

 

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