My ‘War’ With Kent was better-natured than it may at firstappear.
No Gods were harmed during this war.
Some mortal egos may have been bruised however.
This post is a chocolate mess.
I once knew a Theist named Kent
Who told me his Joy Heaven Sent
But his mind slipped a gear
His faith fled in fear
So I gave up on Kent for Lent
What do you call a ‘Facebooker’ who accuses another ‘Facebooker’ of hacking his own post and then reports said ‘hacker’ to Facebook for hacking his own post and then posts on his timeline, in excruciating detail how he, using his stellar sleuth skillset, figured all this out?
Take your time…
OK, time’s up.
“A Self-Made Fool, Devoid of Logic, who plays the ‘Pity Me’ card because he wants to become a laughing stock for anyone who knows how Facebook actually works.” (And for some who don’t)
Or succinctly put, you call him “Kent”
But don’t take MY word for it; you can read some samples of his ‘piercing eloquence’ below:
To let everyone get a little good news or good thought or just bring a little happiness on Facebook. I try to be positive and enjoy getting in contact with others old and new friends.
Check my profile I want to share and be friendly with all post and maybe make a positive difference in as many peoples’ lives as I can. Try and let the good things in the world come to light. Every now and then I may post something negative but it is trying to make a positive difference.
This is as good of a world as you want it to be. I choose to try and stay away from the bad things in the world. There really is a lot of good going on out there. I want to enjoy and be as happy as I can. While sharing my happiness with all I can. Happy,happy,happy
“While sharing my happiness with all I can. Happy,happy,happy”
Classic case of ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’
Who are you trying to convince of your “happy, happy, happy,” happiness?
You or ‘they’? All of ‘they’?
I think you, as do probably 99.99 percent of posters, just seek validation of your self-worth.
All are just ‘chasing likes’.
And this is fine—human nature, as it were.
I have read a lot of your posts on your timeline and your profile.
And it seems to me your ‘happy happy happiness’ is primarily just a proselytizing form of sausage wrapped in a saccharine pancake smothered in syrup.
Once again, who are you trying to convince?
Does your ‘faith’ require incessant posts requiring the great unwashed mass of the rest of us to “like, type ‘amen’, and share” if we too believe?
I’m actually not sure that I completely discount your sincerity, but it does tax credulity.
But you go Bro!
Keep posting your syrupy praises of God, Jesus, and whomever else gives you that happy,happy,happy.
Why the hell not?
Still a free country, eh?
Peace be unto you Kent.
Or perhaps that should have read,
‘Peace is onto you Kent.’
My friend are you hell bent on trying to make people think you are an arrogant inconsiderate individual that places one under a microscope to disrespect their character coming to a narrow minded hypothesis attempting to destroy or manipulate their actions in such a manner that will somehow give you the feeling of superior intelligence that has no effect or the ability to change the individuals status or manner in which his goal to share and maybe bring a little faith and joy to their likes and beliefs.
I am only trying to stand strong by my spiritual beliefs. Sharing with those that I feel are doing the same. God bless you Lance. Thank you for two things. Bringing attention to others that my self worth and my ability to share my faith with others is of most importance to me.
I want nothing and I give God my Heavenly Father all the Praise and glory. For with out him I nor anyone or anything could be possible or exist. You should get what I have been blessed with.
Yes, you can be happy, happy,happy. Go for it it is a free Country. I truly believe you would have a different perspective on life in general and you can have topics that have a more sense of purpose. You are close what I think of my self is as important to me as what other think also.
I really appreciate your concern. At least you know the content of the majority of my post. This is my purpose to share with and post to my friends that enjoy and appreciate what I have to share. This is Facebook just as you shared your opinion you opened the door where I can share mine.
I hope you are not offended. This is not my intention and it will never be. God bless you Lance thank you for this humbling experience. Remember always give God all the praise and glory. Bless you once again.
Your response is in serious need of an edit. Allow me to distill it down to the salient points:
Lance is a pompous ass
Lance believes (i.e., Lance has ‘Faith’—joke there for ya Kent) that he is the smartest person in the room.
Kent is trying desperately to hang onto his faith by shit-posting endless memes over-expressing same, even though he freely admits that his intended audience already ‘believe’—preaching to the choir, as it were.
Lance needs to ‘find’ God in order to be happy and have a sense of purpose.
Lance needs to give an imaginary friend all the credit for everything Lance ever does. (I assume this includes both good and bad??)
Lance needs to be blessed, and often, and by someone who knows how.
That about cover it?
Lest I forget
I wrote these for you
Added a photo too
Make someone’s day!
*Death Poetry Day*
A post was once written
No one was smitten
I’d call that fittin’
Shit it was named
Its one claim to fame
Now that’s a damn shame
He once wrote a post
Lesser than most
Shit it was called
Comments were stalled
The content was trite
Just didn’t seem right
To waste all my time
Nor even a lime
To drop in my rum
Ho Hum! Ho Hum!Ho Hum!
(The lack of the lime was the least egregious of the sins)
A Cunt of a Man called Osteen
Built a Church so very Pristine
But he refused to let in
Those flooded in sin
“Fuck ‘em! They’re way too Unclean.”
“I know y’all love me. You need to get on social media. But First give Harvey-The–Hurricane the ol’ heave-ho! God Blesses you, but I don’t. Move along. We’re closed.” –Joel Osteen
“My God, they killed them all!”
Here comes the story of the Hurricane.
“WoW! Who would’ve ever thought they’d find me doing God’s work?” –Lance
“Lil Kim’s got the hydrogen bomb” His news bitch announced in singsong “He’ll mount it one day “And launch it your way “Then smartly fuck off to Hong Kong” “So rong!”
There once was a boy name of Kim Who decided to act on a whim He launched a big bomb In the direction of Guam And that was the ending of him!
In a Loon we call Kim Jong-Un The World sees a silly buffoon But he put up his Dukes Oh Fuck me; They’re Nukes! And The World is now singing new tunes! (So soon?)
‘A Celestial North Korea’
Credit: Christopher Hitchens
A full week has passed
Since Jon GOT that ass
Even Dany GOT pleased
By Crow’s bended knees
And now we must fast for Season The Last
(And That’s The GOTcha)
Bonus Content Below:
The Most Lovely and Captivating and Charmingly Endearing Emilia
The Iron Throne – Game of Thrones’ AWFUL final episode
“Oh Good God! Lance is posting yet more ‘driveling-snivelings’ about writers, writing, and his writing travails! He wears me out!”
“Well, you may thank Mister Ohh over at His Place for prompting me to resurrect this long since dead post on the subject. Have a pleasant journey and be sure to give him my best regards while you are there. Ohh! (See what I just did there?) Oh btw, the password is “Mo’ Sent me.” ‘Mo, being shorthand for ‘Moron.’ Gawd! I crack me up! Ha. Ha. Ha.
The Angry Mab
“I dreamt a dream tonight.”
“And so did I.”
“Well, what was yours?”
“That dreamer’s often lie.”
“…In bed asleep while they do dream things true!”
“Oh! Then I see Queen Mab hath been with you!”
–R&M: Romeo and Mercutio
“Peace, Good Mercutio. Peace. Thou talks of nothing. Thou talkst of nothing.”
“True. True. I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain. Begotof nothing but vain fantasy, which is as thin of substance as the air and more inconstant than the wind who woes even now the frozen bosom of the north, and being angered puffs away from thence, turning his side to the dew-dropping south.”
Thou Talkst of Nothing
After a night of hard blogging and writing of drafts, and becoming somewhat disillusioned and more than daft, I perished toward my bed, reaching out for the Arms of Morpheus.
Within moments I slipped into that Hypnagogic Sleep, that strange place between two worlds, that semi-conscious state of being, yet not being,
Salvador Dali 1928
Sleep, but Not Sleep.
Then I began to dream things that should have been true.
But were not true
Yet so true.
Wonderful words words words!
Words to sate my unnourished prose.
Words swirl’d about in my mind like so many fireflies on a summer’s eve:
“Words, words, words!. Once, I had the gift. I could make love out of words as a potter makes cups of clay. Love that overthrows empires. Love that binds two hearts together, come hellfire & brimstone.”
— “Will Shakespeare in Love”
I had it (them, those) words… goin’ on.
Brilliant words. Beautiful, poignant words! All right there!
Right there In My Mind
Hovering, floating just above the surface
I reached out my finger to tap the “Publish Mouse”
We freshened up, got dressed, and prepared to head down to the Casino Floor. Generally, and as a semi-hardened and made-fast rule, I do not gamble at The Plaza.
But on this night I was feeling freshly full of myself (No small thanks to Shonnie) and wanted to capitalize on that feeling before the ‘fresh’ had time to wear off.
Please allow me to clarify something:
I do not believe in Santa, The Easter Bunny, Cracks-in-Sidewalks, Broken Mirrors, Feet Belonging to Dead Rabbits, Karma, Fate, Oklahoma, or God.
But I do believe in Dama Fortuna, AKA ‘Lady Luck’.
In fact, before we left our Blue Hotel Room Love Nest, and while Shonnie was taking her second shower of the day, I offered up my Burnt Offering to La Dama Fortuna:
I carefully picked up a small bowl left behind by Room Service and ceremoniously set it down on the night stand. Then I retrieved a crisp five-dollar bill from my wallet. (I ain’t cheap ya know).
While holding ‘Honest Abe’ over the bowl, I splashed a little Jim Beam onto him.
Then carefully placing Mister President Lincoln into said bowl, I took my Zippo and set him and the fiver ablaze as my lil boomer box belted out this song, hoping Lady Dama would enjoy the music and smile down upon me and bless me with favorable favors:
Y’all may be thinking that I’m making this shit up.
Allow me to assure you.
I ain’t. I’m just really weird is all.
Gamblers, real true-blue-dyed-in-the-wool Gamblers, are a funny lot, funny as in half-crazy-funny at a bare minimum.
Your humble author is certainly no exception and registers a solid ‘three-quarter nuts‘ on the ‘Crazy O’Meter‘.
Shonnie emerged from her shower just as Frank was finishing up his song and Mister Lincoln had finished curling up and turning into semi-green ash.
“What the hell you been listening to? Some old-timey shit? And why are there ashes in that little bowl you’re all hunched over? And why does it smell funny in here?”
“Good God Woman! Must I explain everything to you? We’re In-Las-Fucking-Vegas! Normal behavior don’t work here. Trust me.”
She produced something resembling a petite pout, half-real at best, but I sensed I had slightly wounded her. Naw, probably just winged her a little.
I abandoned my tiny Dama Fortuna Altar and rushed over to Shonnie, embracing her little body and kissing her deep and tender.
“I’m so, so sorry Baby, (I genuinely was sorry for my un-called-for outburst) sometimes I get a case of the ‘pre-game’ jitters. Forgive me?”
She saw she had me at a remorseful disadvantage now and quickly capitalized,
“Okaaay, but you better be nice to me Cowboy,” she said softly while lowering her head and trying to look all ‘hang-dog’. Then she quickly looked up piercing me eyeball-to-eyeball and added not-so-softly, “Because you won’t like me when I’m angry.”
“Smart Ass! C’mere!” We kissed again. Then we laughed in unison.
All Good Now.
The very LAST thing a gambler wants to take to the ‘Gamble’ is ‘Bad Juju’.
An Ill or even slightly awkward feeling between a gambler and his woman is the absolute worst Juju of all, even worse than betting with scared money, which is damn near as bad.
If you’re carrying either of these situations to The Arena you may as well save yourself the bother, mail them a check, and call it a night.
You want Good Juju and Fearless Money is what I’m sayin’.
Good Juju Being Administered by Dama Fortuna
As we entered the Plaza Casino proper, it was all flashing lights, laughter, musical sounds from the slot-machines—basically your typical Las Vegas Scene.
I led Shonnie over to a bank of ‘dollar slots’. I pulled out a crisp one-dollar bill and fed it to the hungry machine.
“Pull the lever and stand by,” I said to her.
“I’ve never gambled before,” she protested. “You do it.”
“Honey, if my instincts are right, this ain’t gambling. Go ahead. It’s my dollar anyhow, so you really ain’t gambling, Per se.”
Joni’s Tribute to all the Slot Machine Junkies of the World
“The Dry Cleaner from Des Moines”
Vid Share Cred: Renato Spallucci
“Pear who? Okay,” she said, “Here goes nothin’!” while pulling the Bandit’s one arm, using both her arms to do so.
“I certainly hope not,” I said.
I’d never seen anything like that shit before: Both Arms to pull a one-armed bandits’ arm?!
I love this woman!
We watched the cylinders spin.
Bells sounded and lights flashed from the machine.
Double bar. Double Bar. Double Bar!
Casino silver dollars rained down into the tray, making that magic music of metal clanging on metal.
One hundred bucks! A propitious beginning!
(And damn good Juju!)
“Oh My Fucking God!” she screamed.
“Baby, God had nothing to do with it. Thank Dama Fortuna, if you feel compelled to thank someone.”
“Drama…who?? Shit! Wow! Look at all that shiny money!”
“It’s all yours. Take that plastic bucket and fill it up.”
“Should we go again?” She asked breathlessly.
“Absolutely not,” I said. “Come on. I’m gonna show you the ‘real’ games.”
“You’re the Boss,” she giggled.
I leaned very close to her, pulled my collar to her lips as I breathed into her ear,
“Speak into the microphone, My Dear.”
“Lance, you’re crazy!”
“Yeah. I am. C’mon.” I led her to a craps table.
“Oh! This looks complicated,” she said.
“Well, yeah. It is and it isn’t. Don’t worry. I will walk you through it. One question though, do you throw a baseball like a girl?”
“Ok then. We should be fine.”
Craps is the best game ever invented by Man.
I love the high-energy!
The Craps Crowds
I love the suspense as the galloping dominoes bounce down the table.
And last but certainly not least, I love the possibility of winning (and sometimes even losing) very large amounts of money in a very short amount of time.
“It’s all-in-the-game Yo!”
And yes, I am what some might call, a
Started when I was hustling crap games at Honey Grove Junior High in the school hallways between classes.
Only got busted once.
Rather Proud of my Record.
Shonnie and I shouldered our way in at one of the far ends of the table. We sandwiched ourselves between a middle-aged, gray-haired man (on our left) in a business suit (I immediately pegged him as a ‘Corporation Man’ on Convention) grasping what looked like a scotch and water and there was a cigar in a tiny ashtray set on the rail in front of him. It was obviously neglected, as there was an inch and a half of ash hanging from it.
On the right side of us, a ‘normal’ looking guy, about thirty-something, sporting a too loud red t-shirt and a gimme cap. Baseball. I forget the team.
Normal Guy had control of the dice, so that meant once his roll ended it would be Shonnie’s turn to ‘step up to the plate’.
The table was just about at ‘capacity’. I glanced around, looking at the contestants. You see, in Craps the idea is to find the table with the highest energy level. You want the most up-beat, loudest, rowdiest players at your chosen table:
Players who were having FUN–Again, Good Juju.
Sad to say, but one can never (in my experience) win any money at an empty table or one with an atmosphere of doom, which does sometimes come rolling in like a blue norther on a bad Texas Autumn afternoon.
Savvy crap shooters recognize the early warning signs of ‘The Atmosphere of Doom’ and fly away like scalded rabbits just before, or just as it descends.
This table was on the upswing and I intended to make quick work of it before the worm turned. (The worm always turns, but sometimes, thankfully, it takes some long time in the turning.)
Looking up and down the side of the table, opposite the ‘Boss’ and the dealers and the stick men and all, I studied the other contestants. There was a young couple to the right of ‘Normal Guy’. Right out of “Honey Moon Ville,” I guessed.
Next to them stood a nervous-acting, fidgety Middle-Eastern type wearing a white starched shirt and lots of bling. Next to him, a dude with a crew cut, tight shirt, bulging biceps, who may have been suffering from ‘Roid Rage’, given his overly passionate ramblings at the dice as they bounced down the green felt.
At the far end of the table there was a young big-bosomed bleach-blond hanging onto the arm of another elderly well-dressed business man. (‘A man and his Hooker’, I ungraciously thought).
Next to them there was a diminutive oriental man. I was thinking ‘China’, but could not be certain. I had a wonderful experience once at a craps table at The Golden Nugget following the streak of another China Man. Won almost two grand while he was in control of the dice.
You see, all craps players are infamously superstitious and from that night forward every time I encountered an ‘Ornamental’ man shootin’ crapthe needle on my Juju Meter pushed slightly more into the green end of the spectrum.
There were several other players mixed in and even some standing behind, perhaps waiting for some space to open up. I was happy with the crowd and the level of ‘Good Juju’.
After the current ‘roll’ had ended (wins all around) I pulled out four Benjamins and put them on the table in front of one of the dealers.
“Give me two hundred green ($25), and two hundred red ($5),” I announced. The dealer spread out my four bills so ‘The Eye in the Sky’ could get a look. He then stacked my chips and slid them toward me.
“Good luck Sir,” he said, as I split the chips (‘Checks’ in the Vegas’ vernacular.) with Shonnie.
With all the bets paid, Normal Guy was ready to go at it again. I instructed Shonnie to take a red chip and place it in front of her on the “Pass-line” (If you don’t know how Craps works, you may be at some loss here—I will try to make it as easy to understand as possible.) I placed a red chip in front of me on the Pass-line as well.
All bets placed, Normal Guy tossed the dice toward the far end of the table. He rolled a four. (Meaning he had to roll another four before he rolled a seven, thus crapping out.)
“Put two red chips behind your bet,” I told Shonnie.
“We’re taking the odds,” I said.
“I don’t understand.”
“Just do it. Smartly.”
She stacked up the chips behind her original bet and I did the same.
On a hunch, I tossed a red chip onto the middle of the table and yelled, “Hard Four!” (Betting that the shooter will make his ‘four’—called his ‘point’, but that he will do it ‘the hard way,’ i.e., two deuces and not an ace and a three.
This is really a sucker bet, but I had Dama Fortuna in my corner. The bet pays ten for one, which if won, would net me forty-five dollars, plus of course our pass line bets with the odds placed behind them would win as well.
Normal guy tosses… wait for it… Double Deuces! Pandemonium from the players. Everybody wins!
“How did you know to do that?” Shonnie asks, as some decent stacks of red chips came our way.
I gently curled my fingers around Shonnie’s tiny neck, pulled her ear to my lips and whispered, “Stick close Baby. Gonna be a bumpy night.”
Winners paid, Shonnie and I put another two red chips on the pass-line. Normal guy rolls an eight. We back up our bets with two each red chips. Normal guy then rolls a seven. Aw Shit! Crapped out! No worries. We are still way ‘up’.
Now the dice pass to Shonnie. I can see she has stage fright. One of the dealers senses this too.
“Don’t worry Little Lady! Newbies are always lucky!” He says.
The ‘table’ agrees and I see chips of all colors dropping unto the ‘Pass-line’.
Shonnie and I both place one each twenty-five dollar green. Yes. I was confident. All bets now placed, I watch as she picked up the dice. Picked them up as one might imagine someone picking up a rotten banana, or a dead rat, or a used condom.
“They won’t bite,” I assured her. Just toss them at the end of the table. Oh and shake ‘em a little. And here, let me blow on ‘em.
“Blow on ‘em?” she said incredulously.
“Old Indian Tradition. Remember I am part Comanche.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Baby,” I said, “You can roll your eyes at me all you want, but right now I want you to roll those bones, er… dice toward the end of the table and don’t forget you can only use one hand to do so.”
“One hand?” she protested. “I always throw a baseball with both hands.” I hoped she were joking.
“Baby, this ain’t little league. Use only one hand or they will frown and act perverse.”
“Okay,” she said. Then after shaking the dice a bit, she wound up… and threw the dice…
…Right over the heads of the players at the far endof the table and off into space, most likely reaching escape velocity somewhere in the vicinity of Caesar’s Palace.
Collective groans from the table.
In craps, the absolute worst thing one can do is miss-the-fucking-table!
That, THAT! Is Extremely BAD Juju.
Dice are like the American or the Texan Flag. Never, ever let them touch the ground. Ever!
It always, always forecasts a negative outcome. Ninety-Nine times out of one hundred, the next roll will produce a crap out. In Shonnie’s case, the anticipated next roll would be snake-eyes, Box cars, or ace-deuce.
All instant losers.
I watched as most of the table players pulled chips back from their original bets. Not me. As someone went searching for the errant dice, I told Shonnie to put two more green chips on her pass line. I did the same.
We now had one hundred-fifty-dollars bet, even though I was not certain she would find green felt upon her second attempt.
She was offered two more dice by the dealer (stick man, just another word for him). I whispered in her ear, “Just relax Honey. Use a little less passion and a little more finesse this time. You’ll do great.”
She shook the dice, wound up, and pitched ‘em down the lane. When they came to rest: Natural Eleven! Winner!Winner! Chicken Dinner!
I grabbed her and kissed her hard on the mouth.
“Now, Do that again Little Dynamo Darlin'” I said.
Well… Now! Suddenly the table went nuts! Large bets were placed all around (after some applause).
Shonnie kept ‘control’ of the dice for the next fifteen or twenty minutes: an eon in ‘Craps Time’.
We won well over a grand, some thanks to my recklessly wild betting and some thanks to the favor of Dame Fortuna.
But of course, most of the thanks went to Shonnie’s curve ball.
When she finally crapped out, there was more applause. Everyone had ‘gotten well’ with her streak. And there are no more appreciative gamblers than craps’ shooters when it comes to situations such as these.
“Color us up,” I said to the dealer as I pushed our stacks and stacks of chips toward him.
“But Sir,” He protested, “You’re up. Aren’t you going to shoot?”
“Nope. We’re done here, but thanks.”
Shonnie and I gathered our (now mostly black–$100 chips.
I double-tapped a black chip on the table and tossed it to the Pit Boss. “For the Boys” I said.
“Thank you Sir,” he said back.
“What now?!” Shonnie demanded gruffly, but wearing all smiles.
“Blackjack Baby. Blackjack.”
“Lance. You’re nuts! I have never had so much fun! Ilovey… this!”
“Yeah, I know.”
(On both accounts)
Part VIII Coming Soon:
“Shonnie The Biker’s Wife: Part VIII: Black Jack Preamble”
If you are new here, or a long-lost returning Pilgrim, you may want to begin your Shonnie Journey Below
And then simply “Follow the Yellow Brick Road”
i.e., The Lancelot Links:
Below You Will Find Most Of The Original Posts. Once / If You Arrive At Thirteen There Are Links To The Final Few Chapters. Please keep in mind however, that each and every one of them is in the process of being rewritten: first to last. This will probably take at least two or three weeks.