The Art of Grambling

This is the only time of year that it is actually cool to live near Louisville. The Derby has long been a bright spot in an otherwise bleak existence in a place where the only two usual options are raising a lame ass family or spiraling the fuck out on heroin. Some try to do both. Sure there is a question of pricing on the festivities, a good bit of animal cruelty for the horses, and we all still think jockey’s are ultra fuck creepy. Turns out that if adults want to have fun there are always certain moral consequences that we need to fucking ignore almost entirely. If an entire city suddenly embraces getting really fucked up wearing silly clothes and gambling. Well. That’s a price I’m more that willing to pay. Even if I’ll never actually be able to afford it.


Friday used to be the day for locals, but the celebrity crowd stole that from us a long ass fucking time ago. It was the day that I used to actually make my appearance at the track. I would have made my glorious return this year, but I couldn’t find a pink Chinese dress at a thrift store to wear to send social justice warriors in to another bout of fabricated outrage over the destruction of their culture. If you think for just one second I wouldn’t have done it, you must not have heard I was recently a woman for an hour, and a troll for fucking life. I still love to gamble.


This is where the real point of this comes in. Today is also May the fourth. It’s not a holiday. It’s the day that Star Wars fans choose to be even more annoying than usual. If you say may the fourth be with you to anyone you’re a fucking dickhead. I’m not saying that to hurt your feelings. I’m trying to bully you in to stop doing it. Every time I hear it, I like Star Wars a little less. That fucking Solo movie is looking like the death blow for my fandom anyway. Star Wars nerds were recently the subject of a huge gambling scandal of their own. I wasn’t around to write about it then, I’m going to attempt to tie that in now.


When I was little there was a place virgins could go where we didn’t feel like the tools that we were. Arcades. Inside these often foul smelling places were machines that took quarters to entertain us for short bursts of time. It was my favorite place in the world as a kid. The games were rigged to devour as many quarters as they could. My favorite place as an adult is Vegas. They are giant buildings with machines that take money in exchange for short bursts of entertainment while I get completely fucking shithoused on “free” alcohol. I used to feel like an asshole for spending twelve bucks for a beer at a concert. I’ve lost two hundred waiting on a beer in Vegas more than once. It’s a good thing those arcades couldn’t follow me home as a kid. Something worse is happening to your kids though.


I’ve used video games to kill boredom all my life. It’s a huge part of our culture, and most of my fondest memories involve them. That all changed in the past few years. I’ve all but retired from playing. Why? Because one of my other favorite things invaded and destroyed it. Gambling. The worst part about it is your children are being taught to gamble completely unchecked while you think they are just in the other room leaving you the fuck alone. Those violent video games haven’t caused a single murder in real life. These gambling devices they’ve put in games have already emptied out a few bank accounts by kids who got legit hooked on it in a very short period of time. Their parents were dumb enough to link their bank accounts to the game system, and their children took care of the rest.


It used to be that when you played a game, the people that were good at it won. Now it is the people who get the better gear that win. You get the better gear by paying for it in most cases. You don’t just buy it though. You buy loot boxes with random gear in it with real money. You know, exactly like a fucking slot machine? When I was a kid video games had a loading screen that said winners don’t do drugs. Now almost every game let’s your kids know that winners fucking gamble their way to the top. The gaming industry has made billions, yes with a fucking B, off of people buying these loot crates. They’ve fucking killed gaming for me in the process. A man my age probably should have stopped a long time ago.


I’m a bit loosey goosey when it comes to morality in most cases. I don’t think you should let a six year old smoke cigars, drink a mint julep, and bet his allowance on the ponies. I don’t think that same six year old needs to try the legal weed gummy bears, get a hooker, and try his hand at black jack in Vegas. So that same six year old probably shouldn’t be playing fucking slot machines in his own home with your credit card either. The government has yet to get off of their dead asses to regulate this, so it’s up to the parents to step in and kill the fun. I’m pretty sure that’s your favorite thing to do anyway, right? You might think that the games your kids are playing don’t have that element to them. Right now almost all popular video games do. It got national media attention when that May The Fourth be with you crowd fell victim last Christmas. You really really really don’t want to piss off that Star Wars crowd. So my word of warning is to get that shit out of your kid’s hands immediately. Take that money and do something constructive with it. Like putting it on a long shot to win the fucking Derby tomorrow. Pro tip: I pick the horse with the dumbest fucking name. It almost never works. May the fourth go fuck itself.

Only the true nerds get the pink Vader joke. It gives them a sense of pride and accomplishment.