After attending a little New Year’s Day bash I came home, satisfied, a little over satisfied in some instances, but well-fed, turkey, black-eyed peas, sweet potatoes, cranberry salad, pecan pie; not bombed but I should’ve been after 3 Heinekens, 3 tulips of champagne, 6 old-fashioned glasses of rum-laced eggnog; much palaver with 3 babes, one of whom’s a babe I like, and two other dudes, one a gun-lover from alligator-overwhelmed Northern Florida and the other a guy who used to be a bartender at some of the classiest joints in NYC; and after I came home from this, and after I had readjusted to my tiny living quarters compared to the luxury layout I’d been partying in, I flipped on the idiot box and watched some really seedy-looking redneck types, though the cast included a Mexican lady named Maria, what else?, playing Texas Hold ‘Em poker. [No, I am not yet reading Finnegan’s Wake though I, yes, am maybe writing like I have. I mean is this opening paragraph sentence not Joycean in its endeavor? But, no, I don’t even own a copy of Finnegan’s Wake yet. I wonder if anyone’s ever tried holding Finnegan’s Wake up beside Ulysses and reading them simultaneously. Wow, that sounds like my cup of tea—IN ANOTHER WORLD maybe! And I emphasize that other world because I don’t think I’ll be trying it in this world. I’m F-ed since I don’t believe in another world. Isn’t it interesting how in truth, the Earth is really our Creator; not just Mother Earth but Father Earth, too—and still the Earth’s children are born in its boiling hot magma belly, children birthed from out its skin or from out of its waters. We are creations of the planet itself! Wow, I’ve just solved the God problem. I’m an atheist but I am an Eartheist. Can one be an Eartheist? A Terrataoist? That’s it, thegrowlingwolf is a Terrataoist.]
From watching this hokum poker, I see I prefer just straight old poker, but you know Texans and their inborn natures to be big at everything they do becoming not satisfied with just regular old 5-card draw or 7-card draw, so first they invented Mexican Sweat—and when that didn’t satisfy them, they came up with this Texas Hold ‘Em, which as far as my poker eye can see is a modification on 7-card draw (Stud Poker, probably also named by a Texan).
Merriam Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary says the word “poker” probably comes from
the French game pogue, though they’re not 100% sure. I see it could come from the word “poke” or the verb “to take a poke”—meaning to throw a punch at someone, which you certainly do in poker when you throw down your hand or overturn your hand to knock out your opponents and take all their swag.
What I got from watching this stupid form of poker, Texas Hold ‘Em, had nothing to do with playing that game but with my philosophy of life. The poker got me to thinking about what I call “percentage existence.”
In statistics, there is what is called the median, which is an equator around a random sampled planet of categories. Along that median is the safest course to take in anything thing you are sampling and then supposing upon. You follow the median and your chances of being safe in the numbers of the very middle give you great odds, whereas, if you go for a life of risks, then you play off the median and in the area of the longshots—better payoff if you hit a longshot, but the percentages are against you, so the safest bet is to play the median.
As in blackjack, say you are holding two 10s and the dealer is showing an ace. Through the principles of percentage existence the median tells us to fold with 2 10s against the dealer's showing an ace and the auto-winning possible 21. So in percentage reckoning, one then evaluates the odds. What's the percentage figures in staying with 20 and hoping the dealer busts? Or, hell, what about splitting the 10s and trying two hands against the dealer's ace? You see the decisions that have to be made while riding and thinking on the median. Big sigma is what we're after, a summation that equals progress.
Another example: say 35% of people who die die of cancer. That leaves 65% dying of something else. One adjusts one's median to fall across the least way to die as shown in the 65% that die of something other than cancer--like long life, which is what I want to die of. How does one avoid the cancer percentile? One stops smoking, drinking whiskey, drinking coffee, eating breads, doing dairy, fried foods, and using sugars. There ya go. Now, once you've stopped all that shit and have begun the proper holistic approach to diet, exercise, and lifestyle, you know, supplementals, foods with colors, strong vibrant walking and breathing deeply--inhaling deeply through the nose and then exhaling gradually, a daily exercise, the odds change greatly in favor of you not only of not dying of cancer but of maybe dying of old age. If your percentage playing works, not only will you move further over into the 65% dying of other than cancer and into a exclusive zone of the people who die who die of just plain old age. In that percentage group, you could easily live to be 90 years old--easy. That's what I mean by percentage existence.
Some of us are gamblers by nature. The best gamblers play by percentages. Even card counters are still aware of percentages, face cards vs. number cards, 16 face cards in a deck, 36 number cards, with the ace being a one or an 11. You can tell percentagewise what card is probably coming up next. It's probability, that's all. It's kind'a scientific guessing. Play the percentages in anything you do, even your pleasures. To get max pleasure out of life, you gotta be in the right percentage group.GERALD FORD's OLD ROTTING BODY SUDDENLY TAKES FLIGHT AND ASCENDS TO HEAVEN AMIDST A HUGE FLOCK OF MECHANICAL DOVES
Yes, folks, believe it or not, they're still burying the Honorable Gerald Ford. I mean you'd think this president who most people never knew was president is one of the greatest presidents ever. I mean they are filing by his casket. Who the hell would wait in line in the rain to view Gerald Ford's body? Must be the same steady 30% of Amuricans who still devotedly love Georgie Porgie, another of our "never elected" presidents same as Jerry Ford.
We the People's treasury is paying big bucks in tribute to this bonehead (read: numbskull) pro politician--he was incapable of any other work-- they're holding expensive National Cathedral religious ceremonies over his old dead ass. I mean they are lifting up the host and praying for this old geezer's long-lost soul. This truly nobody president; except this old bastard might'a been so dumb he couldn't chew gum and walk at the same time, but he was also an asskissing conservonut Repugnican who pardoned the eviliest president up until Georgie Porgie, our current appointed and fraudulently elected "president," took over and broke all the evil records.
I did learn today, and I was surprised by it, that one can pin this crap in Iraq (how dumb and utterly stupid was the hanging of Saddam?) on good ole Saint Jerry Ford. It was during Ford's administration that the Honorable Henry Kissingassinger as Secretary of State got Saddam Hussein to give a lot of his northern territory to the Shah of Iran (remember that asshole? We the People of the United States paid for this Pahlavi Shah's cancer treatment at a Boston Hospital right afore the old cursed son of a bitch finally died). So old Kissingassinger talked Saddam into conceding territory to Iran (the hated Persians, and Saddam hated the Persians). Saddam was just a vice president in those days, though he did run the country. Then when Saddam became president, he decided he wanted the territory back. This was right before the Shah died and Khoumeni, that Islamic nutjob, came to power and the anti-Western World sentiment began to be trumpeted throughout the world--remember Khoumani used jihad against all heathen dogs, like old Sammy Rushdie and of course the US of A and all of us heathen dogs overhere. So then during George Herbert Bush's reign, Bush I, George "the Wimp" "Pappy" Bush, Sad-dam made his move and decided to take his northern territory back and thus began the Iraq-Iran war, a 9-year affair when we were asshole buddies with the hated Sad-dam, the evil man old Wimp Pappy Bush later let go free after he chickened out going into Baghdad during his "American Wins" war, the Persian Gulf War, now known as Pappy Bush's Wimpy Folly. The reason Sad-dam was going into Kuwait, too; same thing; he was recapturing territory that was given to Kuwait under good ole Jerry Ford's worthless 3-year unprogressive years when the USA couldn't walk or chew gum at the same time either.
Jerry Ford was a weak, uneffective president; the only president officially never elected. This deadhead doesn't deserve the glorified praise he's getting all this week. My flag is flying full-staff, baby; ain't grievin' over old Jerry "Where's the Golf Course?" Ford. It was pathetic watching old hatch-face Betty Ford mourning her 92-year-old privileged husband kicking the bucket--come on, Betty, he got 92 great years of not having to work for a living, becoming a privileged man in Congress, and then pardoning the worst president we'd had since Warren G. Harding, another Repugnican, and then becoming president himself. F-you, Jerry. I guess you can chew your gum in pieces now. You had a great life, you worthless politician. Now old Jerry's body's on its way back to Michigan where the White Militias can give the old Jerry a 21-gun salute, maybe holding the services at We the People's built Gerald Ford Library, it has no books, and the Gerald Ford Museum, containing a set of golf clubs and an old wad of chewing gum.
thegrowlingwolf
for The Daily Growler
And How About News From New Orleans (anybody remember New Orleans?): Seems the Cops Are Taking a Lot of Target Practice These Days; Oops, They Recently Said, We've Shot a Musician! Hot Damn. A Good Old Time Down on Basin Street.
http://nomrf.blogs.nola.com/default.asp?item=407368
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