I received this complimentary column via e-mail from Nick Douglas which he sends out weekly to his valued supporters and thought I would share it with my fellow MadJackers. Great stuff.
March 19, 2004
It was hot enough to weld the balls back onto the provervial brass monkey, and so humid I was starting a mushroom farm in my asscrack. Southern California is a smog laboratory. Nowhere else in the United States do the natural elements of sun, heat, fog and mountains come together to produce such a fine brown haze above the populace. Add to this several million tailpipes chugging effluents into the air every day, and you have the perfect recipe for Smogsville. But enough about that. Today was the start of the NCAA Tournament and my mind was set on making money.
I hadn?t seen Chioma in over a week now so we arranged a lunch date at the Golden Ox and maybe do some shopping afterwards. I was beaming with excitement. After 2 swift knocks on the door, there she was. I had waited for this, savoring the coming moment like watching a steak sizzle over the fire in a heavy cast-iron pan. As she stood there in front of me, crossing and uncrossing my eyes with a pair of stems that'd put Waterford out of business, I was glad that we had to hurry and go, because I had a pup tent going that was headed for the Big Top. She was wearing a burnt orange tank top that suddenly strained my attention. Texas Longhorns?! Sure enough, the queer steer emblem stuck out like the crack of a plumber?s ass on a hot summer afternoon.
I had to find out what her angle was. But I was frozen. A barrage of point spreads abruptly fill my head like Pete Rose?s lineup card. As I caught the smell of her sweet perfume, I?m suddenly thrust back to reality. I thought to myself ?this must mean something? but there was no time for small talk. We were off to the Golden Ox for fine dining and libations.
The ?86 Bronco lumbered like an aged white elephant intent on the graveyard. I watched from the side window as the puffs of powdery smoke spit from the tailpipe and drifted into the sparse crowd of hookers on the cracked sidewalk. This was the life and I was living it.
After a short stop for gas and breath mints, we finally arrive at our destination. There they stood, milling like thoroughbreds before the starting gate. The rush of early lunch-breakers stumbling over themselves to get the best sushi money can buy. The freshest sushi is brought out to the buffet table at 11:30, not 12. If you get your sushi at 12, there?s really no value in that. To explain it mathematically, each sushi is worth about 10 cents on the dollar and by getting to the restaurant early you increase the tastiness by 5% (the goal for all of my meals) from 55% to 57.3%. In my opinion there is no value in arriving late.
The pit of my stomach was growling with anticipation so I snap my finger towards Javier, the assistant manager, who promptly escorts us to our reserved table overlooking scenic Florence Avenue. You get these privileges when you tip well like I do.
After polishing off my last chicken wing and third A&W root beer, it began to dawn on me that Texas plays Princeton tonight. I quickly glued my eyes on Chioma?s tank top. That must be it! This was a sign from above. I whipped out my cell phone and made the call. ?Yeah Mad Dog, this is Nick. Listen I need the line for Texas tonight. Uh huh, OK?.Texas minus 12 huh? Sounds good. Put me down for 60 bucks and that?s all for me today.?
After paying the $13 meal followed by a generous $3.50 tip, we were on our way. It doesn?t get any better than being the MAN. Professional handicapping is my faith and the burnt orange sun of March Madness was upon me like the sweat on a fat lady?s ass.
Until next time guys?.
Nicholas Douglas
March 19, 2004
It was hot enough to weld the balls back onto the provervial brass monkey, and so humid I was starting a mushroom farm in my asscrack. Southern California is a smog laboratory. Nowhere else in the United States do the natural elements of sun, heat, fog and mountains come together to produce such a fine brown haze above the populace. Add to this several million tailpipes chugging effluents into the air every day, and you have the perfect recipe for Smogsville. But enough about that. Today was the start of the NCAA Tournament and my mind was set on making money.
I hadn?t seen Chioma in over a week now so we arranged a lunch date at the Golden Ox and maybe do some shopping afterwards. I was beaming with excitement. After 2 swift knocks on the door, there she was. I had waited for this, savoring the coming moment like watching a steak sizzle over the fire in a heavy cast-iron pan. As she stood there in front of me, crossing and uncrossing my eyes with a pair of stems that'd put Waterford out of business, I was glad that we had to hurry and go, because I had a pup tent going that was headed for the Big Top. She was wearing a burnt orange tank top that suddenly strained my attention. Texas Longhorns?! Sure enough, the queer steer emblem stuck out like the crack of a plumber?s ass on a hot summer afternoon.
I had to find out what her angle was. But I was frozen. A barrage of point spreads abruptly fill my head like Pete Rose?s lineup card. As I caught the smell of her sweet perfume, I?m suddenly thrust back to reality. I thought to myself ?this must mean something? but there was no time for small talk. We were off to the Golden Ox for fine dining and libations.
The ?86 Bronco lumbered like an aged white elephant intent on the graveyard. I watched from the side window as the puffs of powdery smoke spit from the tailpipe and drifted into the sparse crowd of hookers on the cracked sidewalk. This was the life and I was living it.
After a short stop for gas and breath mints, we finally arrive at our destination. There they stood, milling like thoroughbreds before the starting gate. The rush of early lunch-breakers stumbling over themselves to get the best sushi money can buy. The freshest sushi is brought out to the buffet table at 11:30, not 12. If you get your sushi at 12, there?s really no value in that. To explain it mathematically, each sushi is worth about 10 cents on the dollar and by getting to the restaurant early you increase the tastiness by 5% (the goal for all of my meals) from 55% to 57.3%. In my opinion there is no value in arriving late.
The pit of my stomach was growling with anticipation so I snap my finger towards Javier, the assistant manager, who promptly escorts us to our reserved table overlooking scenic Florence Avenue. You get these privileges when you tip well like I do.
After polishing off my last chicken wing and third A&W root beer, it began to dawn on me that Texas plays Princeton tonight. I quickly glued my eyes on Chioma?s tank top. That must be it! This was a sign from above. I whipped out my cell phone and made the call. ?Yeah Mad Dog, this is Nick. Listen I need the line for Texas tonight. Uh huh, OK?.Texas minus 12 huh? Sounds good. Put me down for 60 bucks and that?s all for me today.?
After paying the $13 meal followed by a generous $3.50 tip, we were on our way. It doesn?t get any better than being the MAN. Professional handicapping is my faith and the burnt orange sun of March Madness was upon me like the sweat on a fat lady?s ass.
Until next time guys?.
Nicholas Douglas
