Dear Mister Ed

I’m a mite bit twisted from gettin’ up far too early to meet the call of nachur.

I don’t mean the normal old-fellers call to the Haff-Moon Hotel. Thats my own bizness, as yer gonna learn when you hit my age, Darrol.

That don’t keep me from gettin’ back to sleep.

What done it was the golldang birds carryin’ on outside my window around 3 ayem, when they shud be all tucked up and tuckered out.

Must be some desp’rate early worms hereabouts if a bird hasta be on the job all nite.

But I reckon it goes with the territry havin’ too much lite this time of year, so I’d best get used of it whilst it lasts.

The good thing about losin’ sleep is it gives me more time to think of ways a feller can make an extra buck or two. And I come up with a doozy.

It started last Friday, when Merna took the kids to Hanes Junkshun to spend the week end with there gramma, and Wilferd says why don’t I stop by fer a game or two of polker?

Now Darrol, I never been much of a one fer cards, save fer the odd game of Crazy 8s or Go Fish.

My sister Wilma tryed to teach me some fanssy games like Youker, but I never cud tell my left and rite bower from an Eddy Bower.

But when Wilferd invited me to try a bit of Texxas Fold-em, I figgered it was a good way to meet some of the naybors and get up to date on the Anny Lake gossip.

Imajin my wonderment when there was nobody there but Wilferd and his computor. Turns out thats how folks play cards these days.

It don’t seem nayborly to me, but Wilferd uses the darn thing to do all but warsh his car.

Anyways, he rings up the interweb and gets sat down at a table somewheres in Mongolya or Arkansaw or somethin’.

Fer the first part, I jest lissen whilst he tells me all sorts of gobbly-gook about royal strates and full houses and when to call or raise or fold, and when to rite a check or go all out.

Of coarse, none of it made a partickle of scents to me. I allways figgered an inside flush had to do with plummin’.

After about an hour, Wilferd tells me to try my hand.

Needles to say, I don’t have a blind clue what I’m up to. But by golly, come midnite I’m over 20 thousand bucks to the good.

“Print ‘er out,” I says. “I feel like a long trip comin’ on.”

Wilferd jest laffs. “Its not reel money, Rodney. Its pretend. Like Monopolly.”

Well he may be a pal, but he don’t fool me. I happen to know a feller can play fer reel. And the White Horse liberry has free computors.

If I can make 20 grand in three hours, think what a year can bring.

Yer pal,

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