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This is a question Gambling

Broke the bank at Las Vegas, or won a packet of smokes for getting your tinkle out in class? Outrageous, heroic or plain stupid bets.

Suggested by SpankyHanky

(, Thu 7 May 2009, 13:04)
Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

might have been done
If you have enough money - the simplest way to beat the Roulette table is to bet like so.

1.Pick a colour red/black and stick to it
2.First bet - £5

- Win? repeat Step No2
- Lose? move to step No3

3.Bet £10 on the colour you originally chose(double what you originally bet)
-Win? Return to step No2
-Lose? Move to step 4

4. Bet £15 on the colour you chose (treble what you originally bet)

and so on until you win, and when you do win return back to step 1.

ok you get the pattern.

It works on the basis that the odds of one colour not coming in, for a massive succesive streak are so small that sooner or later you will win. And when you do win, you should win all the monies you should have won up until then.

Of course you would probably need about a few £hundred at hand first.
(, Wed 13 May 2009, 10:02, 14 replies)
how to fund your 6 month trip to australia by gambling
when a few pals of mine went travelling down under a few years ago, they all knew that as fun as it would be, money would soon run out and they'd have to get jobs at some point. all of them except one of them, who hit upon the brilliant idea of reading book after book about card counting, perfecting his method, all for months in advance, so he could live off his winnings once he got there while his other friends all had to go to mundane bar jobs and the like all week.

as i understand it, he walked into a casino the first week he was there, lost about $500 in 10 minutes then realised he'd made a big mistake.

i think he got a bar job in the end.
(, Wed 13 May 2009, 9:24, Reply)
Beer, betting, and ‘Ooooh bollocks’…

As many of the posts this week will testify – the vast majority of skull-fuckingly spacktarded bets seem to be conceived in the pub. I have only just remembered of I time when even someone as sensible, normal, and downright down-to-earth as me (what?) decided to dabble in a bit of alcohol-fuelled, bet-related general twattery.

Many years ago, I was once in the pub with the usual gaggle of cretinous turd winnets that I used to call my ‘mates’, when the subject turned to stupid bets, dares, and wotnot.

Mid conversation, I remembered a jolly little jape I had heard of previously, that can be utilised for the possible monetry gain from sad, plebite mong-trousers such as the company I was keeping.

When done correctly, this can also hopefully make you look like a frightful cleverclogs into the bargain.

As one mate finished his bottle of Bud I grabbed the empty bottle from him and declared smarmily: “I’ve got a challenge for ya!...”

I then placed a £10 note flat on the table, delicately balanced the empty bottle upside-down on top of it, and launched into my speech.

“If any of you lickspittles can remove the £10 note without touching the bottle and without the bottle falling over, you can keep the cash!”.

Oh, how I chortled with a smug sense of superiority as they pondered their meagre dullard braincells over the quandary I had provided them.

Mate 1: “Can we get someone else to remove the bottle?”

Me: “Nope, don’t be such a hairy flange! You have to do the whole thing yourself”.

Mate 2: “Can we place other bottles nearby, and then blow the upside-down bottle over…thus freeing the note?”

Me: “Heehee…nice try, but no, the bottle must remain vertical at all times".

Mate 3: “Can I…erm….well, I’m fucked if I know…*frowns*”

Every attempt they tried resulted in the bottle falling over and me jubilantly mocking their collective supreme idiocy.

Finally, they all gave up and banished my challenge to the realms of the impossible…and with that, I slowly began to roll the Tenner up into a tube, very gently, and carefully managing to successfully ‘nudge’ the bottle along…

Victory was mine!

Of course, being an all round good sport and gentleman type, I proceeded to take the piss out of them for a good half an hour, basking in the glow of my own self importance and the triumph I had scored over my chronically less-than-competent chummies.

“Fair enough Poo, you wonderfully bright individual”, they exclaimed with jealous pride. (actually, then angrily called me a ‘wanky spunkbubble’…but because I’m writing this I’m allowed to change some of the facts).

Then ‘Dave the cunt’ piped up with a bet of his own. “Alright then fuck face” he said, “…I bet you £5 that you can’t balance a full pint on the back of your hand for ten seconds!”

“Ha! – Easy!” I bellowed defiantly and promptly got up, bought a pint, returned to my seat and slapped the palm of my hand down on the table.

Then, with a little ‘arching’ of the fingers, I managed to make the back of my hand go totally level, and then painfully slowly, I gradually balanced my pint on top of it.

It was a struggle, the glass slipped around on my skin and I thought I was going to lose it a few times, but eventually I could remove my 'steadying' hand and leave the pint perfectly still, tentatively balanced on top of the other hand. I then counted to ten…I win!

“Get in there!, shove THAT up your rusty bullet hole!” I roared, before continuing only to say: “…now pay up, you thick fucker!”

”Hang on…” said Dave the cunt before continuing: “…Whaddaya say to ‘double or quits'?. You keep that pint there, and we’ll balance another one on top of your other hand. If you can hold the both for 10 seconds I’ll pay you £10!” He then glanced over at the rest of the lads, who all flashed a smile his way and 'nodded' knowingly...

Can you see where this is going? I didn’t. My immense ego knew no bounds by this point. “Bring it fucking ON!” I declared, bursting with boozy bravado.

Another pint was duly bought for me and I slapped my other palm down on the table. “Careful now, you dopey bell-ends” I said, confidently making the previously successful ‘arch’ shape with my hand. “If any of you mimsies spill any, then it doesn’t count”

They approached me….delicately balanced the pint on top of my other hand, then slowly took a step back.

“1…….2……..3…..” They counted, cheering as the glasses wobbled precariously.

“….4…….5……..6…..” They continued, as sweat started to form on my brow, but I allowed a smile to creep across my face…I was going to do it!



…and then they all got up, turned on their heels and promptly walked out of the pub...

Leaving me with with two full-to-the-brim pints balanced precariously on the back of my hands…and me totally unable to move.

The utter cunts!

I was left with no alternative but to sit there and panic, feeling like a monumental gonad, with and my hands going numb for about five minutes, before a barmaid (whom I fancied at the time) came and rescued me, whilst she muttered about how I was a ‘collosal twat’ under her breath.

When I saw them later, they didn’t even pay up either, they just said something about ‘teaching me a lesson for being such an arsehole’, and ‘you can’t put a price on education’.

Why is it that even when I win, I can still manage to find a way to turn into a big fat loser?

Worse still, when I’ve told this story since it appears that everybody has heard of this ‘practical joke’ before, but I wish someone had fucking well told me about it back then.
(, Wed 13 May 2009, 9:16, Reply)
Getting the word "penguin" into a physics paper
Two physicists, Melissa Franklin and John Ellis were playing a game of darts, had a bet that the looser had to use the word "penguin" in their next paper. Apparently Melissa didn't finish the game but someone else took her place and her replacement won. This was probably a good thing because Melissa was an experimentalist and they tend to write papers in extremely large collaborations, any spurious penguin references would probably have been vetoed by about 200 people. As a theorist (and now a bloody high ranking but surprisingly down-to-earth one), John Ellis could do pretty much what he liked. He got high and decided that some of the diagrams looked like penguins, so the conditions were fulfilled. Wikipedia's finest photoshopping shows some slight resemblance: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Penguin_diagram

However, the paper in question turned out to be rather influential. Everyone who has studied particle physics to 3rd year undergraduate level will almost certainly have heard of these "penguin diagrams". The entire course of particle physics was made slightly more entertaining by a stupid bet.
(, Wed 13 May 2009, 9:07, 1 reply)
First time i went to a casino
I was only about 21 or 22 and very naive.

Me and my mate had heard the horror stories of gambling, and had seen our brothers waste hundreds of £££ for nothing.

So there we found ourselves on the roulette table, we kept it simple, £5 on red or black. A game of 2-1 odds. £5 bet = either £10 win or £5 loss. After 15 mins I was already £20 down. So to was my mate.

I noticed he kept going for Reds , and I kept going for blacks. Then it hit me, a fail safe method that would guarantee no losses.

It may be worth noting that we were very, very drunk and it was fast approaching sunrise AM.

We devised a method whereby we stuck to our colours and split the winnings. And it worked… neither of us lost, but at the same time, neither of us were really winning.

About 10 minutes into this, the Croupier noticed this and queried us on our ‘method’ and made it clear that it was pointless.

We didn’t mind, in our eyes we could win, and lose as much as possible, and we would go home level.

Got free buttys too.
(, Wed 13 May 2009, 8:58, 2 replies)
once, after an argument of some kind
i made a gentleman's agreement with of these very boards, having foolishly suggested i'd be living in a mansion and he'd be employed sweeping my drive, that whoever had a house first, the other one had to sweep the drive.
well, he has a rather nice house with mrs pj and baby pj, and i am still a vagabond of fortune. (i live in a nice house, but it isn't mine)
so i went to see him last weekend
i was all set to sweep the drive...
then i reneged! i didn't! not only that, but i'm pretty sure i left a dog-end on the drive.. ha! take that phil! :D i'll sweep it next time.
(, Wed 13 May 2009, 8:56, Reply)
I once spent a happy night
getting pissed out of my face in Circus Circus in sunny Las Vegas, playing 3/6 limit hold 'em.

My strategy was simple. Raise all bets on every hand without looking at my cards, and always straddle. The outcome; I left with a huge stack.

I loved it, and wooped it up all night. The rest of the table wanted to kill me, including my mate as I took his entire bankroll for the week.

Still one of the best nights ever.
(, Wed 13 May 2009, 8:51, Reply)
Heads or tails?
Sorry.. its tails.. its always fucking tails..
(, Wed 13 May 2009, 7:42, 1 reply)
A 100% True (as verified on the internet) Story about gambling
This is not a story about me, it is a story about one of Australia's richest man for over 20 years and one it's most prolific gamblers, Mr. Kerry Packer. The same Kerry Packer who passed away a few years ago in the arms of his mistress on Boxing Day (this is irrelevant to the story but, sure is good gossip).

A loud and obnoxious Texas high roller is playing at the same table as Mr. Packer in Las Vegas. This man is being as obnoxious as, well, as the stereotypical obnoxious Texan in countless obnoxious Texan stories. [Why aren't there any obnoxious Rhode Islander stories?] Finally, Kerry asks the man to ease up. The man gets louder: "Do you know who I am? I am worth 60 million dollars, pardner!" He pauses to let this sink in, then says: "thats right Sixty million dollars, pardner. That's what I'm worth." Packer eyes him and says: "I'll flip you for it!"

There is also another story that after winning somewhere between 30 and 40 million dollars in another Las Vegas casino, Kerry tipped the cocktail waitress A HOUSE!
(, Wed 13 May 2009, 4:32, 4 replies)
Ah crap...
I was in the Adelaide casino years ago and saw two guys standing next to the craps table chatting away as everyone else threw dice and had fun.
Intrigued by craps but with no idea how to play I stopped to watch and noticed every now and then the pair would stop chatting and place their money down, wait for a roll or two then pick up more than they started with.
I asked what they were up to and they explained.
They were croupiers at an American casino who worked the craps tables and were on holiday in Australia.
They had discovered that most Aussies have no idea of the intricacies of craps and bet wildly just for the fun of throwing the dice.
They just stood and waited until an incredibly likely throw came up and bet on it, or bet against the incredibly unlikely throw the player was going for.
They weren't out to attract attention and make a killing, but won steadily the entire time I was there (about two hours) and each walked out several thousand up.
I still don't understand craps, but one of these days I'll sit down with a book and figure out what they were doing.
(, Wed 13 May 2009, 3:32, Reply)
True Story This...
And I'll guess similar has happened to other people.

My ex once said to me as I'm struggling to find a bookies on a Saturday afternoon before 3pm for my fixed odds coupon.

'Christ, you are addicted to gambling!'

I said I wasn't, and she - foolishly replied with 'I bet you are'

Of course, my response of 'oh yeah, how much?' was, at the time meant to be a lighthearted retort, proving her to be the fop. What I didn't expect was.

'You don't gamble this weekend and I'll wash your car for you'

I agreed - seeing as I was still no closer to finding a bookies, I hadn't studied what teams I was going to back and it was very nearly 3pm.

That'll be her giving my car a damn good scrubbing. The scrubber.

SOME women are stupid as fuck.

(, Tue 12 May 2009, 22:13, Reply)
Didn't gamble but regret it
The National Lottery. Yes, I know, idiot tax but once in a while and all that eh?

Predictably, I didn't play, and my numbers came out.

If you're reading any further.... I went to the pub to watch England play last January. Straight after the results came in and I watched my numbers pop out the machine. I play some numbers each time and rotate between a few others. I watched 7 familiar numbers drop out the machine. Sick as you like, I worked out what I'd lost (tip: never do this). Depending on which combination I'd chosen, minimum £946.00, maximum £2.1 million. No other jackpot winners either.

Ouch. Actually, no- big hairy balls. In purple, regulation number of hairs, amateur style drawing.

No sympathy clicks. No "idiot tax" clicks either. Still sore about it. Arse.
(, Tue 12 May 2009, 21:41, 4 replies)
As bored Third Formers in B set German............
......we bet Alan 'Flapper' (so named on account of protruding ears) Green that he wouldn't consume the contents of half full box of Parker blue-black ink cartridges (for cartridge pens - remember them?). He nobly picked up the challenge; though mainly because the challenge was cached in the winning phraseology "Oi Flapper! You fuckin' nancy, if you don't drink these cartridges now, I bet we'll stick them one by one right up yer fuckin' arse, and then we'll kick the crap out of you every day till the end of term" (And this was at a Grammar School - the comprehensive boys could be quite rough in comparison, you know).

Flapper set to, sipping what was obviously some fairly nasty fluid from cartridge number one. Roy Shepherd, our Northern long haired language teacher came in and began the lesson, until he noticed Flapper - who was by now on about the third cartridge of calligraphic goodness. Having been filled in that it was all a jolly sporting adolescent wager, Roy saß sich hin und watched and encouraged as a rapidly paling Flapper slowly worked his way through the box, sip by sip. Strangely, though the inside of his mouth was a deep blue, his face appeared to be changing to a pale green.

Finally, he completed the task to a big cheer from the class and Roy, who then told him to go to the bogs and rinse his mouth out.

Apologies for the above not being very funny - but what was absolutely pisswetting hilarious was that on his way down the corridor Flapper projectile vomited vitually black vomit all up the white painted wall of the corridor. Six times.

The stains could still be seen when I left the school three years later.
(, Tue 12 May 2009, 21:27, Reply)
Odds On Favourite
Mrs Meister and I don't bet. Never have really, but are occasionally coerced into parting with the odd pound coin in the works sweepstakes. I always lose, Mrs Meister nearly always wins.

Grand National sweepstake, we both arrive home from our respective workplaces clutching our drawn horse.

Same one! What were the odds on that? Pretty long we both thought, but given my luck, we decided we'd see what happened, but the odds were on it falling at the first, or in my case, on the way to the first. Either way, we decided against a visit to one of Mr Ladbrooke's emporia!

The horse? Mon Mone.

We had a nice night out on the £40 we trousered on Monday.
(, Tue 12 May 2009, 21:20, Reply)
There's lovely then.
Ten years ago I flew to Las Vegas to hang out over a long weekend with 40ish close friends from Usenet.

After checking into the Golden Nugget and dumping my stuff in my room, I wandered down to the casino below I put $5 in a slot machine in the lobby.

4 spins in I won $625. Flashing lights, bells, the works. A lady with a leather pouch around her waist came over, verified the win and handed me the cash from her pouch.

It paid for my room, all my food and drink and an awful lot of blackjack.

It probably indirectly explains why I ended up losing 2 grand on Internet poker last year. Gambling? That's where you get loads of money and have a great time, right?
(, Tue 12 May 2009, 21:14, Reply)
i found a lottery ticket unscratched on the floor, i scratched it and won £2 - jackpot! bought two more and won £80 :D
Normally I don't buy scratch cards
(, Tue 12 May 2009, 21:08, Reply)
I got a cold call the other day:
"What would you say if I told you that you won ONE MIIIIILION POUNDS!!"
"Whoooo, yay?"

"And what would you spend it on?"
"Why, I would give it all to you."

"No, be serious."
"A hamster ranch."

And then the cold caller hung up on me.
(, Tue 12 May 2009, 19:52, 7 replies)
La vache qui rit
I was 18, working comme plongeur in the kitchens of a restaurant in a French coastal resort in Normandy. The work was hard and long hours and the (English) boss was a total cunt, and subsequently the staff, a mixture of French and Brits, used what little free time we had to let off steam in a fairly major way.

The usual plan on a Saturday was to finish about midnight, all pile in Laurent, the head waiter's car, drive to a FUCKING AWFUL nightclub which was truly and honestly called Le Rendezvous, drink ourselves silly while watching men in open necked shirts dance to Joe le Taxi and Tinita Tikaram (why? why?!). Then Laurent would drive us home drunk at 6am and we'd go straight to work. Happy days.

On the way to work was a butchers that had a large metal sign outside it with a picture of a smiling, happy cow stood up on two feet pointing in the direction of the shop as if to say 'Please, come inside and eat some of my fat bovine arse!'. I was and still am a vegetarian. These days, I couldn't give a shit about animals. Fuck em, I say. But back then, I was a bit more militant and immature and the sign used to rile me something rotten. It also used to rile this girl Julie too, a fellow vegetarian that I fancied really quite badly. So one dawn after a trip to Le Rendezvous, we're all staggering past le boucherie and I notice the sign and mention how much it gets on my tits. A devious smile passes across Julie's face. "Bet you a pack of Gauloises you can't throw in in the river". It was too good a challenge to resist. Fellow plongeur Tim and I decided we'd give it a go, so checking there was no one around, we picked up the sodding thing and starting walking it over to the riverside. Trouble is, we'd seriously underestimated how heavy it was. The concrete base was actually huge and we could barely lift it. But spurred on by male bravado and the promise of a pack of stinky French fags, we persevered. By the time we reached the riverside, we were knackered, so without looking, we lifted it one over and it plummeted into the river. Except there wasn't a splashing sound. It was a sound I'll remember for the rest of my life. The sound of a luxury boat's exterior having a large hole smashed into by a metal cow with a concrete base.

We looked over the edge and the cow had indeed landed on a yacht and fallen right through. I remember thinking the hole looked like something out of a cartoon. And the boat. Boy, it looked expensive. And there, right on the bow of the yacht, the cow stood proud through the hole, pointing cheerfully in the direction of the open seas. It was, I think, probably the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life. And even though we knew we were in more trouble than we could imagine, we all fell about laughing. Even after the owners woke up and we realised we had to flee before they saw our faces, and eve as luck wouldn't have it, a police car spotted us leaving the site and chased us down the backstreets of the town, we still had tears rolling down our eyes as we fled.

The story made the local press and the police came to interview all of us at the restaurant as the yacht owner said he heard the culprits swearing in English. We stuck to our story ('We were asleep at the time') and amazingly, the trail went cold. The best thing was walking past the butchers every day seeing an empty spot where there used to be a laughing cow pointing us in the direction of its own meat. Linda McCartney and her underwhelming sausages would have been proud.
(, Tue 12 May 2009, 18:44, 8 replies)
Oh... dear...
Was out in Camden for a night of drinkies and general arsing about with some mates a while back. Met up outside the tube, strolled over to the Worlds End for some of the finest skull attack beverages money can buy, and then we took it from there.

We'd all decided, as a bet, to dress up as goths - the best dressed getting a cool twenty quid for their trouble. Well, it was Camden and we were bored.

Easy enough for me to do: chuck on some black jeans, black t-shirt, look a bit sad - hey presto. But some of my straight-laced mates looked a real fucking state. It was like a Danzig reunion. There were also some people turning up who I didn't know.

We were sat at a table at the Elephants Head, sipping whisky and talking utter bollocks, when the door opens and in comes a twat who looked like Tim Burton's younger brother, right down to the chains linking the trousers together and the type of hair you could only sculpt after jamming your fingers in the electricity socket for a few minutes.

"There's my mate, Phil," said my mate Steve. "He's an accountant. God, he's made the effort."

Now, I didn't know Phil - but I had to go and congratulate him on winning the bet for looking like the biggest twat in the world.

I went up to Phil.

"God, mate - I don't know you, but you look like the biggest twat in the world, put it there and let me buy you a drink," and I extended my hand.

And Phil called me a: "fucking cunt," and stormed out the pub in a cloud of hairspray and woodbines.

I went back to my seat a little bemused.

Steve said nonchalantly: "Errr, Spanky - I was pointing to that bloke over there," and he pointed out a bloke standing by the bar in a suit looking a bit uncomfortable who must've come in moments before. "Hi, Phil," said Steve, who then turned to me and said: "When I said he'd made the effort I was being sarcastic, dickhead."

And he sipped his pint.

And I sipped my pint.

And I spent the rest of the evening hoping I wasn't going to get my head kicked in by the dark, somewhat effeminate protectors of Camden Town.
(, Tue 12 May 2009, 17:36, Reply)
Two weekends ago,
Leinster v Munster in the Heineken cup rugby semi-final.

Didnt go the bookies, just put a bet on with the Munster supporter mate who was on the same stag as me in Munich.

E20 ea.

Another lad chipped in a further E20 for Leinster so Munster boy had to up the ante. Now there was E80 in the pot. Not lots but the lad was certain it was his.

Now, Munster supporters are smug cunts who think they have a God-given right to glory (they've won it 2 out of the last 3 years, mind you) but that day, they were particularly insufferable as they deem Leinster rugby to be posh boy champagne rugby.

It's kind of the equivalent of a hard North versus soft South English derby.

That day, Leinster played them off the field to win 24-6 and make it to the final against Leicester on 23rd May.



ps - I won E40 - woo!
(, Tue 12 May 2009, 16:59, 1 reply)
my parents bankrupted our street
My dad was fixing a computer at some stables down south, while he was there one of the stable hands got talking to him and gave him a tip for a race a week later claiming this horse could not loose.

My dad got home told my mum about the tip, the next day my mum raided the savings account and placed a big bet on the horse to win.
Being a gobby twat my mum told all her friends who went on and told their friends and before you knew it most of the street had placed a bet.

So come race day the street was buzzing everyone was laughing and joking thinking they was gonna be rich after the race.
The race started and a few minutes later the horse trotted in at 6 place.

Needless to say we wasn't very popular on that street for a few weeks
(, Tue 12 May 2009, 16:57, 3 replies)
Vive la France!
Gambling is all about taking a chance by weighing up the odds of a likely outcome and hoping it will pay off. I would like you to keep this in mind as you read the following sorry account that has nothing to do with gambling in its financial sense, or any other sense really.

Back in March I went Skiing with my brother. After a couple of hours of driving our hire car through the French alps en route to our resort we decided it was time to pull over at a lay-by so we could empty our bladders. We were quite high up, what with being up a mountain and all, so it was a bit chilly, but being Englishmen we wanted to hide our modesty as we went about our ablutions. This resulted in us attempting to pee over the edge with our backs to the road. As soon as I had pointed Percy down-range I realised it was never going to happen because, (a) It was a bit scary standing on the edge of a mountain attempting to pee into the void, (b) The wind was against me and (b) the afore mentioned wind was really REALLY cold and Mr Winkie had shrunk quite alarmingly. I deduced that my brother had come to a similar conclusion when I heard him shout, “FUCK ME THAT’S COLD!”

My brother and I re-grouped at the car and we both decided that as we had only seen a handful of cars in the last couple of hours, it was a safe enough gamble to pee in the direction of the road with our backs to the wind. Fair play to the 2 Gendarmes in the police car that drove past, they didn’t even bat an eyelid at the sight of two men with their cocks out pissing great wind assisted arcs in their general direction.

I’m so sorry, that had absolutely nothing to do with gambling did it? And writing this has made me realise that I missed the chance to shout “I piss in your general direction” at the Gendarmes in an outrageous French accent…I’ve let you down, I’ve let myself down…I feel ashamed and dirty. Mother told me there would be days like this. I won a tenner on the Grand National a few years ago…

(, Tue 12 May 2009, 16:09, 2 replies)
My housemates and I
used to play pool in the union bar for cups of tea.

I'm a real high roller me
(, Tue 12 May 2009, 15:44, Reply)
Drinking Buddies
One time my mate Posh John bet me a pint of lovely, fizzy, wholesome wife beater I couldn’t keep my mouth open really wide for thirty seconds.

Piece of piss, I thought, and proceeded to open my gob as wide as possible, glancing down at my watch, counting down the seconds ‘til I received my lovely free pint of Stella. John, being the grade A prize winning uber cunt of cuntdome that he is, flobbed a long, sticky, salty greenie into the back of my throat like he was shooting frogs in a barrel. I watched in abject horror as the phlegm spun through the air, as if in slow motion, and splattered on my tongue and snaked its way down my throat, tickling my tonsils and making me wretch like a guddun.

The cunt.

And I lost the bet.

But I got my own back on Posh John later that evening by delivering a swift, witty kick to the bollocks that made him sound like Bart Simpson for a few days.

Funny... we don’t go out drinking together much anymore...
(, Tue 12 May 2009, 15:34, Reply)
Last Bet
The last time I put a bet on was in 1991, £40 double going onto a 14/1 and then a 60/1 shot. Both won, fuck knows why I picked them but 9 grand better off.

Sorry the second part should have said 16/1. I didn't read it properly when I typed it
(, Tue 12 May 2009, 15:34, 1 reply)
I've just come back from Las Vegas
I didn't gamble there, being perfectly certain of getting carried away and losing my shirt. My daughter did though and won.

However, our best 'win' was learning how to get plastered on drinks at one dollar each - beer, spirits or whatever, all a dollar. We'll certainly be back!
(, Tue 12 May 2009, 15:04, 2 replies)
I just made a massive gamble -
Not 3 seconds ago I decided to pick my nose - my nose bleed side as it is crusty and full of nuggets... Will I get red rainfall?

I'm offering 4/6 on - takers?
(, Tue 12 May 2009, 14:50, Reply)
I have a gold medallion with a picture of a pheasant on it.

Is that game bling?
(, Tue 12 May 2009, 14:22, 2 replies)
I won

Euro 96. Football fever gripped England and Ladbrokes wanted in on the action. They decided that what the nation really wanted was to play fantasy football. For cash.

The competition was organised thusly: £5 to enter, a prize of £25 to the winner at each branch and a prize of £1000 to the outright winner. Suspect Ladbrokes pocketed about £5m and paid out about £30k...

It just so happened that my bird was managing a small Ladbrokes branch and couldn't be bothered with this extra gimmick so didn't put out the signs or entry slips. She did inform me, however, and I and some other geezer who asked about it were the only entrants.

I won £25!

All legit and above board of course.

Edit: though she did show me the other bloke's entry and I was glad to see he'd picked Cantona who wasn't even in France's squad.
(, Tue 12 May 2009, 14:14, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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