Three Sample Chapters
How My First “Knight” Out Ended Up in the Crapper
Character-enhancing Lesson:
Releasing Harmful Emotions
Denver, Colorado; July 27, 2007; 4:45 P.M.
I didn’t want to get carried away on the first day of my journey. Besides, I was already tired from a week of preparation for my trip. I just wanted to try out the time machine and get some rest. I planned to spend my first “knight” out in Denver, Colorado. So I set the date/time/destination controls on the time-travel module, which was located on the dash in the Corvette, for a couple of months into the future and for Denver. Little did I know then that it would turn out to be a “knight” to remember!
After I pressed the green Go button, I disappeared. Then about as fast as I could blink, the car, with me in it, reappeared. The glossy, metallic-red, 2007 Vette “energized” on a busy street near downtown Denver.
Everywhere I looked, there were people and cars—stop-and-go, bumper-to-bumper driving. Willie had mentioned that I might get caught up, at times, in rush-hour traffic when I visited bigger cities. He wasn’t kidding. After driving in Hollywood, though, the crowded streets in Denver seemed mild by comparison. Besides, my nerves had calmed down when I realized that the time machine was functioning correctly.
I had decided to stop at the first motel I saw. But first I wanted to get something to eat—just a hamburger or two and a drink that I could take with me to my room.
As I drove down the road, I saw a Burger Castle directly ahead. “My kind of place,” I said to myself. I didn’t feel like getting out of the car and having a bunch of people ask me why I was wearing a full suit of armor. So when I pulled into the fast-food joint, I drove around to the drive-up window.
“I’ll have that #1 Knight Meal Deal and a large Pepsi®,” I said, after I stopped at the menu-speaker stand.
“Do you want our special ‘Guinevere’s Tartar Sauce’ with those fries, Sir?””
“Yeah, I guess. I didn’t know that Guinevere made a tartar sauce.”
“What did you say, Sir?”
“Never mind! Yes, I’ll try the tartar sauce.”
“Please pull up to the first window.”
I did, but I forgot to take off my helmet. When the cute little brunette handed me my order, she laughed and asked, “Why are you dressed up as if you were Sir Lancelot or somebody? Are you on your way to a Halloween party in the final week of July?”
“Sweetheart, it’s a long story. You might get the chance to hear or to read about it someday,” I replied, getting in the last laugh.
After I picked up my fast-food order, I drove about two blocks down the street and pulled into the Lost Knight Motel. I checked into my room, laid my helmet down on one of the bedside night tables, and sat down to eat my dinner.
Then I unloaded my duffel bag. I knew that something was missing. . . . Suddenly, it dawned on me. I raised my hands high above my head and said, “Damn! I forgot to pack my toothbrush!” The bad taste in my mouth from that damn Guinevere’s Tartar Sauce should’ve been my first clue that my journey was destined to get off to a sour start.
Sure enough, things got worse. My stomach started aching. I wanted to get some badly needed rest and overcome my stomach ache, so I leaped, spread eagle and face up, right in the middle of my king-size bed.
Several hours elapsed. I had experienced more and more stomach pain as the time slowly ticked off the clock. Then I developed a slight headache. I got up and I went into the bathroom. I needed something to take for my aches and pains. When I reached above the sink and opened the medicine cabinet, I said to myself, “Ah, here’s a bottle of cod liver oil.” I took a couple of swigs. “I need a fast acting laxative,” I said to myself. “I hope that this will do the trick.”
I dampened a towel and wrapped it around my forehead. Then I went back to bed. I tossed and turned for over an hour. I just couldn’t go to sleep.
All at once I opened my eyes, and I looked out of the window. Superman (the late Christopher Reeve, out of respect for his leading roles in the Superman movies) was outside on the sidewalk. He had been “examining” my tummy through the window with his dual X-ray vision.
Seeing Superman, in person, for the first time was strange. With his broad shoulders, well-defined pectoral and abdominal muscles, together with his bulging biceps and calf muscles—all stretching that predominately blue spandex suit—and that long, streamlined, red, satin cape, the Man of Steel appeared to be all that he was advertised to be—“more powerful than a locomotive, faster than a speeding bullet, and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.”
Curiously, there was a big mirror on the ceiling directly over my bed. As both of Superman’s red eye-beams focused on my stomach, I looked into the mirror and saw a reflection of what was ailing me.
Superman’s X-ray vision showed that my tummy and intestines were filled with: fear, doubt, worry, unhappiness, depression, frustration, resentment, anger, hatred, etc. Superman could see that I was hurting, but that damn “S” man didn’t come to my rescue! Instead, he flew away as if he were a coward and as if he were fleeing from a fight.
“I really feel bloated,” I moaned, holding my stomach firmly with both hands. “God, I wish that someone would help me!”
Instantly, I saw the image of a very sexy lady. She stood just a few feet off to the right side of my bed. The dazzling longhair blonde reminded me of Jessica Simpson, one of my favorite movie stars. In fact, after I studied her shapely figure for a few seconds, I was pretty certain that she was Jessica Simpson!
With a look of bewilderment etched on my face, I asked, “Are my eyes deceiving me, or are you Jessica Simpson?”
“Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife, your eyes are and they are not deceiving you.” Now, I really was confused. Jessica or whoever continued, “You see, Wantsalittle, it appears to you that I am Jessica Simpson. But I would rather that you call Me by My real name—God!”
I got more and more confused by the second. I asked, “You mean ‘God’ with respect to the idea that You are acting out the part of God?”
“No, I mean ‘God’ as a matter of FACT! The truth is, Wantsalittle, I’ve been watching just about every move that you’ve made since that day in Camelot—the day you proclaimed that you were going on a quest. I recall that you said something about your wanting to ‘become more worldly’ and to ‘feel and act like a king.’ Do you know what I’m referring to?”
“There must be something wrong here!” I exclaimed. “For God’s sake, the Lord isn’t a woman, is He . . . e-r-r, is She?”
God giggled and replied, “Wantsalittle, your words reflect your chauvinistic attitude. What makes you think that ‘God’ couldn’t be a woman?”
My mouth and eyes were wide open, and I was simply speechless for a few moments. Then I gathered what few senses I had left and tried to answer God’s question. “I never considered the idea that our ‘Supreme Being’ or ‘the Creator’ or ‘the Lord’ or ‘God Almighty’ could be a female! God, You’re certainly an eyeful of heaven! I just adore that half-unbuttoned, rather-revealing, pink blouse. You certainly are well-endow—”
God interrupted me before I could complete my well-intended compliment. “Now I’m beginning to understand why your birth name was ‘Wantsalittle Morenooky.’ Please keep in mind just who it is that you are speaking with, okay?”
I was a little embarrassed about trying to flirt with the Lord. I thought about adding some nice comments with respect to the rest of Her ravishing physique and sexy attire—things such as: Her distinguished, entrancing, light-blonde hair; Her short, cut-just-above-the-knee, powder-blue skirt, with a lengthy left-side slit; and Her long, slender, stunning legs. But I decided not to push my luck. Instead, I asked, “Why do You look so much like Jessica Simpson?”
“Wantsalittle, did you know that I, being God, can read your mind? In your thoughts and while your eyes were ‘covering all of the bases,’ how come you failed to recognize My shiny, pink, three-inch-heel, genuine-leather pumps?”
“Oh, Lord, I’m so sorry! But You must admit that You are a real ‘knockout’!”
“Wantsalittle, thanks, I think, for that nice compliment. I wanted to appear before you in a human form. I knew that Jessica Simpson was one of your favorite entertainers. So I thought that I would sort of clone Jessica and give you somebody to talk with who could be most appealing to you. Tell Me, Wantsalittle, does this body and My meticulous choice of costume fill the bill?”
“It sure does! I don’t know whether to address You as ‘God’ or as ‘Goddess’!”
Earnestly amused, the Lord roared in laughter at my last remarks. Then She said, “By the way, Wantsalittle, you really don’t know, for certain, whether or not that God is a male or a female. And I’m not going to tell you. You’ll just have to keep wondering, like everyone else. Let Me just ask you this: Really, does it matter?”
“No, I guess not. It is more fun, though, that You are presenting Yourself to me in the persona, including diction and voice, of Jessica Simpson. Thank You, Lord, for Your great sense of humor and for Your utmost consideration!”
“You’re very welcome, Wantsalittle. Now, let’s discuss some more serious matters. You are traveling around in Willie C. Light’s time machine, in hot pursuit of your praiseworthy, coveted goals; at least, you are in search of those adventures that may provide you with the knowledge and the experience necessary for you to fulfill your commendable dreams. As you embark on your quest, you could become a legend in your own ‘time,’ as well as other ‘times.’ On the bottom line, I have a vested interest in your ultimate success.”
I wasn’t sure what the Lord meant by “vested interest.” I asked, “God, why is my success so important to You?”
“To begin with, I’d like to see anyone achieve to the best of his or her abilities and live a happier, more prosperous life on earth. People look up to, admire, and are motivated by good example-setters. I’ve noticed that your intentions have always been in good order.”
“Well, I’m glad that I’ve done something right!”
“The idea that you’re upset about such things as ‘authoritarian leadership’ and a form of government that ‘deprives the common people’ shows Me that, by and large, you’re conscientious and that you care about the welfare of your fellow man. I’d like for you to become a great example-setter. But you’ve got some rough edges. In particular, I’m concerned about the facts that you drink way too much, that you can’t control your bad temper, and that you frequently display aggressive, socially unacceptable patterns of behavior.”
“Yes, I’ll admit to those faults and a few others.”
“Wantsalittle, I haven’t mentioned, up to now, some of your other noteworthy personal problems—your generally sexist-minded approach to women, for instance.”
A bit embarrassed and a little angered, I shouted, “Good God, Lord! Is there anything that You don’t already know about me?”
The Lord’s mood and disposition suddenly took a downward turn. Her big, bewitching, brown eyes now reflected traces of red. God squinted, slightly, and glared at me through demoniac, piercing eyes. Then She shouted, “I guess that you failed to hear Me when I said it was time to talk about ‘some more serious matters’! Wantsalittle, it may appear to you that I am just another pretty face—someone who you can easily joke around with, perhaps make fun of, or tease by way of your snide, sometimes sexually inferring quips and comments. By God, Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife, I am your Lord! God Almighty! Your Creator! Young man, it wouldn’t hurt for you to show Me a little more respect!”
As God yelled and screamed at me in an explosive, thunderous outburst, I noticed that She had a bit of a bad temper, Herself! I did my best to disguise the excruciating pain in my stomach. I would have been embarrassed for God to know all of what was ailing me. But I should have known that I couldn’t keep any secrets from the Lord.
God leaned back on the heels of Her bright-pink pumps and took a couple of deep breaths. I really wanted to poke fun at Her jaw-dropping frontal pose, but I wasn’t sure that She had finished bawling me out. Besides, I was still too scared to make any sarcastic, sexually pointed, or should I say “two-pointed,” remarks about Her broad, eye-popping, protruding posture as She profoundly inhaled those two gigantic gulps of air.
When the Lord calmed down, She said, “Wantsalittle, it looks as though you’re really hurting inside, and I don’t think that you’ve got a case of the stomach flu. As I see it, some of your negative thoughts and emotions are plugging you up, restricting your capacity to have faith in Me, and damaging your self-confidence and your self-esteem.”
“What do You recommend?” I asked, knowing that God was my best hope of pulling my first night on the road out of the crapper!
Then the Lord said, “I mentally picked up on that ‘crapper’ thought of yours!”
“I didn’t mean to make light of—”
God broke in and said, “That’s all right, Wantsalittle. Your God does have a keen sense of humor, at least most of the time. Believe it or not, I like to laugh and joke around as much as anybody. Your wry sense of humor and sometimes wit-spoken words reflect your charming, down-to-earth, good-hearted nature. I don’t want you to lose those fine personal qualities. Please don’t take offense or to heart My earlier, momentary lapse of patience with you. As we proceed, over time, with our conversations, I’m confident that you will better understand the importance of communicating with more tact, when it’s called for, and you’ll learn to listen more attentively. And as you further mature, morally and ethically, from your upcoming virtue-seeking adventures and experiences, you will become more respectful of others and more sensitive to others’ individual needs.”
The Lord paused for a few seconds, then continued, “Wantsalittle, the real drama in your life—what should make your life more entertaining, more challenging, and more rewarding—your personal performance will be played out according to how you act and react to various adverse, often-very-difficult circumstances and conditions. By the time the curtain falls on your forthcoming journey, ending the accelerated stage of what should be your steadfast, nonstop drive for self-development and personal growth, you will possess an uncommon strength of morality and an exceptional standard of ethics—character traits more befitting of a king.”
My already aching stomach condition had gradually worsened as the Lord kept spewing Her lengthy, perhaps-scholarly discourse or oration . . . or whatever She might choose to call it. All I could think of, throughout God’s sermon, was my “steadfast, nonstop drive” to rush into the bathroom. I said, “Lord, Your concern for my better interests, character-wise, has touched my heart. And Your forecast for my eventual, heavenly wellbeing has been respectfully noted. But what do You think that I should do, RIGHT NOW, TONIGHT, to rid myself of some of my more negative thoughts and dreadful, all-too-often-hateful, innermost emotions?”
“Wantsalittle, we’re not going to be able to solve all of your problems in one sitting. It’s going to take some time and patience on both our parts. Really, the first thing I think that you should do is to go into the other room and try to ‘royally flush’ some of your ‘angels in black.’”
“What do You mean by ‘angels in black’?” I asked, reluctantly. I was afraid that God’s answer would likely be detailed and delay my inevitable trip to the toilet.
“The expression ‘angels in black’ is symbolic of your negative thoughts, bad habits, harmful emotions, etc.—any and all personal thoughts and personal behaviors that YOU perceive to be ‘skeletons hanging in your closet’—everything that reflects your darker side. You should clear your system of harmful emotional waste. Then try to fill your heart with more positive thoughts and emotions—things like: joy, self-love, love of others, love of your God, faith in your God’s goodness, belief in yourself, your worthwhile individual goals, and your precious personal dreams.”
“That’s going to take some doing on my part!”
“That might be an understatement!” God exclaimed. “For quite some time now, you’ve likely been trying, consciously or subconsciously, to suppress the feelings of your darker side. If your personal truths cause you to fear your angels in black, you must come to understand that such fear is not founded in universal reality. Your fear signifies personal false beliefs, not universal truths. As you continue on your journey, I’ll try My best to help you to gain control over your negative thoughts and harmful emotions. My guidance will enable you to conquer your angels in black, one by one.”
“I really appreciate Your willingness to help me, Lord. What else can I do, NOW, to work on my false beliefs?”
“The Bible states, ‘As a man thinks in his heart, so is he.’ (Proverbs 23:7) Your heart is at the center of all your attitudes, goals, feelings, and actions. As you think with the attitude of self-confidence, for instance, you will be self-confident. Try to ‘see the light’ of your positive thoughts and emotions. As you do, you’ll be able to release your enemies within! That’s about all that I can suggest at this time.”
“Thanks, my Lord! When will I see You again?”
“That’s up to you. You are welcome to call on Me at any time! Wantsalittle, let’s keep our future meetings on the informal side and just between us. Nobody else will be able to see or hear Me when we get together. I’ll contact you ‘in person’ upon your requests, but only for as long as you continue on your journey to personal enlightenment.”
Suddenly, God reflected a solemn expression on Her face. The Lord said, “Wantsalittle, because I am appearing before you and speaking with you in human form, I am apt to adopt human emotions and become influenced, although temporarily, by human behaviors and characteristics. In other words, you, as an imperfect mortal being, may cause Me to say things and perhaps do some things, at times, that I, as your God, wouldn’t say or do. And on account of My human stance and expression as Jessica Simpson, I will accept many of your sarcastic, sexist-slanted thoughts and remarks so long as your intentions are honorable and you are willing to learn and show personal growth from My intermittent advice and suggestions.”
I said, “Thank you, Lord, for allowing me some ‘human latitude’ in my face-to-face correspondence with You. After all, it was Your idea to assume the human form of a most attractive young lady. I will promise to try to keep my chauvenistic thoughts and remarks to a minimum and ‘above board’ during our future conversations. Hopefully, though, we can maintain a light-hearted yet meaningful and educational verbal exchange throughout the course of my quest toward enlightenment. Who knows, among many other of my shortcomings, You might even be able to help me cure my generally sexist attitude by journey’s end.”
“Wantsalittle, I’ll give you everything that I’ve got—e-r-r let Me rephrase that before you get the wrong idea: I’ll do the very best that I can to help you in every aspect of your character. As for your sexist-minded ways, we’ve definitely got our work cut out for us, haven’t we?”
“I’m afraid so, but I am willing to learn!”
“That’s what I wanted to hear. As your God, I am willing to swallow some pride and absorb the brunt of your sexist-directed humor if by so doing I am able to influence you in a positive way and help you to become the very best that you can be.”
The Lord started to walk toward the door. Then She stopped and turned around. She said, “By the way, Superman was coming to your rescue. I used mental telepathy, of sorts, to give him the idea that you already had a ‘protecting angel.’ Then Superman flew off to take care of other important matters.”
“God, thank You for telling me that! That renews my confidence in the ‘S’ man.” The Lord just snickered, and then She suddenly disappeared.
Still sprawled out on the bed in my motel room, my stomach pains had become all but unbearable. I knew that, somehow, I had to eliminate the oppressive pain. Tightly gripping my gut, I crawled off the bed and labored to get into the bathroom.
When I finally got there, I braced myself against the wall with one hand and held onto the bathroom doorknob, then the towel rack, and then the shower rod with the other hand, waddling my way along to the toilet. Then I made good use of the white porcelain fixture, going “#2.”
When I got up and flushed the toilet, I saw the words: fear, doubt, worry, unhappiness, depression, guilt, resentment, anger, hatred, frustration, envy, tension, impatience, etc.—all of these self-limiting emotional terms swirled in the water just before they were sucked down the drain. Temporarily, at least, I had cleared my body of negative thoughts and harmful emotions.
On my way back to bed, I smiled and said, “Whew! What a relief it is to flush away some of the crap that has been constipating my thinking!”
(The moral of this episode: Replace negative emotions with more positive ones!)
Continue or back to the “home” page
Crossed Wires and Smoke Signals
Character-enhancing Lesson:
Overcoming Your Resistance to Positive Change
D.I.A. (Denver International Airport); July 28, 2007; 10:00 A.M.
The next morning I felt refreshed and ready to go. What a difference a good night’s sleep made. I went outside and looked around. “Wow! It’s a terrific day,” I said to myself. “Today, there are a couple of things that I’d like to do. I want to take my first ride on an airplane, and I want to see Las Vegas.”
I packed my things, and I left the motel. I drove a few miles east of Denver to D.I.A. I had planned to leave the Corvette at the airport and take the time-travel remote with me to Las Vegas. That way I could program the remote to transfer the car to Las Vegas, and I wouldn’t have to take a plane back to Denver to retrieve the vehicle.
After I got to the airport, I bought a one-way ticket to Vegas. I only had to pay seventy-nine dollars. They gave me a good discount because some lady had just canceled her reservation; they wanted to fill her seat.
I thought that my day was going to get off to a flying start. But I encountered a problem at Concourse “K” when I attempted to get through the metal detector to board the plane. A sign posted above the security archway read “PLACE ALL BAGS AND METAL OBJECTS HERE.”
I did my best to be inconspicuous. After I put my duffel bag, war club, and ax on the passenger-check-through belt, I tried to slip, undetected, through the security area. Suddenly, bright-red flashing lights came on. A deafening alarm sounded. The loud noise startled me, and the alarm drew the attention of dozens of airline passengers, who were in the immediate vicinity.
I should’ve realized that my full suit of armor would trigger the alarm. I was thoroughly embarrassed by the incident. Fortunately, I had the visor down on my helmet; nobody saw the blood rushing to my sweat-dampened, ruby-red face.
To make matters worse, two security guards rushed over and hurriedly carried me away. I trembled from head to toe. My quivering left hand held an airline ticket that had “VIVA LAS VEGAS” and “FUN JET” boldly typed across the front of it. “Some fun this idea turned out to be,” I said.
Then the guards hustled me to the front door. “We suggest that you choose another mode of transportation,” one of the guards said, showing a sneer on his face.
After the security men released me and returned my bag and my weapons to me, outside the main terminal, I raised my war club and said, “You guys wouldn’t be so brave if it wasn’t for the fact that there are two of you and that you both are toting those big black revolvers!”
“I’m only going to tell you this once, pal,” the other guard said, after pulling out his pistol and pointing it at me. “Put down that big club of yours! How would you like to spend the night in jail, Sir . . . whoever you are?” I lowered my weapon and took off on a mad dash for the Vette.
I reached into the car and took out a piece of cardboard and a magic marker. Then I wrote “EXCALIBUR HOTEL & CASINO OR BUST!” in large black letters, and I hung the sign on the passenger-side door of the car. I was determined to get to Vegas one way or the other.
Frustrated and a bit angered after the incident with the metal detector, I said to myself, “I refuse to change clothes just to travel on an airplane! What’s the world coming to that one must undress to fly first class? . . . Lord, how can I overcome my resistance to change?”
When I started to get into the car, I heard somebody coming up from behind me. I grabbed my ax and swiftly spun around; I was ready to strike out against any potential adversary. I probably shouldn’t have been so hasty.
“Oh—God! It’s just You!”
“Wantsalittle, you could act as though you’re a little happier to see Me.”
“I’m sorry, Lord. My mind is focused on something else right now.”
The Lord asked, “Do you remember what I told you about your being aggressive?”
I was red-faced, again. “Yes, I apologize for threatening the security guards a few moments ago. I get a little hot tempered and hostile at times, as You already know.”
“You called My name and had a question with regards to how you might ‘overcome your resistance to change.’ Let’s see if I can help you with that, okay?”
“Yes! Obviously, I’m pretty set in my ways. I got hung up with the metal detector, here at D.I.A., as I tried to board a plane to Las Vegas. I’m not accustomed to all of modern technology and to various contemporary cultural standards and ways. In many respects, my life was much simpler and easier in Camelot. How can I learn to be more flexible and willing to accept positive change?”
God said, “Let’s sit down in the car and discuss this topic for a few minutes.”
With my cumbersome suit of armor, it took me a minute to wedge my way into the Vette. The Lord sat down in the passenger-side seat. Again, She was very alluring. On this occasion, God fashioned a white, satin, short-sleeve blouse, a dark-red, pleated skirt, and low-heel, white sandals. But this time, Her shirt was buttoned clear to the top!
As soon as we both got comfortable, the Lord said, “Walter Bagelot once wrote, ‘One of the greatest pains to human nature is the pain of a new idea.’ Really, Wantsalittle, change is good when people have positive images and ideas that lead to progress. Some change, an improved airport security system, for example, is necessary if it serves to benefit or to better protect the rights and privileges of the public at large.”
The late-morning sun shined brightly through the cloudless sky. Outside the car, the temperature was about ninety degrees. We put the windows down as soon as we got into the Vette, but it was still getting too warm in the car. The Lord exclaimed, “God, it’s getting hot in here!” She quickly unfastened the top three buttons on her sweat-dampened blouse and squirmed around, from side to side, on the car seat for a few seconds. These maneuvers allowed me a glimpse of Her high-riding cleavage, which was enticingly presented to me from over the top of Her light-red, low-cut, French-lace, push-up bra.
I had a feeling that God was going to be long-winded with Her suggestions. She probably would have to take several deep breaths of air throughout Her upcoming food-for-thought message. Although I really hated to, under the fantastic peeking conditions, I started the engine, put the windows up, and turned on the air-conditioner. Then I flipped the switch on the blower to full blast.
“I want you to read part of a good story,” God said, “of two men who overcame a greater resistance to positive change.”
The Lord handed me a sheet of paper. A section of a movie script was typed on the page. “What I’m about to share with you is an excerpt from a scene in a popular American film, The Outlaw Josey Wales. Clint Eastwood played Josey Wales, and the late Clint Sampson had the part of Ten Bears, a wise but angry Comanche Indian Chief.”
“Great! But how did You know what question I wanted to ask? Do You make it a habit to carry portions of movie scripts around with You?”
“Wantsalittle, give Me a little credit, will you? As your God, I have a clairvoyant mind. I can see into the future. I knew, beforehand, what you were going to ask Me.”
By now, the temperature in the car had dropped to a cozy seventy degrees. While re-buttoning her blouse, God said, “Wantsalittle, I hope that you’ve enjoyed ‘the view’ for the past minute or so. You seem to have a constant fixation with My chest!”
“Yeah, but it seems to me that You have a tendency to expose a plentiful portion of Your fine, full, mammary glands. I don’t know whether or not that You’re being generous or simply teasing me or what?”
The Lord chuckled and said, “Well, I admit that I am teasing you a little. I just thought that My sexy, more-revealing attire might help to keep our meetings and conversations on the lighter side and make our important, meaningful conferences a little more fun for you. Honestly, My breasts are not that big. My push-up bra gives you a false impression of My actual bust size. Tell me something, Wantsalittle. Could you ever become interested in a woman who wasn’t well endowed?”
“Sure! Marilotta Light isn’t that ‘big,’ as You must already know. But I haven’t been able to get her off my mind. In fact, I’d seriously consider falling in love and marrying Marilotta, or somebody very much like her. For many guys, bigger boobs just give a female a little extra physical appeal. But that part or any other specific part of a woman’s anatomy, is not all that important to me. A lady is beautiful by what is in her heart, and that is what counts in any meaningful relationship!”
“I’d like to believe all of what you just said, Wantsalittle. Really, though, I don’t know if there is any hope for you with respect to young, attractive, buxom women. Perhaps, time will tell!” We both chuckled. Then God said, “Now, Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife, please take the time to read the brief excerpt from the movie script.”
The script read:
Josey Wales: You’ll be Ten Bears?
Ten Bears: I am Ten Bears.
Josey Wales: I’m Josey Wales. . . . I came here to die with ya or to live with ya. Dying ain’t so hard for men like you and me. It’s living that’s hard. Governments don’t live together; people live together. With governments, you don’t always get a fair word or a fair fight. Well, I’ve come here to give ya either one or get either one from ya. . . . The sign of the Comanche—that will be on our lodge; that’s my word of life.
Ten Bears: And your word of death?
Josey Wales: It’s here in my pistols, there in your rifles. I’m just giving you life, and you’re giving me life. . . . And I’m saying that men can live together without butchering one another.
Ten Bears: There’s iron in your words of death for all Comanche to see, and so there’s iron in your words of life. No signed paper can hold the iron. It must come from men. The words of Ten Bears carries the same iron of life and death. It is good that warriors such as we meet in the struggle of life or death. . . . It shall be LIFE!
When I handed the script back to God, She said, “This is a classic example of two great men, each representing different cultures, who found a way to accept new circumstances and benefit from their changing environments.”
The Lord stopped to take a deep breath. I turned the air conditioner down a couple of notches, hoping that She might get a little overheated, again, during Her rather exhausting dissertation. Then God continued, “Ben Franklin hit it right on the mark when he stated, ‘We must all hang together or assuredly we will all hang separately.’”
“Yeah, but how does the Josey Wales’ and Ten Bears’ story pertain to me?”
The Lord paused to take an even deeper breath. Unfortunately, She left Her blouse fully buttoned. Then God concluded, “It’s high time that civilized societies, governments, and all of mankind overcome their resistance to positive change. People must begin to respect, tolerate, and love one another, individually and collectively, and lay down their arms and prejudices! Wantsalittle, are you on the same page with Me here?”
I tried to quickly respond to the Lord’s question. But my mouth was wide open at the time; I was right in the middle of the last one of four, back-to-back, big YAWNS! As soon as I was able to get my mouth closed, I replied, “Yes! And I’ll try to do my part!”
“Wantsalittle, I’m glad to hear that. . . . Say, you look like you’re about to fall asleep. I hope that you’re not getting bored with My important message! Are you?”
“Oh, no!” I exclaimed, my eyes now wide open and my jaws now clamped shut, following my yawns.
“Wantsalittle, when we first met, you confessed that you had overly aggressive tendencies. Something tells Me that you’re in for a tough battle with that particular personal demon.”
“Yes, but with Your help, I think that I can overcome my bad temper and aggressive ways. God, is there anything else that You’d like to add on the topic of ‘accepting positive change’?”
“Here is one last thing: I want you to remember that as you think with the attitude of accepting positive change, you will become a part of progress, accordingly. Try to think about how you’ll overcome your resistance to positive change.”
Again, the Lord left just as suddenly as She had appeared. In a way, I was kind of glad to see Her leave, for now. I said to myself, “What a sermon! When the Lord gets going, you can’t shut Her up! I think that She must’ve got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Why is She taking Her problems with some of the rest of the world out on me? Besides, the Lord could’ve summed up much of what She had to say in one figurative sentence: As most people on earth constantly try to screw one another, some mutants will be born! Anyway, I sure hope that God is in a better mood the next time that I call on Her!”
The time had come for me to go on with my plans for the day. I typed in the words “Las Vegas” on the time-travel module and pushed the green ‘Go’ button. I didn’t expect what happened next.
On my way to “Glitter Gulch,” that outlaw, Josey Wales, held me up! Here’s how I ended up playing “Cowboys and Indians”:
The Vette and I energized out in the middle of nowhere. I was surrounded by lots of cactus, a few rocks, and some shrubs. And I saw some wildlife. A prairie rattler slithered across the trail in front of the car. I noticed a couple of lizards. They were slithering around in the desert sand. Then I looked up and gazed at a vulture, which was hovering just above me. The rapacious bird fluttered his wings when he looked down on me; the vulture probably hoped that I would end up being his next prey. Also, I saw several scorpions. The ugly little critters were crawling all over the ground, snacking on ants.
I said to myself, “What happened here? I know that Las Vegas is out in the desert, but something isn’t right!”
I looked down at the computer module. The dial read “Las Vegas, New Mexico; July 28, 1867; 3:30 P.M.” Then I began to understand. I forgot to program the time-travel computer for “Nevada,” and I forgot to put in the “date and time” of day. Some wires in the time-travel unit must’ve crossed. I was transported to the future site of Las Vegas, NEW MEXICO. I said, “No problem! I’ll just re-enter the date, place, and time.”
Before I entered the correct data on the computer module, I got out of the car to stretch my legs for a minute and to have a cigarette. I had asked Willie if I could have the rest of his carton of Tomarlbury cigarettes to take with me on my journey. I sort of got into the bad habit of smoking Tomarlburys when I was staying in Hollywood.
As I took a drag on my just-lit cigarette, I noticed that I wasn’t the only one in the vicinity who was blowing smoke. I looked off into the distance and saw smoke signals coming up from behind a hill, about a mile away. Those little clouds of white and gray smoke made me curious. But there was just a wagon trail headed in that direction. I knew that the Vette didn’t have enough clearance to get over the rocks and ruts in the road. I didn’t know how to set the computer to travel that mile, so I came up with a better idea.
Willie had told me, that with the main computer module in the car, it was possible to transport somebody or something, through time, either TO some destination, as would normally be the case, or FROM some place in time, in the event that I would want to fetch Spirit, my talking horse, for instance. I could only do this if I knew somebody’s exact location at a particular time. Then I could energize those molecules to wherever I happened to be.
I knew that Spirit always rested in the same spot in his stall every night. And because of the time difference between New Mexico and England, I also knew that it would be late at night in Camelot. I said, “What have I got to lose?” I keyed in what I hoped were all the appropriate buttons on the module and pressed Go.
As fast as my stallion could have wagged his tail or as if Merlin were performing his sorcery magic—presto—Spirit suddenly appeared. The horse energized right between the car and me.
“Hi there, Spirit!” I said. I walked over and stroked the palomino’s long, light-brown and golden-colored snout. “Welcome to the ‘Badlands’ of New Mexico. Would you like to take me for a little ride?”
“Master, it’s good to see you again! I’ve been wondering about you. Hop aboard. I’ll take you wherever it is that you want to go.”
I mounted up and headed on down the trail. I got about a hundred yards from the car and just around the first bend in the road. All at once, some cowpoke galloped out from behind a clump of tall sage brush. He hollered, “Halt there, partner! Where da ya think yer goin’? . . . And why are ya dressed from head ta foot with all that strange-lookin’ tin?”
My “strange-lookin’ tin” outfit shouldn’t have looked any stranger to him than his dusty old cowboy duds appeared to me! Anyhow, I readied my lance and replied, “My name is Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife. Please state your intentions before I move to impale you!”
“Hold on there, Sir . . . whoever ya said! I mean ya no harm! Do ya realize that yer right-smack-dab in the middle of Comanche Indian country?”
I said, “Say—I know a little bit about you. Aren’t you some kind of a famous outlaw? Don’t they call you ‘the outlaw Josey Wales’?”
“Yeah, some people refer ta me as ‘the outlaw Josey Wales,’ but I AIN’T NO OUTLAW! I’ve never stole nothin’ in my life, and I’ve never kilt nobody that didn’t need killin’. Some Union soldiers, who are searchin’ for me, tagged me with the term ‘outlaw.’ In truth, it’s they who are the real outlaws!”
Then I turned and said, “Those smoke signals up ahead—let me guess—I’ll bet that the smoke is coming from Ten Bears’ Indian village.”
“How did ya know that?” Josey asked?
“Just call it a lucky guess. Have you already spoken with Ten Bears?”
Josey tucked his pistol back in his holster and got down off his gray stallion. Then he replied, “Nope, I’m on my way ta do that now. You see, Ten Bears is angry. The white man has lied to him, ambushed his warriors, taken away his prime huntin’ grounds, and pushed him as far as he’s willin’ to go. Now he wants to fight back for what’s already rightfully his!”
“Aren’t you afraid to go up against him alone?” I asked.
“Yer damn right I am! What’s more, I ain’t got no personal grudge with him. But he’s holdin’ a couple of honest, decent men hostage. I gotta try ta point that out and reason with him.”
“Yeah, I think that I know what you’re going to say to him. Why don’t you let me go in your place?”
“Well . . . okay, but yer probably headed to yer own funeral! If you fail, ya could make it harder fer me ta deal with him later.”
“I won’t fail! It was good talking with you, Josey.”
“Same here, Wantsalittle. Best of luck to ya with Ten Bears!” Josey said, as he began to ride off in the other direction.
An hour or so later, I galloped right into Ten Bears’ camp. He rode out to meet me, along with about a dozen of his braves. We faced each other on horseback. Ten Bears had streaks of red and black war paint smeared all over his forehead and cheeks. He fashioned a three-feather war bonnet; one long, predominately brown eagle feather stuck up between two other grayish ones. I could tell that Ten Bears was in a foul mood and that our meeting was going to be cast in a serious light. Fortunately, I remembered the words from the movie script. I just “filled in” for Josey Wales.
Near the end of our conversation, a couple of Ten Bears’ scouts rode up. They had seen the Vette and read the cardboard sign, which was still taped to the door.
“This paleface roams across our land in style,” one Comanche scout said to all of the other braves. Then he looked at me and asked, “Where is this place you call Excalibur Hotel & Casino?” I just snickered and switched my attention back to Ten Bears.
After Ten Bears said, “It shall be LIFE!”—we tossed our weapons, his lance and rifle and bow together with my lance and war club and ax, on the ground, except for our hunting knives. Ten Bears patted his pure-white stallion on the rump and rode up beside me, closing the few feet of distance that there had been between us. He sat on his horse, just off to my right. As we sat in our saddles, we faced each other, serious but cordial expressions on our faces. Then I leaned a bit to my left, away from Ten Bears, and spat on a scorpion, which had been sunning itself on a flat rock, off to the left side of Spirit.
We used the sharp-bladed knives to slice the palms of our hands. Ten Bears made a slight cut on his right hand; I removed my right steel glove and cut into the palm of my right hand. Scarlet-red blood trickled from Ten Bears’ hand, and blood oozed from the palm of my right hand. Finally, we reached out to each other and tightly clasped the palms of our freshly sliced hands, becoming “blood brothers” in the process.
Ten Bears concluded, “From now on, we will live together as good neighbors in peace!”
Once more, I leaned over and spat on the scorpion. Then, in agreement with the wise Comanche Chief, I said, “I reckon so!”
(The moral of this episode: Overcome your resistance to positive change!)
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“You’ve Got to be the Wackiest Knight from Camelot!”
Character-enhancing Lesson:
Replacing “Aggressiveness” with “Assertiveness”
Las Vegas, Nevada; July 28, 2007; 8:40 P.M.
After my pow-wow with Ten Bears, I rode my horse back to the Vette. Then I “transported” Spirit back to Camelot and adjusted the time-travel module to Las Vegas, NEVADA. I finally arrived at the Excalibur Hotel & Casino, located on the famous “Strip” in fabulous Las Vegas.
I checked into a room. Dirty from all of the trail dust that I had picked up out in the desert, I really needed to take a long shower.
After I got cleaned up, I stopped at one of the Excalibur Hotel & Casino’s dinner buffets to choke down some food. Then I headed straight for the casino.
Willie had taught me some of the basics of blackjack. I looked for a “21” table with an available seat. The casino was crowded, but it only took a few seconds to find an open spot at a “five-dollar” (minimum bet) table. The table’s maximum betting limit was a thousand dollars per hand. I quickly sat down in the far-left seat, called “third base.”
After I took off my helmet and placed it on the floor, right behind my chair, I looked around the table. The blackjack dealer had an identification badge pinned on her light-blue shirt. The tag read “Hello! My name is Whoopi.” As I handed her a fifty-dollar bill to purchase some chips, I asked, “Are you Whoopi Goldberg, the famous comedian?”
“Yes, twice a week, though, I moonlight as a blackjack dealer.” She handed me ten red ($5.00) chips and said, “The minimum bet at this table is five dollars.”
Jay Leno, host of the Tonight Show, happened to be sitting next to me. In fact, after closer observation, I noticed four other high-profile TV personalities at the table. David Letterman, host of The David Letterman Show, sat just to the right of Jay. Bill O’Reilly, host of Fox News Channel’s The O’Reilly Factor, sat next to David Letterman. Joy Behar, co-host of ABC’s The View, sat next to Bill O’Reilly. And Dr. Phil McGraw, host of The Dr. Phil Show, sat directly across the table from me at “first base.” I was very excited to be in the midst of such prominent company.
Everybody at the table placed their bets. I glanced over and noticed that Jay had several stacks of black chips and a few piles of green casino tokens (chips) lying in front of him. He had two black ($100) chips and two green ($25) tokes (as “tokens” are more commonly called) placed in the betting circle; the green chips were stacked on top of the black tokes. Jay’s total bet was $250. I scooted one red chip out as my five-dollar bet.
Whoopi dealt the cards out of a little clear-plastic contraption called a “card-shoe,” which was sitting off to her far left. I was dealt an eight of spades and an eight of diamonds; both cards were face up on the table. Jay’s hand revealed a two of clubs and a five of clubs. Whoopi’s “up-card” was a four of hearts.
Jay appeared relaxed, and he was minding his own business. He puffed on some kind of a big, brownish cigarette. In a friendly gesture, I slid an ashtray toward Jay.
I said, “Sir Jay, you’re certainly welcome to share this ashtray. Where did you get that giant-size cigarette? And why is the wrapper brown, instead of white?”
Jay cackled a little. Then he asked, “Who are you? And where are you from? Haven’t you ever seen a cigar?”
“No! I just smoke Tomarlburys. What brand of cigar is that?”
“This cigar or stogie is called an ‘El Non-producto.’ I switch back and forth between El Non-productos and ‘Black Owls,’ depending on my preference at the time. As you’re decked out in that fancy suit of armor, it looks as if you’re right at home here at the Excalibur Hotel. What’s your name young man?”
“Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife . . . but you can call me Wantsalittle. Indeed, the decor and atmosphere in this casino does remind me of being at home in Camelot, but that’s another story. This is my first time in Las Vegas. I’m here on a vacation of sorts and to do some soul-searching.”
Joy Behar abruptly turned her head toward me and said, “Mister, did I just here you say that you are here on a vacation from Camelot?”
I replied, “Yes! Well, I don’t know if ‘vacation’ is the right word to describe why I’m here. This is what happened: I recently found a time-travel remote device in Camelot. I simply returned it, personally, to its original owner, Willie C. Light, who lives in Holly—”
Joy broke in, “Say, Mr. Wantalittlemore or whoever you said you are, you remind me of someone that I’ve seen on television. Aren’t you what’s his face from One Tree Hill . . . Chad Michael Murray?”
“No, but I’ve been told that there is a striking resemblance.”
With a dumbfounded expression on her face, Joy replied, “If you’re not Chad Michael Murray, you could be his identical twin. I wish you would take off the rest of that full suit of armor and let me get a better look at you. At least you had the courtesy to remove your helmet when you sat down. Your manly facial features and your short, unkempt, dark-blond hair do remind me of Chad Michael Murray. Anyway, if you are serious about being from Camelot, and that you’re here by way of some time machine, what a story I’ve got to tell my friends and co-hosts on The View. Elizabeth (Hasselbeck) and Barbara (Walters) and the rest of our crew are not going to believe it! Will you come to our TV studio at ABC in New York and be a very special guest on our morning show?”
“Maybe sometime, later. First, I’m going to continue my journey into time, a quest of sorts, to become more enlightened and noble. I want to feel and act like a king.”
Dr. Phil suddenly stood up, raised his hands high over his head, and shouted, “Hey buddy, I have as good a sense of humor as the next person. But I think that you need some serious therapy. You’re a pretty good actor, young man. You’ve almost got everyone here at the table believing that you really are from Camelot. I think that you had better make an appointment to come and be a guest on my Dr. Phil Show. I would like to diagnose you and treat you for what’s obviously ailing you!”
“Whatever you say, Doc. But—”
Bill O’Reilly interrupted me and said, “Hey, pal, you’ve got to make an appearance on my show, The O’Reilly Factor, first. The folks have got to know about you, especially if you are not a far-left-wing liberal, which I’m very much afraid that you are! Anyway, when you sit down across from me on the show, you’ve got to understand that there will be no bloviating (slang for “running off at the mouth”)—that’s my job. And you have to remember that ‘the spin stops here,’ okay?”
“Sir Bill, what’s a ‘far-left-wing liberal’? And what in the hell does ‘bloviating’ mean? Finally, what ‘spin’ are you talking about?”
“Wantsalittle, never mind! I’ll explain all that to you on the show. I think that we’ll put you on during our daily segment called ‘the most ridiculous item of the day.’”
“Okay, but I don’t readily admit that there’s anything ‘ridiculous’ about me! In a few weeks, after I finish my travels through time, I’ll call your show and accept your gracious invitation.”
Then David Letterman quipped, “I’ve had some most interesting guests over the years on my Late Show with David Letterman. But something tells me that you are going to move to the head of the ‘interesting’ class! I can’t wait to come up with the list of the top ten reasons why Sir Wantsalittle wants more from life!”
Everybody at the blackjack table roared in laughter, then Jay Leno said. “I’m really not a gambler. The others at this table aren’t gamblers, either. I come out to Vegas, occasionally, to relax and to get away from my hectic working environment. Right now, many of my celebrity friends and colleagues and I are here in Vegas for the annual ‘talk-show hosts’ convention. Tell me, Wantsalittle, are you married or do you have any children?”
“No, I had a girl friend some time back, but our relationship really didn’t last that long. Her name was Lady Expectsalot. And she more than lived up to her name!”
Jay chuckled and said, “Well, with those bright-blue eyes and that short, scruffy, dark-blond hair and that burly, manly appearance, you shouldn’t have any trouble attracting the ladies.”
Whoopi interrupted and asked Jay, “With your two cards, you have a total of ‘seven.’ Do you want another card to go with your two and five of clubs?”
“Hit me—HIT ME HARD!” Jay eagerly exclaimed.
Then I reached over and . . . whack . . . whack . . . whack! I knocked Jay out with my big fat war club. Jay saw stars, but not of the Hollywood variety! His head hit the table, his chips scattered, and his long, thick El Non-producto folded like an accordion.
The entire butt end of the smashed, twisted stogie was crammed so deep into Jay’s mouth and throat that it could have tickled his tonsils. The lit portion of the crumpled cigar stuck out from under Jay’s bruised chin; smoldering ashes sizzled in the drool, where he had slobbered on the forest-green, felt-top table.
Apologetically, I said, “I’m sorry, Jay. Old habits are hard to break!”
I couldn’t believe that I did that, especially after God had given me a lecture about my aggressive tendencies. My hostile action was a far cry from virtuous, kinglike behavior on my part. Jay should’ve just picked up his “clubs” and crowned me!
With an obvious look of displeasure on her face, Whoopi interjected, “Hey, Sir Lancelot, or whoever you think that you are. He just wanted another card! If you can’t control yourself and behave in a respectable manner, I’ll have to notify the security people. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
“Yes—I’m really very sorry! It won’t happen again!” Whoopi cleaned up the mess on the blackjack table and collected herself.
Jay scooted his chair to his right a few inches to get farther away from me. He was rubbing the big knot, which had protruded from his forehead, when a cocktail waitress stopped to offer him assistance. She gave him a courtesy drink on the house. Then she put a big Band-Aid® on his lumpy head wound.
Meanwhile, all of the other players all had fresh drinks and neatly stacked piles of chips in front of them. A couple of ashtrays were filled to the brim with cigar ashes and butts. Whoopi was now ready to deal to me. I still had that pair of eights in front of me, lying face up on the felt.
Whoopi tried to coach me. She said, “You should always split a pair of eights.”
I appreciated the helpful dealer’s good advice. I quipped, “Okay, I’ll try to SPLIT ’EM!” . . . W-H-A-C-K! I had stood up in front of my spot at the table and smashed my sharp ax directly through the pair of eights, splitting both cards in the process. The head of the ax stuck in the top of the table. Cards, chips, ashes, and butts went airborne. Every plastic cup and glass on the printed-felt gaming surface got knocked over, spilling coke, beer, and a couple of mixed drinks. All in all, it was a real ugly scene!
After she pulled a couple of chips and a cigar butt out of her dark, braided hair, Whoopi threw her hands up, in disgust. Then she waved a little white bar towel over her head. Whoopi exclaimed, “I give up!” Everyone at the blackjack table had big frowns on their faces.
Totally perplexed by the incident, Whoopi softly added, in a monotone voice, “And I thought that I’d seen it all.”
“Excuse me,” I said, “I’ve got to go to the restroom. Whoopi, will you please watch my chips and save my seat?”
“Do you mean to say that you’re coming back?”
“Yeah, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I strolled into the men’s room. I didn’t have to pee; I simply wanted to talk with God. I leaned back against the bathroom sink and asked, “Lord, how can I learn to control my sometimes combative behavior and still move confidently in the direction of my dreams?”
God energized right in front me. She said, “Wantsalittle, I mentally picked up on your smacking Jay Leno and on your splitting that pair of eights with your AX! For the third time, what do you intend to do about your overly aggressive ways? You probably just ‘axed’ any chance that Jay Leno or the other TV hosts would still invite you to appear as a guest on their talk shows! Wantsalittle, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you!”
The Lord was really upset with me. I thought that She would be. I wasn’t too thrilled with myself, either. “God, this is going to be harder than I thought. Can You give me some good advice?”
“In your case, maybe! Wantsalittle, it’s a good thing for you that I have a good sense of humor! . . . Sometimes people get confused between ‘aggressiveness’ and ‘assertiveness’—two distinctly different emotional conditions and behaviors. To aggress signifies an unprovoked attack or a first act of hostility. Wantsalittle, of all people, you should understand that! Aggressiveness is a negative emotional response. To assert means to declare or to act in a self-confident manner. Assertiveness is a positive emotional response.”
“Do you mean that, even though I’m aggressive, I might not be assertive enough?”
“That’s right! Many aggressive or hostile people aren’t assertive enough. Those who possess a passive, apathetic nature should place an ax dead center on their being overly timid and shy. Wantsalittle, in some ways you fall into this category. Try to assert yourself IN A NON-HOSTILE FASHION! Do something constructive. Write down your personal goals. Initiate action to achieve them. Don’t put off until tomorrow what you can get up and do today. Get creative. Make something happen. . . . In other words, poop or pull up your pants!”
The Lord paused for a moment to laugh at Her last remark. Then She added, “Wantsalittle, do something with your good ideas. Victor Hugo once proclaimed, ‘Nothing in the world is so powerful as an idea whose time has come.’ Set your thoughts into motion. Turn them into inspiring products or services. Try to accomplish something that will allow you to leave your artistic mark on the world.”
“God, I’m going to do the best that I can to start practicing what You preach.”
“I hope that you do! Before I go, I’d like you to keep one more thing in mind: As you think and act with the attitude of assertiveness, you will become more assertive. Don’t let life pass you by—by being caught up in the traffic of ‘Someday, I’ll.’ Instead, shove your aspirations into the ‘Today, I’ll’ gear. If you do, you’ll catch up with your dreams!”
The Lord left, and I strolled back to the blackjack table. Along the way, I picked up a foot-long piece of rope that someone, evidently, had dropped on the carpet. I handed Jay the rope. I asked him, “Would you please tie my hands behind my back?”
“You’ve got to be the wackiest knight from Camelot!” Jay shouted. But he gladly complied with my instructions. “I’m going to have to have you on my Tonight Show one of these days. People all across America would ‘split a gut’ and get a real ‘bang’ out of you!”
The table had been cleaned, and everything was back to normal. Jay placed his next bet. Then he helped me make a wager. Jay pushed a stack of ten red chips in my betting circle.
Whoopi glared at me. She was still a little angry after everything that I had done. Then she turned to the pit boss and said, “Checks play!” (An expression that a dealer often uses to inform his or her supervisor that a player has placed a larger bet.)
Whoopi dealt the next round of cards. She gave herself a nine of spades as her up-card. I was dealt an ace of spades and a jack of hearts. (Right after the initial deal, any two-card combination of a face card and an ace is called a “natural,” a “snapper,” or a “blackjack,” which pays three chips for every two chips wagered.) I had just won seventy-five dollars for my fifty-dollar bet!
Now I beamed with joy. As my hands were still tied behind me, I was unable to otherwise react. I said, “Thanks, Sir Jay and Lady Whoopi! I think that I’m beginning to ‘see the light.’ Whatever it takes, I’m going to stop being so aggressive and redirect my wasted energy into more constructive thoughts and actions!”
(The moral of this episode: Replace your aggressive behavior with more assertive, socially acceptable actions!)
Click here to read The Wacky Adventures of Sir Wantsalittle Morefromlife
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