Two Nevada casino hustler's in the out back? I know what happens when two big gambling egos get there selfs isolated isolate with theirselves in Montana. Its not a happy ending story. Two bulls in a china closet.>>>
Does it involve murder by math?
C
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
Oh, to answer NOTI's question. There is only so much money to be made here. If just a few more good machine pros came to Montana then we would all be working out butts off for not much money.
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
mayhem wrote "does it involve murder by math?"
LOL! no, nothing that serious. Just a personality conflict with someone I've known for 16 years. I met him in the Stardust in 2000. Right off the bat I knew he was quite intelligent. We were both working the banking slots in Vegas at the time. We kept running into each other.
In 2002 he showed up in Reno when I was there. I showed him what he had to do to become a proficient video poker pro. He became known as a torch artist in Reno. LOL!
For the next several years we were always in phone contact. When he found something he thought might be advantage he would call me and i would do the math for him.
Then it gets on to Nov 2007. I had just spent the summer in Montana and was thinking about going back. I walked into the Golden Nugget and found him leaning over the rail watching the uncapped $1-$2 NLHE game. The one thing I knew about him at this point was he was an excellent poker player.
"You can beat that game, can't you?" I asked
"Sure."
"So why arent't you playing?"
Thats when he told me about getting divorced and deciding to hurt himself by blowing off his bankroll. I loaned him $4000 to attack the game and told him not to try to pay me back until he got to $20,000. Then I took off for Montana.
He called me a month and a half later telling me he had my money. i told him to just throw in his safe deposit box and I would pick it up the next time I was in Vegas. He beat the Nugget game for $50,000 in four months.
So it goes on for 2 years and I still haven't gone back down to Vegas to pick up the money. He tells me that he is going to "take a Montana vacation" and pay me the money while he is here. But I know what he is really up to. He knows I wouldn't stay in Montana for 2 years if I wasn't making decent money. He wants to see what I'm doing.
So he shows up and pays me back the money. I show him my plays. He likes them. I tell him that if he wants to he can go to the eastern side of the state and work the plays for a while.
He gets over there and just stays. So we made a deal that everything on I-15 and all points west was my territory and everything east of I-15 is his territory. That is, unless we were taking a road trip together.
And thats when the SHTF. Joint road trips. We had never been jungled up together before. Dude started trying to boss me around. I tought everything he knows about this stuff and he thinks he's the boss. Get out of here.
We got so pissed at each other that we didn't talk for two years. Then we ran into each other in Shelby. Never mind, I guess, that Shelby is my territory. The next thing I knew we were off on another road trip together. But the same thing happened. And I found out that he had been working the hi-line for two years behind my back.
We ran into each other six months later and the same thing happened again. The definition of insanity. So I said I'm though with the situation. No phone cantact, no nothing.
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
A few days ago I told the story about what can happen between two Nevada casino hustlers in the outback. Or what I jokingly refer to as two bulls in a china closet.
Its really a sad thing that Al and me don't talk anymore. We both started out in poker but moved into machines in the nineties. I'm a little more advanced than he is because I'm better at the mathematics of it. But he is a world class machine pro too.
What I miss is all the shop talk we did in phone conversations. We were in phone contact for 15 years. We talked about current machine plays, strategies, machine plays we beat up in the past. We both know what it is like to be full time gamblers with no other income. We both know that it is real. We both know what each other has accomplished in the world of machines.
Nevermind so many naysayers that say it ain't possible. We had a good time laughing at them too. Al and me know darn well that it is possible because both of us have been beating machines for a long long time. We had very candid names for the naysayers and used to LOAO about it.
So I miss all the shop talk we did. But I don't miss him trying to boss me around. Its just his personality....and mine too. I never was any good at taking orders.
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
I just received an email from a vpFREE'er who lives in Florissant, Colorado. It reminded me of....me....in the old days.
This was in the early nineties. When I needed to jump start a bankroll I would head to Frisco, Colorado in Summit County. How I got there depended on where I was at. If I was in Salt Lake City I would jump an east bound Southern Pacific to Glenwood Springs, Colorado, then thumb the rest of the way to Frisco.
Frisco is where the Job Service office is. They ran a day labor out of the back of it. Day laborers made about twice as much as downstream. After putting together a massive $300 bankroll I would thumb Hwy 9 through Fairplay down to Hartsel. Then east on 24 through Florissant to Divide. Then 67 to Cripple Creek and jump in the $1 to $5 Stud 8 games.
If plan A didn't work then plan B was to thumb back to Frisco and work some more day labor. I got away with this tactic many times. I think I averaged about 2 months before I got so low on money I couldn't sit in the games. My longest stretch was about 5 months.
I was beating the games but I had some bad habits. I've been known to rent a weekly hotel room next to a dive bar and sit there on the stool drinking mash and talking trash for days at a time.
In the summertime I stayed in the campground in Cripple Creek. In the winters I would rent a weekly hotel room in Old Town on the west side of Colorado Springs. I would take the day trip busses up to CC everyday.
I think the biggest bankroll I ever put togetther in those days was about $1500.
I don't know if you have ever seen the movie Emperor of the North with Lee Marvin, a movie about hobos. Its actually short for Emperor of the North Pole. Only a hobo like me would know what it means. Its joke amongst hobos. It basically means you a King of Nothing.
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
That Ernest Borgnine was a mean son of a bitch. Remember when he would take a metal bar and drag it under the freight cars? lol
---In vpFREE@yahoogroups.com, <mickeycrimm@...> wrote :
I don't know if you have ever seen the movie Emperor of the North with Lee Marvin, a movie about hobos. Its actually short for Emperor of the North Pole. Only a hobo like me would know what it means. Its joke amongst hobos. It basically means you a King of Nothing.
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
I joined the Merchant Marines when I was 16 years old. I sailed out of the Port of New Orleans with a job in the engine room of the freighter John B, Watterman in September of 1969 with a job in the engine room.
I had spent 42 days in the Seafarer's International Union Hall down on Jackson Avenue in the Irish Channel just two blocks from the Gretna Ferry to get my seamen's papers. I washed dishes, mopped floors, peeled potatoes and carrots, did anything they told me to do to get those seamen's papers.
The drinking age in Louisiana at the time was just 18. I was paid $7 a week and a carton of cigarettes to do what I was doing in that Union Hall. It had to be reimbursed out of my first paycheck working on the high seas.
About the time when I had reached seniority amongst the plebes in the Union Hall the Port Director sent me on a desperate mission to round up medical supplies. The Port Director knew that the storm blowing in was dangerous. It was August 1969. He told me "Kid, if the eye of that hurricane comes over New Orleans we are all going to be swimming for it. The Irish Channel is nine feet below sea level."
We were in a big tall safe secure building with a galley in it and we were well stocked with groceries. But he gave me the money and told me to buy up all medical supplies at the nearest super market. Everybody else knew the storm was blowing in and the lines in the supermarket ran all the way down the row and back up again. Everyone was preparing for the storm. But they were stocking up on food supply. I grabbed all the medical stuff.
They called that storm Hurricane Camille. Everybody in New Orleans was frightened about it. Except us kids I guess. To us it was just a great adventure. The eye didn't come over New Orleans. It went over Gulfport/Biloxi. It blew those towns up. Many seamen and their families lived on the Mississippi coast. The Seafarer's International Union Hall in New Orleans, where I lived, was turned into a homeless shelter for the seamen and their families that lived on the Mississippi coast. They all came piling into the Union Hall from the Mississippi coast.
Another kid in seamen's school that we called Tarzan (they called me Hick) and me ran down along the building and all the way up on the levee of the Mississippi River when the winds were running 90 miles per hour. We made it up there to see 4 foot waves in the Mississippi River but we ran back down real quick because there were lethal things blowing in the wind. Like that dude said "Its not the wind, its whats blowing in the wind."
That's one of my trial and tribulations of being in New Orleans in that time frame. But there were other events that I can't seem to put into chronological order.
There was the weekend we thumbed up to Prairieville, up the Airline Highway because the New Orleans International Pop Festival was going on. We thumbed up and planned on crashing the fence. We were poor boys and didn't have the price to get in. The fence crash didn't work. I remember hearing from outside the fence, the Youngbloods doing "Get Together."
When it was over all them damn hippies came piling out on the Airline Highway hitchhiking in both directions. That was our gig but all of a sudden we were surrounded by 5000 hitchhikers. How in the hell our we going to make it back to New Orleans? I told Tarzan and Throttle that there was a train track just to the west of the Airline Highway. We bolted over there, jumped a train and made it back to the Union Hall just in time before we were going to be kicked out of the joint for not showing up for duty.
There was another thing that happened when I was there. The Union Hall supported Moon Landrieu in the election for Mayor of New Orleans. They threw a big party for him. And they appointed all us scrub teenage kids to be cocktail waitresses for this affair. So I was serving this one goofball dufflus brandy and waters. He was a big braggert SOB. He dominated his table. And when he was out on the dance floor he looked like a chicken with his head cut off. What an ignoramus.
The Port Director says to me:
"Crimm you see that guy out on the dance floor?" It was the dufflus I had been serving brandy and water too.
"Yes, Sir."
"Do you know who he is?"
"No, Sir."
"That's Jim Garrison, the DA that prosecuted Clay Shaw for the murder of John Kennedy."
"Sir, do you think Clay Shaw had John Kennedy murdered?"
"Don't be stupid, Crimm! Garrison is an idiot!"
There was on other thing that happened when I was in New Orleans in 1969. I was drunk on Dixie Beer, just 16 years old, and this guy told me that he was a tattoo artist. He took a needle, wrapped it up in thread, dipped it in Indian ink, and put a tattoo on me. I've been wearing it for 47 years now. Its the only tattoo I've ever had in my life. It can be seen in the photo of myself that I just recently put up on vpFREE. Let's see if you can find it.
Imgur: The most awesome images on the Internet http://www.imgur.com/EF5hCyP
Imgur: The most awesome images on the Internet http://www.imgur.com/EF5hCyP Imgur: The most awesome images on the Internet.
View on www.imgur.com http://www.imgur.com/EF5hCyP
Preview by Yahoo
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
This is an addendum to the story. I got to talk to a lot of those hippies who were thumbing out of the New Orleans Pop Festival in 1969, before Tarzan, Throttle and I did what we had to do. We had to make it back to New Orleans. We were in seamen's school and we intended to make it onto the water.
But the hippies we met at that festival were quite different than us. I was looking at hippies out on the Airline Highway that didn't even have shoes, no coat, no sleeping bag, no nothing. They told me that they were headed to New York to the next pop festival. They were broke bums but they intended to make it to this next pop festival.
It was on the TV news in New Orleans. They showed all these hippies thumbing out of Prairieville (my ugly mug didn't get seen), headed to this so called next festival in New York.
It turned out that next festival, in New York, came to be. They called it Woodstock.
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
And yes, there were establishments on Bourbon Street where 16 year old kids like me could drink. The drinking age in Louisiana at the time was 18. there were those of us who filtered through the cracks.
The first time I ever ordered up and drank at a bar was at the Moonlight Inn in French Settlement, Louisiana. I was 15 years old at the time and they served 10 ounce cans of Schlitz. I drank five cans then went out in the parking lot and puked. I got the dizzy spins. I puked my guts out.
I remember the time my Uncle Herman (he was my dad's first cousin but in line of respect he's my uncle) fed me a bunch of bonded whiskey. I was only 16 years old. I puked my guts out.
What was funny about that spot is I remember falling out of his truck when he got me to his house and my Aunt Ann, Herman's wife, came out there on the porch and cussed him out for getting me so drunk. I was drunker than a pig at the time but that was funny stuff. She lit into his ass hard. It was one of the rare few times when I seen Uncle Herman not knowing what the hell to do. That bitch wanted to kill his ass.
Herman Crimm is dead now so I guess I can tell the story. He was a bootlegger in Scott County, Mississippi. He got away with it all his life. He got busted for it a few times but he never went to the pen. Everybody liked him. He was a crook with a heart of gold.
Scott County is a dry county but Herman would tell you "I can get you all the whiskey you want." Just pay the money and you get the whiskey.
Yeah, he was a bootlegger from hell. But he also raised every kid in the county. When folks weren't strong enough to raise their own kids, Herman did the chore for them. He had a sure born weakness for kids. He just didn't like kids going without.
There was always a big feed at Herman's house and all the kids showed up because Herman was a pretty good cook too. I was one of those kids.
Herman Crimm was the nuts. He was the most unique person I have ever met. He carried two pistols in his belt. But he was a sucker for every kid.
He's buried at Ephesus Baptist Church Cemetery, Ringgold, Mississippi.
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
It might be the greatest thing I've ever seen. How much a family sticks up for their's. Where I come from. Who my relatives are. No matter that I was a young degenerate my family always stuck up for me. Not just my immediate family but my extended family.
In Scott County, Mississippi, when you throw a boy in jail. you better know what the hell you a messing with. You are not throwing just that boy in jail, you are messing with a family. A family that is not going to take your BS straight up. You have a fight on your hands.
I can tell you about my own folks in Scott County, they don't take jack shit off of nobody. So if you want to fire my little ass up guess what is going to happen. You are going to get met by some people that are pretty close to shooting your ass. And they don't give a damn if you are a lawdog or not.
That's my folks. I'm just a little shy guy. Watch out. Not about me. I'm all cool. But my folks are treacherous. My 2nd and 3rd cousins too.
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
I don't know why I went back to the picture to stare at it, but . . .
There's something on your left hand, near your thumb. Might be a tattoo. Can't be sure
________________________________
[Yahoo! Groups]<https://groups.yahoo.com/neo;_ylc=X3oDMTJkYmQxcGpkBF9TAzk3MzU5NzE0BGdycElkAzQ2NDEwMTcEZ3Jwc3BJZAMxNzA1MDY1NzMyBHNlYwNmdHIEc2xrA2dmcARzdGltZQMxNDU5MjYyODQz>
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
Bob, you are so detailed oriented. I should have known you would be the one who would pick me off. Its a tattoo of a cross on my left hand between my thumb and index finger. Because of that tattoo I have been accused many times in my lifetime of being every thing from a Pachuco to Aryan Brotherhood. I was drunk on Dixie Beer in New Orleans and told the tattoo dude that I wanted a cross. I prefer to think of it as a symbol of Jesus of Nazareth.
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]