As a young fawn growing up in the school system, you learn many things. The do’s and the don’ts of life if you will. One being drugs and alcohol and the addiction that comes with it. I’m sure all of you still have your D.A.R.E. shirt they gave you in the second grade. Well, while all you little shits were focused on how meth turns you into the walking dead and how cocaine may bring you the ultimate high but in the end you will be left rotting in a barrel of acid in the basement of the Medelli’n Cartel.  Despite all that, I must have failed to pay attention in terms of addiction. No, I ‘m not talking about my addiction to booger sugar or the tweekers daily vitamin. I have a much more dangerous addiction. An addiction that can turn king to jesters in one night. My name is the Beast and I am addicted to gambling. Boy oh Boy, an excessive amount of blood still floods to the tip of my penis when I recall my first stroll down the devil’s playground. The lights, green velvet tables, that grandma ripping a dart on the slot machine who glances at me with a sexual wink. I can still remember the first breath I took of that oxygen infused air, the middle-aged cocktail waitress that just got back from railing a line asking “what do you want sugar?”

Back then life was simple yet these were the early stages of my addiction. Back then, loosing $100 at the tables hurt more than you know. Back then it was a sin to walk by an ATM and take money out. I whimper at the days that once were as I sit wallowing with this growing addiction.  This is the stage where the addiction started to creep in. Much like heroin addicts, I would always find myself chasing that same high of winning while going through countless ATM trips in hopes burn hundreds of dollars just to win one more time. Like a priest in a whorehouse, I was fucking hooked. We all have that one friend who just can’t help himself. At times, the movie 21 seemed mild to the amount of gambling I was partaking in. Like any addict will tell you, some days were better than others. There’s always that little devil on your shoulder whispering in your ear “few more hands and you’ll break even.” I would justify it to myself, what’s the worst that happens, If I lose enough they’ll give me a free buffet. Anyways, after three dirty martinis and a pack of cowboy killers, I could eat, I can always eat. I can remember the girlfriend saying I have a problem, that I spend too much money and never win. By girlfriend, I mean the sex bot I found on twitter. While I may be down in what some people call a rut, I know in 50 years I’ll be that old grandpa sitting at the slot machine smoking a cig winking at a much younger girl only waiting for her to be addicted just as much as I am. With a life time of gambling in front of me, I have plenty of free buffets to eat all my losings away.  


The Beast