Cody Vegas

The Red Sox won the World Series last night. Unlike all of the other boners on the web, I'm not going to wax bonerifically on what this means for the people of Boston, how badly I want to make love to Curt Schilling, and whether Pedro Martinez's munchkin gets a World Series ring; others do all of that better. Their victory certainly excited me, but only 50% of that was related to good triumphing over the forces of not quite evil (it's physically impossible for anything in Missouri to be evil). The other 50% of the excitement derived from a bet I had going on the series. Since Boston won, Trucky has to prepare a four course meal for me. Knowing how spiteful she is, it will almost certainly be the last meal I ever eat. And while this was never made explicit, I will be snapping my fingers and demanding lemon wedges and wet naps throughout the entire thing.

There's an interesting pattern to the most recent bets that I've won. Last weekend, I won a bowl of pudding because of the Trinity/Centre game (not to rub it in, but I won THE CRAP out of that one), and immediately afterwards, I get a four course meal coming my way, thanks to the Boston Red Sox. Extrapolating that trend out, I'm going to win a tortilla factory on my next bet, or maybe some sort of fortress made of cookies. (I hope I didn't jinx that one by mentioning it.)

Unfortunately, bets of that magnitude don't just come waltzing up to Powell Manor every day. If they did, the other party probably has some sort of trickeroo planned. For example, no tortilla factory tycoon is going to bet his place of business on the flip of a coin. That's what I gather from my limited interaction with these people, at least. If you do happen to come across a rather simple-minded tortilla baron with a gambling obsession, for the love of pete, send me email! Also send me email if you have a tortilla factory you'd allow me to borrow for wagering purposes.