The $100,000 Presidential Power Parlay: Normalcy

The 29th (and greatest) U.S. President, Warren Gamaliel Harding, was a renowned gambler, golfer and lover of life. As such, his sage wagering advice and stories of criminal bravado are brought here through the medieval art of necromancy. Seeing as President Harding ushered us into economic success unheard of in human history (before being tragically assassinated by his jealous wife — thus tanking the economy), his words might as well be chiseled into stone tablets. (All views and opinions presented should only be considered those of President Warren G. Harding.) 

WARNING: The content of the $10,000 Presidential Power Parlay is intended for mature audiences. Viewer discretion is highly advised. Seriously.

LAST WEEK: (3-1 overall) Utah State (+7), Utah (+7), Michigan State (+7),  Kansas State (+6.5)
SEASON RECORD: (6-7)
THE HONEYPOT: $-40,000

The Helado Cartel is comprised of former members of Mexican special forces, various South American diplomats and ex-members of Paraguayan and Colombian death squads. I had never personally dealt with them — I had always had my own source dating back to my first dealings in the drug game going back to 1869 — but thanks to the snakeoil salesman known as Gaston B. Means, I was able to receive 200 kilos of the Helado clan's finest wares via consignment on my legendary status in the dope game.

It turns out, slanging dope to these streets is much like riding one of those bicycles street urchins are always clattering on about. A few calls here, a few kilos dispensed there, and soon enough I was naked and making cocaine angels on the floor of an abandoned warehouse while drinking Lady Bligh spiced Caribbean rum straight from the bottle. It was on that floor I came to realize: I don't give a damn if the Helado Cartel is comprised of blood-thirsty mercenaries and other pipe-hitters: fuck those dudes.

Last week, I took all dogs into my $10,000 Presidential Power Parlay, and came within a hair's breadth of Kansas State's quarterback not being a pile of dog shit. Seriously, a fumble on the two yard line late in the fourth quarter with a backdoor cover on deck?

And then then Kansas State gets away with about three blocks-in-the-back on the next punt return that ends on Texas' 10 yard line. That drive ended on 4th and 30 with Kansas' State's pile of dog shit getting strip-sacked while Bill Snyder stood on the sidelines emptily blinking like a teenager who had just seen his first pair of knockers.

Next time you hear some clown babbling on about "social justice" and "paying players," put on the tape to that Kansas State-Texas game. After being subjected to that game, those players should have to pay me. The $10,000 I lost last week should come out of Kansas State's quarterback's scholarship. If it puts him on the street, so what? I hear Wendy's is hiring this time of year, and that'd be an employer on par with his skills. 

The Helado Cartel openly taunted Tony Montana before
killing him.

Regardless, last week's $10,000 Presidential Power Parlay lit a fire in my soul unseen since that slattern on Ben Franklin's brothel took in my 13-inch diamond cutter back in the 1860's. This week is a return to normalcy; I'm putting the aforementioned 13-inch diamond cutter on the table. South American death goons be damned; I have to feed these streets.

These idiots say "crime doesn't pay" — and even if that were true, I'd still do it because crime is amazing — but I've got a duffel bags of cash that put more holes in that theory than could be bought at an 18th century Chinese whore house.

Nah, I'm done with $10,000 scraps and peanuts. Gucci Mane is still in jail and all of a sudden he's found an elementary understanding of the English language and is claiming to be the first rapper to be addicted to lean (or at least the first one to say that publicly). It's enough to make me sick, and I've drank tequila by the gallon and done enough blow to kill a police horse in the last week and have yet to vomit.

Shit needs to change, and by Zeus Lightningbolt himself, I plan on being the catalyst of that sparks it.

I ran my index finger along the inside of my left nostril and ran the cocaine residue across my gums. "Gypsy King," I spat, "I've come to detest this place." I threw a single black duffel bag onto the floor of the cavernous catacomb headquarters of Gilderoy Scamp, King of the Gypsy Syndicate. 

The disgustingly obese Gypsy King was as I usually found him: leaned back in his thrown, naked, and eating fried chicken. The slattern fellating him whilst he did so, however, was a new touch — as was the chicken grease sliding past his gaping maw, through his beard, and dripping onto the slattern's naked back.

"President Harding," the Gypsy King said between bites of chicken, "The Gypsy King sees you have brought more homage to his glamorous throne. You are too kind." He twitched and sighed as he reached his climax and shoed the slattern off into the shadows.

"I'm done playing for peanuts," I told him. "There's one hundred-thousand dollars in that bag, and unlike the last two weeks, I'm not cashing in for pennies on the dollar. This is a $100,000 Presidential Power Parlay, and it's your day of reckoning, Gypsy King."

IT'S TIME TO SUMMON THE KID

The Gypsy King smirked like a student who had snookered a substitute teacher. He jammed a wooden toothpick between his yellow teeth; "Well? Get on with it them, President Harding. The Gypsy King does not have all day."

"This week's $100,000 Presidential Power Parlay is as simple as it is destined to be a winner. It's a two-teamer, which by my calculations means I would risk $100,000 to win $260,000, is that correct?"

The Gypsy King's fat, bald head wobbled as he nodded. 

"The first team is Johnny Football (-3)  vs. Bert Beliema and the Razorbacks of Arkansas. Handsome, talented and popular: JFF is the antithesis of Bert Beliema.

"Bert is the type of guy who cuffed the first girl who approached him at a blackjack table in Vegas; that is to say, he's a sucker who will eventually play father to the seeds of his mailman. It's a fate he deserves.

"Usually when lines in Vegas seem too good to be true, they are, and this line definitely fits that bill. Yet, it's time the Presidential Power Parlay harnesses the blood magik of Johnny Football, my bastard son and embodiment of Presidential Power Parlay principles. 

"I haven't watched a single minute of Arkansas play this year, because not even I can work up that frothy of a batch of self-loathing required to do so, but I have no doubt Bert's anus will pucker-up in a big game like he's trying to hold in the remnants of three Chipotle burritos on the last quarter-mile stretch of his drive home. Vegas is about to learn a painful lesson of what happens when you ride with a walking septic-tank like Bert Beliema. *Wisconsin fans all nodding sadly* 

"The second team is THE OHIO STATE BATTLIN' BUCKEYES (-7.5) over a Wisconsin team coached by a dude named 'Gary.'

Night game? Check. Platoon of recruits on deck? Check. Ohio State finally playing a respectable opponent? Check. This has all the markers of Urban Meyer and Ohio State laying waste to a Wisconsin team that is mentally weak.

"Could you imagine if referees had tried to pull that shit they did to Wisconsin at Arizona State on Urban Meyer? He would have hanged them by their intestines from the flag pole. That's the difference between these two teams, and it's a hell of a lot more than seven and a half points."

The Gypsy King gave me a slow, sarcastic clap. "I see you have been suckered into Texas A&M (-3). Money is coming in hard on that bet, and you are about to see why you're drowning in debt to finance bets all whilst the Gypsy King runs the entire syndicate to begin with." He chuckled dismissively, "You know the way to the door."

Let's get this paper, y'all.

The Drought Exterminator,

Read more of President Harding's legendary exploits in The Most Hated On, also available on Kindle.