New Deck

What are the chances
Of four queens in one hand?
Are wildcards involved?

Two jokers snuck in
Now the odds of all have changed.
Lady luck does suck.

The players don't play
Since none of them show their hands.
All is done--just fold.

Equipment Overload

My *government* day job just hung another piece of equipment on my belt. This one's a Motorola Timeport "personal interactive communicator" that integrates paging and email with an auto-generating ticketing system called "Heat". This addition, while providing interaction with the autogenerated tickets, also gives me the ability to easily send (and receive) email to any web address at an instant. And since I keep it 24x7 and have no current restrictions while beta-testing it, that's awesome.

But my pants are getting heavy! The Timeport is on the left side, my own Sprint phone on the right, the company Nextel phone goes in my right pocket, and my old pager (to be replaced soon, hopefully, by the Timeport) is in my left pocket. Also in constant accompaniment in case and shoulder strap is my laptop with its wireless web access….And there you have it: a technologically wannabe Batman impersonator, or the loopy Mr. Gadget. Someday I'm going to get caught in a thundering downpour and get shorted out, *poof* , I know it, I know it.

Sympathy Overload

I've gotten 5 "collect call" attempts-which I've refused-at the office in the last two days from a girl who is obviously in trouble again. You see, every time she lands in jail she calls me to bail her out. I did that once a couple of years ago, in a moment of sympathy, and didn't get burnt. I also, from time to time, have sent her a few goodwill bundles of assistance such as allowable food and toiletries, especially around the holidays. I even visited her in jail twice because she cried of loneliness. But we weren't then and aren't now even friends. Yet every time she's picked up (drugs), she pretends like I'm her *only friend*-or worse yet-that she's my *jailed lover-to-be* . Can you imagine that? Well, I see it now for what it is: a blatant hustle, a calculated jostle directed against me and arising from her nasty desperation, and nothing more. Oh yes, *friend-lover* …until they open up the jail door. Then she could care less until things catch up with her again and she becomes, once more, my *penitentiary friend*. Not this time, babe. My affinity for such squalor has been dealt a mortal blow.