| tract, bravo, tenant, bookie, "bettor" and "bettor". ||
Image from the Internet.
The opening poem contains all the words (or variations of them) from today's Jumble.
Comments are welcomed!
Do not explicitly reveal any of the actual answer words until after closing time, but embedding them surreptitiously in comment sentences is encouraged.
11 comments:
FLN: Wilbur ~
Thanks for the "Super" poem.
Nice to see the late arrival of the hammer of Thor--quite a literal appearance of a deux ex machina !
Today's hint:
(The solution was super-EZ. How could this not be the hint?)
Casinos like to lure patrons with ads showing happy big-time winners, when in fact they're creating scads of debtors & debtors galore.
~ OMK
Er...deus .
(Gotta check that spell check.)
I had an idea but I still looked it up. On top of everything I think I mixed up Marvel "toons" with DC.
Here's a more nitty-gritty take.
Tuesday was the day that my bookie took all my cash
On the rare occasion HE paid I could see quite a stash.
"Bravo Bill" he'd exclaim "You're getting better every week"
"Perhaps you should double down, fortune avoids the meek"
Pickles tenanted the variety store at the corner of the square
All the cheap hoods and touts could be seen hanging there
A tract on the wall read "The more the bettor drinks,
The better bettor he is, or so he thinks"
WC
Woohoo! Loved this fun Jumble (I used to love betting on occasional trips to Las Vegas when I was younger-- a lot younger). Had to work a little on some of the words, but the solution was a treat. And then came the fun of seeing Ol'Man Keith's gloss and Wilbur's fun poem. Now we just need Owen and Sandyanon to check in and make this great Wednesday get even BETT_R and BETT_R.
Sorry. Eyes giving me probs today. Like the tract on the wall, Wilbur.
Sorry to hear of your vision problems Sandy. Looks like we'll need a pinch poet today.
My last bet with "Pickles"* was first SF-Cincy SB. I had a run of luck and put it all on the Bengals.
Sorry Cincy, the great gambler in the Sky didn't want me hanging with the "touts" no more.
WC
* The ubiquitous bookie moniker
Will this do?
Springtime is the season that will fix
My tired heart, the days of light that promise
To repair the damage Winter’s cuts and nicks
Inflicted on me. Ah, but let’s be honest,
For wasn’t it my own puerile pride,
Not Winter’s spur, that left me here so scarred?
Wasn’t I bound to fail, to lose my stride?
Didn’t the night of the year let me drift in the canard
That mere desire’s enough to effect change
Without regard to my ability?
It may the darkness allows our dreams to range,
And we need Spring to bring stability.
Ahh…
Seasonal stress gives way to blessed Elysium.
Spring’s light? –or my extra teaspoon of magnesium?
~ OMK
Er...It may be the darkness.
I gotta kick out of your bookie's wall tract, Wilbur--and of course from the rest of your tale.
Roy, my first cousin once removed, was a bookie, based in the back room of a barbershop in So. San Fran. I THINK it was a barber's, but I was a kid, so never visited the establishment.
My mom became truly pissed at him one night. When she was newly divorced from my dad, she got an urgent phone call from Roy, saying he needed her to meet him at a bar down on Chestnut Street.
A real emergency.
Of course when she got there, he yelled to his buddies, "I told you I could get a hot date with just one call! Fork it over--fifty smackers!"
He may have offered to split his win with her. I just don't remember that part of the story.
~ OMK
My goodness, Ol'Man Keith, you're in great poetic form today. What a complex, interesting poem (canard!) with a funny ending. Followed by a crazy, hilarious childhood story! Thanks for sending us to bed laughing.
Who's in bed. Make that, who's asleep?. Yes, that was a complex poem with the patented J-twist. And...
At least the boys in the back room considered mom "hot!".
WC
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