"Mammie, go gets me 'dat copy o' "Sport Ill-strated," I and I jus' found at de bus stop. I and I needs to figure out hows to bet all de upcoming games."
Her long suffering mother stopped scrubbing the linoleum, took off her rubber gloves, swallowed a big belt of fortified wine and handed Karen the magazine.
"Now 'dat I and I is a sports gamblin' expert I and I is gonna win big."
Mammie let fly a stealthy toot of uncertainly bordering on disagreement.
"Chile, why is you all a sudden sayin' you knows jack shit 'bout sports? You is no athlete and has never watched sports on TV: fo' you it all be about scamming fools online, eatin' chicken and shittin' de flo'. "
"Shut yo' mouf, mammie...you knows I and I has a condition 'dat causes me to shit de flo."
Once again mammie regretted having shared the advice with Karen which the Magic Eight Ball presented when asked long ago why she shit de flo,' but that was urine under the bridge.
"Where is you gwine get de money to makes dese sport bets? You be broke as a joke."
"I and I reached out to my casino friends for money, dey always comes thru, jus' you wait and see."
Mammie took another deep pull from the bottle and got back to scrubbing, knowing in her heart that like always, her daughter's latest endeavor would once again blow up in her face.
Last edited by MisterV; 01-02-2025 at 12:30 PM.
What, Me Worry?
Miguelito squinted in the sunlight to read the latest VCT Mammie post on his 5 year old iPhone. Then he laughed in Spanish, "Ja ja ja, ja ja ja!" Miguelito was, like more than 70% of Miami, hispanic. And he was, like the majority of gamblers, a he. His wife Chalupa was waiting in the car waiting for him to finish reading. After having discovered that her husband was addicted to posting on various gambling forums as an autistic, asexual 40 year old virginal black woman, she gave Miguelito an ultimatum: no VCT posting or reading inside their apartment or in the car. Chalupa had been driving them up the coast for a romantic day at the beach when Miguelito's craving had overcome him.
"Pull over babe, I gotta check VCT. Mr. V probably wrote something about me and my Mammie."
"You mean about fictional Tasha and her fictional Mammie. Remember what the therapist told you. You have to stop referring to Tasha as a real person!" Chalupa said in exasperation. She really should have dumped Miguelito a long time ago, but his job as a Walgreens manager came with great benefits. Chalupa's own mami had told her to look on the bright side, at least it wasn't porn addiction. But Chalupa had only confided some of her marital troubles to her mami.
A new problem was brewing. Miguelito had started carrying around a hideous handbag he found a the dollar store. "Look babe! It's hideous like Tasha's bag!"
Chalupa had gently reminded him that fictional Tasha never claimed to have a hideous handbag, that detail was added by the VCT trolls who were equally addicted to ragging and dragging the fictional Tasha. But Miguelito couldn't make the distinction and he began taking it everywhere, even the casino. Chalupa's and Miguelito's sex life had fallen off a cliff. More recently she had espied him doing something very disturbing. When he thought he wasn't being observed, Miguelito doodled in a notebook, writing the name "Karen Nathan" in flowery school girl cursive, as if he were an infatuated 8th grade girl.
kewlJ: My mother has read some of this forum. Probably more that I know. The only thing she has ever said to me about it is to ask why I continue to post here, which happens to be the same exact thing almost all of the decent people I have any association with ask me. And I am out if answers.
also kewlJ: I remain on this forum, for one reason only now....my own entertainment.
Akwana put down his digging stick and smiled at the large, tasty grub he'd pried loose from under a rotting log in the African jungle.
"Oh boy" he thought: actually he thought in a different language, but let's use English.
He quickly ate the tasty grub then pulled out the modern phone he'd "liberated" from the last Christian missionary who had tried to proselytize him.
Akwana was rather sharp for an orphaned uneducated 18 year old Zulu and had learned much about America from watching the movie "Casino" over and over, committing it to memory: how that Joe Pesci rocked!
He scanned and then pondered the latest posts at his go to site, VCT, and chuckled; "That Tasha, she's at it again, now she's a sports bettor. Time to play with the mouthy harridan."
He keyed "Mammie, go gets me 'dat copy o' "Sport Ill-strated," I and I jus' found at de bus stop. I and I needs to figure out hows to bet all de upcoming games" but then paused to reflect on how long it had been and upon how much joy he'd received by inventing his MisterV sock puppet and masterfully weaving his controversial narratives.
He reveled in the feeling of power he felt simply by fooling all of the so-called Gambling Sharpies at VCT, DT, WoV and elsewhere.
Akwana completed his post and then urinated on a lurking black mamba: "What have I to worry about from a snake? With my powers of advanced internet forum sock puppetry I've nothing to fear."
With that he went back to digging for tasty grubs, ignoring the serpent.
Last edited by MisterV; 01-03-2025 at 09:38 PM.
What, Me Worry?
As Mary-Helen tucked in her grandchildren for the night, she smiled in anticipation of logging on to VCT and interacting with her imaginary internet friends and enemies. After a long day of babysitting, she needed the outlet. Would anyone on VCT guess that she was a 76-year-old devout Mormon, mother of 6 and grandmother of 23? No, how could they. Her VCT forum persona was carefully crafted to be statistically average and unremarkable in all aspects. The mundane account of her life and gambling activities could not be questioned.
Mary-Helen had recently started a feud with some "Mister V" character, whom she assumed to be a retired lawyer in Oregon but was actually a Zulu orphan boy with a phone. She pretended to be offended on behalf of another character, "Tasha" whom she assumed to be a single ghetto black woman but was actually a Hispanic man with a good job and a loving wife. As Mary-Helen interacted with all these characters in her usual boring way, a niggling thought in the back of her mind took hold.
What if I am not the only one pretending to be something other than what I am? What if "Boz" is actually Francine from across the street? What if "dgenben" is Jennifer Aniston? More such fanciful hypotheticals danced in her head like sugarplum faeries as Winken, Blinken, and Nod whisked her off to dreamland.
kewlJ: My mother has read some of this forum. Probably more that I know. The only thing she has ever said to me about it is to ask why I continue to post here, which happens to be the same exact thing almost all of the decent people I have any association with ask me. And I am out if answers.
also kewlJ: I remain on this forum, for one reason only now....my own entertainment.
Donald Trump took a big chomp out of his Big Mac, slurped his Coke and continued to create a new post for VCT: under a pseudonym, of course.
"Hey Elon, come look what I'm sending to that effete corps of intellectual snobs at VCT."
"No, Donald, no more! I've been trying to get you to stop posting as this MDawg character but you're relentless. Let it go, Donald, you've become obsessed."
Donald realized something, then vocalized the brain fart: "Look Elon, I need this shit more than I need pussy. It's a fucking tonic, it keeps me going."
"Yes, but you're losing focus, the MAGA faithful are wondering if you've still got IT."
"Elon, the only reason I'm standing here today is because I get aroused whenever I pour myself into my MDawg character; my posts about absolute superiority in all I do help me survive being surrounded by boot licking yes men. But know one thing: MDawg is me, Elon, and he is both the brain child and poster child of and for MAGA."
"Donald, you must stop."
Elon left the room and grinning maniacally he surreptitiously posted once again on VCT under his pseudonym.
"Hey MDawg: Wise up, chump" he posted: "Unless you pack nine and a half inches you ain't got shit."
Last edited by MisterV; 01-03-2025 at 11:32 PM.
What, Me Worry?
"Mammie, I and I has gotten de best idea ever for fraudin' dem white devils."
Her words fell on deaf, I mean drunken ears: her step mom was "well into her cups" and daydreaming about finally reaching "Dem Pearly Gates."
"Check 'dis out. I and I found 'dis pitcher of a house afire and now I and I says it is my house and 'dat I and I needs money fo' a new one."
Karen smiled and patted herself on the back, following it with a smiling "Atta girl."
Mammie arose from her drunken stupor and commented "You lives here in Miami, not Cal fornia. Dey all knows dat too. How's you gonna frauds dem if'n dey be on to you?"
Karen thought for a moment, then said "Easy; I and i tells dem we moved las' week."
With that the fraudulent bingo maven constructed her plea, posted it on WoV and quickly received three requests for crotch shots.
Last edited by MisterV; 01-09-2025 at 07:18 PM.
What, Me Worry?
Mammie watched the talking heads yak about the afterlife on The 700 Club while she methodically scrubbed the kitchen linoleum floor: it gave her hope to think she'd have a better life someday.
"'Dis here scrubbin' shit, it be fo' de birds" she thought while using a putty knife to remove a particularly stubborn bit of excrement; it was while removing her step-daughter's effluvia that she noticed its odd, greenish / gray color.
"Chile, get yo' ass over here and tells me why 'dis be colored."
Karen tore herself away from her computer, musing "I and I bes' not fo'get to attaches some crotch shots to dese emails to mah 'sino friends: dey truly is my money shots."
"What be yo problem, Mammie?"
"I has no problem, girl, but maybe you does...come look at dis and tells me why it be greenish / gray."
Karen sashayed over and studied the crusty excrement, noting for the record its odd coloration.
"I and I dunno mammie, could it be 'cause we is colored peoples?"
With that Karen laughed so hard she dropped to the floor, dropped her drawers and let loose a deuce.
Thoughts of angels with trumpets flooded mammie's mind as she kept scrubbing, secure in the knowledge that somewhere, someday, some how she'd finally be happy.
Last edited by MisterV; 01-21-2025 at 12:22 PM.
What, Me Worry?
FYP, Tasha...to suit my fictional account of life in Modern Day America
__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ ______________________________________________
The meal over, a check was handed to the diner who looked a lot like that Huxstable woman on The Cosby Show.
Karen gazed blankly at the check, then at the waiter and said "What choo waitin' fo', Mr. waiter? Get yo' punk ass outa heah, I and I is digestin' 'dis fine meal and it takes time fo' proper digestin'."
Thus dismissed, the waiter slunk away, leaving the check on the table.
"I and I has enjoyed' 'dis here tasty meal" she mused while slowly rising: a deep, basso fart emerged from her nether lips: a precursor of things to come.
Sporting a devilish smile and a bold attitude, Karen lowered her sweat pants and crusty bloomers, squatted and let loose a pile that would do a plow horse proud.
Noticing this, aghast, the waiter ran over and yelled "the check..."
"Oh yeah, de check...sometimes I and I fo'gets," and no sooner than you can say "wannabe AP" Karen scooped up the check, wiped her ass with it, and smiled.
"Yum, 'dem was good vittles: whatcha got on special tomorrow?"
Last edited by MisterV; 01-29-2025 at 06:13 PM.
What, Me Worry?
"I won roughly a $1,900 Jackpot (I got an unexpected Mystery Progressive Jackpot. and received a W2G form and filed it with my taxes! This is my first W2G form ever and it was extensive to tell you, I had to put the Cashier name/Number who processed the Jackpot and a LOT of other little things. As I filed my W2G Form I thought of how time consuming it would have been if I had about 20 W2G Forms to fill out"
__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ _____________________
Here's the rumors behind the news...
It was a dark and stormy night, and as usual Karen was perusing VCT and languidly pecking away at her computer.
The day had been quite harrowing: an old lady had accidentally shit herself in Walgreens and when the manager told Karen to mop it up she bristled, thinking "Some peoples gets all 'de a'tention., why couldn' 'dat be me?"
Emotionally strung out she felt pangs of jealousy and resentment while reading how much her wannabe bff, the hound, said he won almost every day: she decided it was her time to bask in the sun.
"Mammie, I and I has de best idea, I and I is gwine to tell dem white devils 'dat I and I won me my first jackpot, 'dat will impress dem to maybe t'inkin' I and I can be an AP."
Mammie stopped scrubbing the floor, looked at her middle aged step daughter and not for the first time wondered "What the hell is she still living wif' us fo' ? She has a job; too bad she blows it all on chicken and gambling."
"Chile, you knows dey is on to you an' yo' lyin' all de time, hows you gwine convince dem 'dat 'dis time you is tellin' de trufe?"
Karen stopped chomping and pondered, then smiled and said "Winners gets a W2-G: I and I will tells dem I and I gots one too."
Clueless as to what a W2-G was or actually looked like, Karen went to her "go to" source for gambling information, an out of date tome she'd found at Goodwill called "A Complete Idiot's Guide to Casino Gambling" by Rob SInger.
She crafted her email to VCT incorporating the info in the book, but her claim was immediately debunked as the ravings of a loon.
She had become a laughingstock once again.
"Mammie, life ain't fair. I and I tries so hard but dem white devils always finds ways to put me in my place."
Mammie said nothing, but thought to herself "Girl, yo' place be on de toilet, not squattin' over de flo'."
Karen concluded "I and I t'inks I and I will takes up 'dat sport bettin' thing next, specially tennis in Romania. 'Dat will impress even 'dat guy Red Tits."
Last edited by MisterV; 01-31-2025 at 04:01 PM.
What, Me Worry?
"Mammie, I and I has got it: dem white devils dey has to respect me now."
Karen smiled like a cat with a mouth full of canary. meanwhile mammie scowled at the floor, cursing those stubborn stains.
"What is it now, chile? Has you figured out World Peace?"
Mammie laughed so hard her dentures fell out of her mouth, the sound of their fall muffled by their soft landing in a pile of human feces.
"No, it be simple: I and I is linking myself to Alan Mendelson, de founder of VCT: instant respect."
With that Karen typed furiously away, hit "send" and awaited what she expected would be heaps of praise, but instead was a blizzard of boos.
Later, chastened yet still game for action, she decided to link herself to yet another "forum luminary," posting: "I and I had 'dis neat little trailer wit' a tent on it but I and I sold it to a Jew."
More condemnation ensued; pitchforks and firebrands type shit.
"Mammie, dese white devils dey be hard to m'press: I better ask my boy frien fo' advice.
She PM'ed "MDawg honey baby...throws me a life line" and awaited his words of wisdom.
What, Me Worry?
"Mammie, look what I and I jus' espied on de innernet."
Poor mammie stopped scrubbing the kitchen floor and looking her step-daughter in the eyes said "'Dis better be good, to tear me away from 'dis cava-cade of pleasure."
"Oh it be de bee's knees. I and I has figured it out, now I and I knows why I and I is still a virgin."
Mammie checked herself from responding with the obvious albeit painful answer; Karen mistakenly took her silence as permission to expound.
"It be 'cause I and I is autistic."
Mammie put down the scrub brush, sat up, arms akimbo, and glared.
"'Dat be nothin' new, chile, you been artistic fo' years; why just look at 'dat fecal paintin' of Jesus you did on 'dat wall last week."
"No no mammie, not artistic; autistic...look...
https://www.oregonlive.com/living/20...exual-why.html
What, Me Worry?
kewlJ: My mother has read some of this forum. Probably more that I know. The only thing she has ever said to me about it is to ask why I continue to post here, which happens to be the same exact thing almost all of the decent people I have any association with ask me. And I am out if answers.
also kewlJ: I remain on this forum, for one reason only now....my own entertainment.
Karen glanced at her phone and nearly choked on a chicken bone. It was Junetober 32nd, the dreaded Florida state holiday known to locals as "Opposite Day." While the rest of the universe was suspended in time, by some strange quirk of particle physics time in Florida would flow at an irregular pace for the next 32 hours. As if possessed by some unknown force, Mammie got up from the floor and dropped her scrub brush and bottle of cleaning fluid. These very same objects then began floating on a sparkling trail of fairy dust toward Karen, where they landed in her meaty paws. Uh oh, Karen mused.
Wordlessly, Mammie pulled down her pants, squatted over the very spot she had been scrubbing before the space-time anomaly hit, and dropped a deuce for the ages. Karen fell to her knees and wept.
kewlJ: My mother has read some of this forum. Probably more that I know. The only thing she has ever said to me about it is to ask why I continue to post here, which happens to be the same exact thing almost all of the decent people I have any association with ask me. And I am out if answers.
also kewlJ: I remain on this forum, for one reason only now....my own entertainment.
"Mammie, come looks a' wha' my boy frien' jus' venmo'ed me."
Mammie put down the scrub brush, sat up, and after taking a long tug out of her vodka half gallon said "What?"
"I and I said come looks a' 'dis...:" she pointed to the screen on her phone.
"Chlle, I ain't gots time fo' dis shit, jus' tell me what da fuck it is you needs me to see."
Karen scowled, then let loose a blast of swamp gas: it would soon be time to festoon the kitchen floor, but not til she finished her brag.
"My rich lawyer boy frien' jus' sent me five hundred bucks Mammie; he say 'thank you fo' havin' my back.'"
"Wha' you do fo' 'dat kinda money, chile? You ain't sucked him off yet, you be asexual, right?"
"None o' that dirty talk mammie; he say if I keeps supportin' him den he sends me money alla time, ka-ching."
"Why 'dis mo-fucka need yo' s'port, if'n he be a rich lawyer? Dem shysters, dey is s'posed ta be smart."
A nascent 'thought bubble' formed in Karen's noggin': dumb as she was she also wondered why he couldn't stand up for himself, but rather than kill the goose that laid golden eggs she quickly banished such thoughts: why question a good thing? Besides, she really needed the money.
"Cause he gots enemies, and I and I is his casino frien', 'dat's why."
With that she decamped to Church's chicken to help spend her pennies from heaven, smiling at the thought of her shearing yet another "casino friend."
Last edited by MisterV; 02-11-2025 at 02:23 PM.
What, Me Worry?
Karen espied something which warmed the cockles of her heart.
"Mammie, come see what my boyfrien' posted."
Mammie stopped scrubbing the stains on her step daughter's panties, took a hit of fentanyl and said "Huh?"
"Put down that damned tin foil mammie and looks here..."
Karen waved her phone in front of the dilated eyes of her step-mom, and said "look at all de money my boy frien' has got."
Mammie espied the pic of a Venetian casino chip, a candy bar, and a watch: mammie shrugged.
"Chile, what da fuck does you care? Dat rascal, he be a known liar, or so you say: how you knows dat shit ain't fake?"
"Cause he be a rich lawyer and he play back-rat in dem fancy rooms, you know, like James Bonn."
"Dem white devils, dey all lie to us po' black folk, girl...ain't you figured dat out yet?"
But Karen had tuned her out, engaging in her ongoing daydream involving MDawg, Church's Chicken and shitting on the parquet floor of a Newell.
Last edited by MisterV; 02-12-2025 at 08:06 PM.
What, Me Worry?
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