If you like your public beaches, then thank socialism.
Were it not for governments having the foresight to acquire, develop, and maintain these common recreational areas, public beaches would cease to exist. The most desirous properties, such as sandy oceanfronts concentrated around urban areas, would be gobbled up by land developers and privatized. Then, beaches would end up much like golf courses. The nicest beaches would become exclusive playgrounds for the rich. And the rest of us working-class people would end up with limited access to far less-desirous areas, forced to pay entry fees just to enjoy the natural beauty of the ocean.
Thank goodness for socialism.
It’s 10:15 on a Saturday night, and I can’t find a parking space. Anywhere.
My restaurant of choice closes in exactly 15 minutes. I haven’t eaten all day. I’m starving. I want Thai food. Problem is, there’s no place to park my rental car within a quarter mile in any direction. Suddenly, I seem to get lucky.
There’s a spot! It’s empty!
Wait, not so fast.
It’s a handicapped space. Shit!
Hmm, let me think about this situation for a moment. Hey, I don’t see any handicapped people around. I mean, it’s not like someone in a wheelchair is going to show up at this late hour, right?
What should I do? What would you do?
With poker commentator Dave Tuchman on our fast boat to nowhere, out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Fort Lauderdale, Florida.
My morning began with a mouthful of ants.
By mid-afternoon, on a fast boat to nowhere out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, I rescued a dead fish.
Ten hours, one bottle of cheap wine, and a dozen overpriced cocktails later, by 2 am, I was pacing the sidewalk out in front of a downtown art gallery like a vagrant, screaming profanities through a plate-glass window at shitty paintings being sold at mind-numbing prices.
None of which has to do anything to do with poker, of course.
Just another day on location at “Poker Night in America,” this week in Florida.
Look at this hideous piece of shit. Not me. I mean, look at the painting.
After leaving a bar in downtown Fort Lauderdale last night at around 2 am, I stumbled by an art gallery with my poker pals Jason Neuman, Charlie Ciresi, and Kurt Dau. That’s when we spotted this horrendous painting hanging near the front door.
You deceptive lying-ass shits!
I just opened up my Visa bill this month and caught you motherfuckers red-handed again. Cold blooded thieves! That’s what you are! And for this, you are going to pay. Dearly! Just wait til you hear what I have in mind next time I pay you a visit. Already, I’ve got my revenge planned.
You, the villainous Hilton Corporation, with thousands of money-sucking hotels worldwide, enabler of the planet’s most obnoxious golden-haired waif, jerked me off on this month’s bill for an extra $500. That’s right — fiiiiiive huuuuundred dooooooollars. You thought I wouldn’t notice, didn’t you? Well, I did notice! Indeed, I might not have caught your “honest mistake,” except that $500 is basically a sports bet for me, and no one is going to break my balls and bash me in the ass for five bills unless it’s some shortstop in Cleveland I’ve never heard of making a throwing error to first base. Then, I can live with losing the $500 after spewing off a load of F-bombs.
Which brings up to today’s hot topic: If it’s really an “honest mistake,” why do we always seem to get charged TOO MUCH? Why never TOO LITTLE? Shouldn’t the mistakes balance out?
I’m loaded with evil conspiracy theories, and my latest is that Hilton consciously does this all the time. My reasoning: I’ve gotten hotel bill gang-banged three times over the last 18 months for extra charges I didn’t make when staying at Hilton properties. Just a coincidence, you ask? Am I the most unlucky customer in the world? How come Hilton never forgets to charge me for the extra $9 can of Pringles out of the room fridge? Huh? Answer me that.