That Time Indians Stole My Money

That Time Indians Stole my Money



There's a vast gulf that lies between the cultures of the white man and those of the Native Americans. One way we have bridged that gap is by coming together to gamble.

Slowly, but surely, the five Native Americans left in America will reclaim their entire continent by way of video poker.

This was back in 2000, on New Years in fact.

I had just procured a 5000-dollar loan from my bank in order to pay off my astronomical debt and to have money in case my useless wench ex ever wanted to eat fondue and drink 100 dollar wine with me.

In other words, I was pathetic and the saditude of my state came to a head on that frightful New Year's eve.

Having 5 grand in my pocket and tired of moping around about the above wench, I decided it would be fun to go up skiing at Mt. Baker.

Mt. Baker is far from civilization and the idea that anyone would lose money in a nearby casino is not only preposterous, it's science fiction. But, lordy lord….

So, reaching Mt. Baker the lesbian interplanetarian ships from Jupiter descended upon us and demanded that I gamble away 1000 dollars to appease their Venusian Gods.

Well, more like we did some skiing and drinking and then headed to the casino around three.

At the casino I began winning numerous monies and laughing heartily at the stupid Indians and their spoiled plans of taking my bank loan from me before I could blow it on blow.

So, with the arrogance only white and black people have, I decided to stay behind with this one guy (I always forget his name) as my friends left in order to take more money from the dirty savages.

I was playing the roulette wheel and anyone with half a brain cell knows it's the dumbest, worst odds game you can play. But, I was up and there was no way I was going down with my 50 dollar winnings.

This all played out well and good for a couple hours then I began to lose.

And lose.

And lose.

Pretty soon I was downing the ugly withdrawal of winning to losing with premium beer that the tribe was glad to put in my hand for a buck fifty.

Now, I began to realize that the friendly and gullible Indians were beginning to lick their lips in my direction. The mark had been made, the word was out – we're taking that whitey down tonight.

More beer followed and the paranoia ensued. I began blabbering about manifest destiny and the West Indies and slave boats and dead bodies riding buffalo ghosts into the high plains. I made wild gestures with my hands and was twice restrained.

Sure, they knew my story: distract the crowd as to make off with some self respect when they weren't looking.

But, this was not to be.

Once I wised up and knew that once my wallet was clean the tomahawks would come down on my head. I managed to find a phone and call a cab. I was told there was a wait as it was New Year's.

This was around seven.

By eight I was getting drunker and I decided that I was going to circle the wagons and take some Indian blood.

At the cash machine I pulled another 200 to match the 200 I had already lost. They weren't taking me down that easy!

By nine the good tribesman had robbed me of another 200 and I found that I couldn't pull more cash.

Luckily for the Natives, they had a special teller that could pull past the 300 you were allowed to take from a cash machine in one day.

Armed with 1000 dollars of my bank's money, that took four years to pay off at a high interest rate, I decided that I was going to beat the casino like a gong.

By 11 there was no cab, no money, no beer.

I sat in a stupor, repeatedly calling the taxi service and screaming into the phone "THE SAVAGES HAVE TAKEN MY ENTIRE WORTH AND WILL SOON FEED UPON MY CHILDREN AND GOATS!!!!!"

The taxi service either didn't care or had more important pioneers to save, for no promises were made and I was left with a kindly "As soon as humanely possible." I tried to explain that there were no humans left besides the tribesman, my friend, and I. For the casino had erupted into downright weirdness.

First to walk by was a amphetamine addict in a Santa suit throwing raffle tickets from his bag. Only, the raffle tickets were poker chips and tore the skin on my forehead open, leaving me a bloody wreck in the lounge. I vowed that once I was in better form the Christians were going down too.

But, it wasn't just Santa. There were dwarves being sent out from the kitchen, dressed as parrots and singing Rod Stewart songs as they circled the casino.

Before long, the entire casino was engulfed in weirdness. Trapeze artists in pink shawls descended from the ceiling and skipped batons off the poker tables, a Saskwatch was let in from the cold outdoors and began devouring those with the dumb luck to have taken any of the tribe's money, and finally, the Shaman Spirit Thunderbird descended from the chandelier and began ripping the throats out of every non-Native left alive and winning.

I praised Buddha for letting me be a drunk loser. Think of it! If I had taken even a dollar of the tribe's money I would be in some Sun God Hell in the lower Dakota. Or, worse, some trailer park of the damned in flats of alkali.

Finally, around two, the cab showed and my buddy and I were escorted by a tall Native American warlord out to the car.

He explained that I was left alive to warn my people that the Native man will be evoking revenge on the white man and that if they would like to keep their lives, albeit in concentration camps in Mormon Utah (they don't want it), we should send all of our monies, property, and women to the Native American Council, 124 North Ave, Kirkland, WA.

Half of the proceeds will be going to reparations for the Native American's "dark brothers and sisters."

I thanked Chief Pai Gow and promised to spread his word to the four corners of the land…and to pack a bag to Europe ASAP.

So, what did I learn? I learned that the white man's ignorance and avarice will soon bite him from the Pacific to the Atlantic. I learned that underestimating cultures for their differences is a sin that shall be wrought manifold on the sinner and that his lies will cast him in to the ugly depths of Salt Lake city. Lastly, I learned that drunken whores will blow me given the alternative of being devoured by a Thunderbird spirit.

"So long, Chief Pai Gow – I will never forget you!" I screamed from the cab.

And, as we drove away, I could hear him mumble "Whatever."

But, the evening was far from over. An ugly white man was loose at the condos back on the mountain.

As our cab drove in to the complex we realized we had no idea where we were and where our condo was.

We asked the driver to drop us off and left the cab for the wilderness of the Mt. Baker Chateaus.

We first came upon a junky. Like the Scarecrow, she was an ex-junky and had no brains at all: she opted to chat up my buddy instead of me.

I decided to leave them to fuck amongst the trees and I journeyed onward. Only to come upon Keith.

Out of the woods he jumped holding a large stick. He had lost his shoe, his shirt was ripped up, and the look on his face told the story of a case of beers and a large jug of absinthe.

"Who goes there! Who dares the wrath of my shalailee?" He yelled, brandishing the stick in a violent manner.

"Keith! The savages stole my money and are coming for our women!" He had provoked the great white man spirit in me and I now wanted blood as well.

"Nevermind that, there's a group of rich upper class snowboarding scum that have snubbed me for the last time!" Keith was livid.

"We shall tear their souls out with chicken wire and then head down the mountain and string them around the casino as a warning." I was finally at peace with my anger. It seemed that all I needed was a man covered in ivy and brambles, holding a big stick to show me back to the path of anger.

"We need more booze!"

"We met up with a junky, let's find her and see if she has spirits."

"Then we shall take out their eyes and play roulette with them."

"Naturally."

We finally caught up with the woman and my friend. He realized that he wasn't going to get laid without a garbage bag of crack and he was growing tired of her.

We asked after the booze and she informed us that the guy she was staying with had some beer.

We followed her.

On the way, Keith told me the story of the snobs and how their snobbery had broken his spirit and shat on his manna.

It seems after skiing Keith was walking back to our condo and came upon the rich folk unloading their equipment.

"Need a hand?" Keith asked, half in the bag and three sheets to the wind.

"Sure."

Keith then helped them move their 6000 dollar snowboards into their condo and in exchange they agreed to let him drink with them.

Before long, much like the tribesman, the party began to grow weary of Keith.

"Who is that?" A woman asked one of her pompous boyfriends.

"Why, that's the chap who helped us load in the snowboards. Why ever is he still here?"

"Correct, why ever would he think he could chat us up in his inebriated manner?"

Keith sensed that the party had turned on him, so he grabbed a beer bottle and held it out like a torch to ward off the would be attackers.

He then walked backward, slowly out the sliding glass window.

"If anyone moves a muscle they're getting hit over the head with this microbrew."

The snobs knew Keith was serious and backed off.

Now Keith wanted blood.

But, first there was booze. Inside the condo of the junky, we realized that the man she was with was her boyfriend and he regarded us first with suspicion, then contempt, then with the sort of hatred one saves for Hitler, Stalin, and Bush.

When his back was turned, Keith grabbed a butchers knife off the table and I found myself backing out of the condo slowly with Keith and my other friend.

This brought me back to my senses and I disarmed Keith of his knife and he fled into the woods howling like a banshee.

Keith never did find the bastards, but I had to disarm him twice more that night.

It was then that I vowed to never drink again…at Mt. Baker…on New Years…with a man brandishing a branch.