Crazy Casino Stories Reddit

4/13/2022admin

A spin on the roulette wheel, 80 hours passing chips at the poker table, an incredible streak of luck at the races. Most of us know a funny, straight up crazy gambling story. Similar to a ‘rite of passage’ or ‘coming of age’, gamblers, and their friends, love to compare each other’s triumphs and even pitfalls. Here are our top 5 picks for funniest gambling stories.

Casino Dealers Reveal Worst Losses Handled (r/AskReddit Top Posts Reddit Stories) Free 30 Day Amazon Audible Trial: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Audible-Mem. I didn’t think that gambling was a problem during this time as I was going with my friends, making money, and getting a crazy amount of adrenaline from the casino runs. Being at the blackjack table allowed me to forget about my anxiety and depression that gradually compiled due to my broken foot and the inability to exercise. That is a truly crazy story, but I have to say I think the casino was doing the right thing. Like you said, both casino employees made the right ruling, that the verbal declaration was binding. Wife / Beyonce confession sorry I ran short on space. So this happened around 1999 2000 ish. The first night I met my wife I really wasn't feeling like going out to the clubs however my best friend and his girlfriend were going and they had stopped by my place to drag me along as I had just broken off a short fling with a woman that I liked but she wasn't really the type of girl that you would.

Grandma Rolls, and Wins, 154 Times

The odds for this first story are 1 in 1.56 TRILLION. Grandmother Patricia Demauro walked to a craps table at Atlantic City's Borgata Hotel Casino and Spa with $100. She had only played craps one other time, but tired of the slots she had previously played, she picked up the orange dice and started off with a lucky “roll”, no pun intended. Four hours and 18 minutes later, Demauro had not only won all 154 rolls, but had also broken a world record for the longest craps roll and the most successive dice rolls without 'sevening out.' She never stated how much she won, but experts suggest it was likely to be in the hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions. Now that is luck.

A Lucky Win and then Deportation

You hear about gamblers undergoing serious despair and defeat after they’ve cashed in their winnings. But for a woman in Arizona, she had her moment of despair soon after she won the $1200 jackpot at a local casino. After heading to the cash booth to eagerly collect her winnings, she was asked to show her passport. Her failure to do so led to further questioning and the realization that she was illegally in the United States. Not only did she not get to collect her winnings, but she was deported back to Mexico. The key thing to take away here is have your legal I.D. ready to avoid problematic situations.

300,000 FedEx Employees (and Counting) Owe Their Jobs to Gambling

FedEx currently employs 300,000 people worldwide. The transportation company has a $33 billion dollar capital gain, with its founder and CEO Fred Smith having a personal net worth of $2.1 billion. Had it not been for a Blackjack table, the billion-dollar company may not have ever existed. In 1973, the company had $5,000 in the bank and a $24,000 fuel bill. Thinking they would have to liquidate, Fred Smith decided to take his last bit of money and head to Vegas. There, he turned the $5,000 into $27,000 at a Blackjack table. It was that night which put a man on the path to one of the wealthiest people in the world.

The 20-Second Win

Ashley Revell, an English gent, went for an all or nothing roulette spin. After emptying his savings account and selling every single thing he owned, Ashley had a whopping $136,000. He let the wheel work its magic and 20 seconds later, he turned his cash into $272,000. Not bad, but we don’t recommend spending every penny you own in one game.

Cheaters or Not?

In 2000, gamblers Michael Russo and James Grosjean were uncomfortably detained at a well-known casino. They’re suspected crime? Cheating. They’re names were etched into the Griffins’ Book, a database of undesirables. The casino considered this just another day at the office, but Russo and Grosjean sued. They claimed that they had not been found with any cheating devices, they didn’t steal chips and they didn’t cause uproar. They used their minds and their “style of play” to beat the casino, aka counting cards. They argued that the casino and Griffin Investigations illegally detained them and blacklisted them. The verdict? These two gamblers won the suit.

Citing the large financial awards, Griffin Investigations filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy in 2005. Moreover, the casino and other strip casinos have changed their policies about counting cards. And, no, casinos are net letting players count cards; they just can’t take you into the backroom for an impromptu shakedown. Lesson here, lawsuits can indeed change behavior of not only people, but casinos too!

Fact or Fiction?

Our last funny gambling story is one which has not been officially confirmed, but it’s so good that we’ll include is as a bonus. In 2010, news about an 8-year-old boy from Chandigrah, India winning $500,000 spread like a wildfire on the internet. The story goes that this boy, dubbed a computer genius in the sense that he was building web pages at age 4, was using his uncle’s poker account when he hit the jackpot. Sources say the poker room refused to pay out because of the boy’s age, but the family insists that the website did indeed know the age of the boy and that they called him the “little poker wizard”. They claim he also won, and collected smaller amounts of money on the site and was paid via PayPal. Since, the anonymous poker site blocked his account. The family of the boy took the poker site to a New Delhi court. As of now, the outcome has not been released. If the story is true, this boy definitely has a solid future in online poker.

When my guard is down, it comes to me. It flashes across my mind, an uninvited assault, sometimes when I am beginning to drift off to sleep or, more cruelly, when my mind is enjoying a pleasant reverie. It is then that the dark memory rushes in like a raid.

He lived in a house with nice furnishings. That reassured me when I arrived for the hookup, given that so many of the other crystal meth addicts I encountered were barely holding on to the remnants of their lives. The others might have a sofa to offer — just move those clothes and dishes and don’t worry about the barking in the other room he’ll stop I promise – and a laptop computer, the only real necessity, anyway, so we could watch porn or troll for other tweakers who were up at this time of night.

Time, after all, is a quaint and needless concept to addicts searching for drugs and companionship. Like the weather, say, or our integrity.

He is sitting across from me and we are naked. Seconds earlier, we had both injected ourselves with meth. The pounding rush of the drug is in full force and the possibilities feel endless. I’m looking forward to the sexual promises we had made to one another when we chatted online. Desperately. Now.

But even in my delirium, I have the feeling that something is off. I am blinking through watery eyes and have begun to focus on him. He is staring at me, his gaze fixed with an intense and completely unexpected contempt.

And there is a gun in his hand. A gun a gun a gun a gun.

“You’re not who you say you are,” he says, softly and suspiciously. He trembles from the impact of the meth. As he speaks, the gun the gun the gun is moving this way and that, pointed mostly in my direction.

I have no response. I don’t know what he is capable of, or if the gun is loaded, if he will pull the trigger, if this is a sadistic sex game. I met the man maybe an hour ago. I wonder if you can die of fright.

I couldn’t know that this moment would keep me awake at night for years to come, or that it would create post-traumatic stress that would require therapy, or that the therapy would reveal the many times I put my life at risk during my years of addiction when I was too numbed to recognize danger, or that the realization of all of this would create such shame that I wouldn’t dare explain it to anyone, or that other dark memories from my drug use would continue to reveal themselves to me, popping up unannounced and uninvited.

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“You didn’t even shoot up just now,” he says. He is sweating, and he wipes his brow with the back of his hand, the hand holding the gun the gun the gun.

“You just watched me do it,” I object, gently, nodding toward my spent syringe. I am working hard, so hard, to remain calm while my body shudders from the force of the drugs still streaming through me.

“You should go now,” he responds. He has not moved from his spot.

“Okay. I will do that,” I comply. Carefully, I step to my pile of clothes on the floor. “I’m so sorry this didn’t work out,” I offer, terrified of every word I choose, that something might provoke him. I wonder if I will hear the sound of the gunshot before I feel the impact.

I step into my shorts, make sure my keys and phone are inside, and grab my shirt. I must turn my back on him as I leave the room. I hear him walking behind me. My skin is prickling with terror. We make our way down a hall and out his front door. He stops there and waits silently.

I get into my car in the driveway and face him. He stands there, naked under the porch light, without regard for neighbors who might be awake during the dead of night. His arms are at his side but the gun the gun the gun is still pointed toward me. I am shaking so badly I am having trouble getting the keys into the ignition, like the frantic scene from a thousand horror movies.

My eyes dart back and forth, torn between backing out of the long driveway and watching the armed man standing on the porch. I finally manage to pull into the street and drive away, and then the panic hits me so hard I have to pull over to catch my breath. I sit there for half an hour, not knowing that I will bury this secret episode for a decade, keeping it from my friends and from people in recovery trying to help me. For all my transparency about my life with HIV and even my drug use, I would not know where to put this frightening event, how to reconcile it, when the fear and the shame will be lifted.

I will learn much later that these things take time. Addicts don’t recover at the same pace, in the same way. You can’t walk ten miles into the forest and expect to get out in five.

After my roadside break, I start the car again and drive directly to my drug dealer, the only person in the world who would welcome me in such a state. When my feet touch his gravel driveway I realize I am barefoot.

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In a few moments, I will have more meth in my body to wipe away the trauma.

The meth the meth the meth the meth.

Mark

(If you or someone you care about might have a problem with crystal meth or other substances, get more information from Crystal Meth Anonymous, your local Narcotics Anonymous fellowship, or answer this questionnaire about your drug habits. I also highly recommend Lust, Men and Meth: A Gay Man’s Guide to Recovery by Dr. David Fawcett, Help is available. Recovery is possible.)

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