Betting Against the Mid

Last week was one to remember. Of highest importance was me welcoming the newest chicken to our compound. Everyone fell in love with Wolfie and her impeccable prognosticating ways. Of lesser note was El FC’s excellent win vs. some ragtag group of beaver pelt trading (probably) Canucks.

Despite my instant love for Wolfie, both San Julius and Rodney, who lays eggs when they’re needed most, were a tad more apprehensive about the new hen. It’s a little known poultry fact that, once established, laying hens don’t welcome outsiders. My considerable augural experience told me I need to address this tout suite lest feathers start flying in anger. I’m telling you, if that coop starts a-rockin’, I’m sure as hell gonna be a-knockin’ to stop that scuffle.

As Archimedes would say, “Eureka!” (Fun Greek fact: that’s the 1st person, singular, perfect, active, indicative form of the verb.)

We’ll embark on a lovely trip in order to facilitate some group bonding to increase the esprit de corps, if you will. We immediately drew up a list of places to go. Their gaze of a chicken told me that they wanted to literally roll the dice. Casino, ahoy!

We started looking at places to go. Cushatta? While it might be Louisiana’s Best Bet, being so close to us rendered it a smidge jejune.

Bugsy Siegel’s paradise? I don’t think so. While those buffets are free, they get you in other ways. I mean, who doesn’t want to go to a Cirque de Soleil show or Michael Buble or Miranda Lambert or Steve Martin? These extravaganzas cost money we don’t have at the compound. No. We needed a place that’s akin to Houston. You know, completely mid.

Hello, Foxwoods! That’s true beauty combined with mediocre talent for a reasonable price.

Car rented, we made off for Mashantucket in The Nutmeg State.

We’re big fans of this quintessential autumnal spice at the compound. Andrea Provolone grinds it into her coffee, eschewing all things pumpkin. Turd Verdeson swears by it on his sweet potatoes (which, admittedly, are both life affirming and life changing). Uncle Tony P. starts his day by sprinkling a soupcon of it on his traditional Irish steel cut oats.

We arrive at this somewhat magical place and find out that even their craptastic shows are a bit pricey. But, they do have some lower tier performers that we can take in for free. We eagerly rush to our first show: John Cafferty and the Beaver Brown Band.

Fully throwing ourselves into all things mid, we head to the next ballroom where Lorenzo Lamas is doing a show. Turns out, he’s not just beautiful, he can spin a yarn like no one else.

Wanting to end on an atmospheric note, we turn to Madison Hu’s show. The hens have always been huge fans of “Bizaardvark,” but Olivia Rodrigo is an impossibility for us impecunious folk.

What a raconteuse! Such a great show! Added bonus: Jake Paul never made an appearance. The trip was a smashing success. San Julius and Rodney, who lays eggs when needed most, began allogrooming Wolfie. Full acceptance, if you ask me.

We were so excited that we decided a trip to the tables was in order. After all, we were still flush with the $50 brought along as funny money.

Striding confidently across the floor, we found a roulette table with no other guests bellied up. As we looked down, we noticed the numbers were different than normal. Instead of the classic red and black on green felt, the felt was black and the numbers were green and orange. Interesting.

It was at this moment, a strange and awkward man, bedecked head to toe in an orange leisure suit, joined us. Although he clearly didn’t know how to have any fun, he nevertheless slapped $500 on the orange 1. We decided to put all of our $50 on the green 2. We won! I was so excited we had increased our money that the true meaning of the moment escaped me. But the chickens, united in their mission, made sure I was aware. Their glares manifested the truth of the matter.

The trip was a success. There is harmony in chickendom and we know what the score will be:

El FC 2-1 Houston