Wanna Bet?

If you assembled a group of 1000 professional gamblers and gave each of them one million dollars with the stipulation that they had to bet the money either on the verified appearance of space aliens or the return of Jesus, whichever came first, I am certain that they would, to a man, all wager on the aliens.

And that's with even odds on the aliens. That's with 1000-1 odds on Jesus.

They would make that particular bet not because they're all heathen scum but because they're professionals, which means they crunch the numbers and play the odds, and the odds say that Jesus ain't coming back. Myths seldom do.

A professional gambler keeps a running count of the cards in his head so he'll know when the next ace is due. Rarely does a Paul Bunyan or the Tooth Fairy appear in the deck, no matter how hard you pray.

I'm specifically using the example of professional gamblers because they remind me so much of those who faithfully attend their local betting parlor, uh, I mean, neighborhood Fantasy Hut, uh, I mean, local religious industrial venue every Sunday.

Each week the assembled devout troop in and dutifully drop their stake into the collection plate, "letting it all ride" on Jesus. Their ultimate jackpot is Armageddon, the Rapture and a subsequent slice of Heaven. Unfortunately for them they're working entirely on faith and that's the sign of an amateur gambler. The only winner here is the House. The House of Faith, that is, and they never lose. They know the Big J ain't ever coming back and they're literally banking on it. Big time.

Another funny coincidence? Just like Vegas you won't see any clocks when you're in the Big Religious Room. You see, neither industry wants you to realize how much time you're wasting while you're there.

=Lefty=