The resident faculty may want to stage a casino night at the BPI Campus. Or maybe the photo they left outside the mail room is just their weekly clue…. (More)
“I hate craps” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor said as he looked at the photo left by the resident faculty as they made their way from the wine cellar library, where they spent the weekend drinking thinking on our motto of Magis vinum, magis verum (“More wine, more truth”), to the hot tub faculty lounge for their weekly game where the underwear goes flying planning conference.
“But the name fits the game,” Chef said as she brought out the decoder ring.
“Dat tabel duzzint look like a litterbox,” Pootie the Precious texted on her iHazPhone.
The Squirrel chuckled and tapped at his Blewberry. “No, but playing craps is throwing your money down a hole. The odds favor the house, no matter how you bet.”
“Wat about da evens?” Pootie P texted. “Do dey favor da howse 2?”
Chef chuckled and stroked Pootie P’s ears. “The odds, the evens, the passes, the comes, they all favor the house.”
Pootie P purred and pawed her iHazPhone. “Wat a dum game.”
Professor of Astrology Janitor said to the Squirrel, “are the resident faculty planning a casino night? If so, I’ll have to get out our other poker table and brush the dust off.”
The Squirrel shook his head and tapped at his Blewberry. “I don’t think so. But the whole point of craps is that the dice bounce randomly–”
“–I get it,” Chef said. “So this week you’ll bounce randomly around the crappy news?”
“Or the good news,” the Squirrel said. “That could happen too.”
“It could,” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor said, “but the odds are against it.”
And the evens, and the passes, and the comes….
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Photo Credit: OnTheFelt.com