Blackjack Quotes

God alert!" Blackjack yelled. "It's the wine dude! Mr. D sighed in exasperation. "The next person, or horse, who calls me the 'wine dude' will end up in a bottle of Merlot!

Blackjack," Percy said, "this is Piper and Jason. They're friends." The horse nickered. "Uh, maybe later," Percy answered. Piper had heard that Percy could speak to horses, being the son of the horse lord Poseidon, but she'd never seen it in action. "What does Blackjack want?" she asked. "Donuts," Percy said. "Always donuts.

Hey, why do pegasi gallop as they fly, anyway?" Blackjack whinnied. Why do humans swing their arms as they walk? I dunno, boss. It just feels right.

I uncapped the blade, flung open the door, and found myself face-to-face with a black pegasus. Whoa, boss! Its voice spoke in my mind as it clopped away from the sword blade. I don't wanna be a horse-ke-bob!

Then something occurred to me. "Get closer," I told Blackjack. He whinnied in protest. "Just within shouting distance," I said. "I need to talk to the statue." Now I'm sure you've lost it, boss, Blackjack said

You know" - Hale's breath was warm against Kat's ear in the chilly ballroom- "I don't know that both of us really have to be here...." The slide changed. While hundreds of mathematicians waited with baited breath, the boy beside Kat whispered, "I could go make some calls... check on some things..." "Play some blackjack?" "Well, when in Rome..." "Rome is tomorrow, babe," Kat reminded him. He nodded. "Right.

Fascinating," he said. "Such maneuverability! How does the wingspan compensate for the weight of the horse's body, I wonder?" Blackjack cocked his head. Whaaaat?

Get closer," I told Blackjack. "I need to talk to the statue." Now I'm sure you've lost it, boss, he muttered, but he flew as close as he could, dodging the flying statue.

You know you're smarter than all of them, right?" Hale said flatly. "In fact, if you wanted to PROVE it..." He glanced at the blackjack tables. Simon shook his head. "I don't count cards, Hale." "Don't?" Hale smiled. "Or won't? You know, technically, it's not illegal." "But it's frowned upon." Sweat beaded at Simon's brow. He sounded like someone had just suggested he swim after eating... run with scissors... "It is SERIOUSLY frowned upon.

Percy: "Hey, why do pegasi gallop as they fly, anyway?" Blackjack: "Why do humans swing their arms as they walk? I dunno, boss. It just feels right.

Good luck, boss. Don't let'em turn you into horse meat! (Blackjack)

I tried explaining to Blackjack that taking a flying horse to a donut shop would give every cop in there a heart attack, but he didn’t seem to get it.

I hope you know that television and computers are no more your friends, and no more increasers of your brainpower, than slot machines. All they want is for you to sit still and buy all kinds of junk, and play the stock market as though it were a game of blackjack.

It's hard to walk away from a winning streak, even harder to leave the table when you're on a losing one.

Blackjack made a grumbling sound. Reyna could’ve sworn he tried to say doughnuts. She must have been going delirious.

In the abstract, life is a mixture of chance and choice. Chance can be thought of as the cards you are dealt in life. Choice is how you play them. I chose to investigate blackjack. As a result, chance offered me a new set of unexpected opportunities.

Love conquers all," Aphrodite promised. “Wow," Thalia muttered. “Ever had a flying burrito hit you?" Grover was sniffing the wind, looking nervous. “In a way, it's nice to know that there are Greek gods out there, because you have somebody to blame when things go wrong. “God alert!" Blackjack yelled.

Stay alert!” I told Blackjack. “I’ve got an idea.” Oh, I hate your ideas.

Then a shadow swooped under me, and thump - I was on Blackjack's back. It wasn't the most comfortable landing. In fact, when I yelled "OW!" my voice was an octave higher than usual.

Coincidence doesn't happen a third time.

The others were a little surprised when Piper came back on a pegasus with two unconscious demigods.

Nico sheathed his black sword. ‘You sure about this, Reyna? I don’t like leaving you alone.’ Blackjack whinnied and licked the side of Nico’s face. ‘Gah! Okay, I’m sorry.’ Nico wiped off the horse spit. ‘Reyna’s not alone. She’s got a herd of excellent pegasi.

It's a pervasive and beguiling myth that the people who design instruments of death end up being killed by them. There is almost no foundation in fact. Colonel Shrapnel wasn't blown up, M. Guillotin died with his head on, Colonel Gatling wasn't shot. If it hadn't been for the murder of cosh and blackjack maker Sir William Blunt-Instrument in an alleyway, the rumour would never have got started.

A life must be saved as long as it can be no matter whose it is.

Something must be radically wrong with a culture and a civilisation when its youth begins to desert it. Youth is the natural time for revolt, for experiment, for a generous idealism that is eager for action. Any civilisation which has the wisdom of self-preservation will allow a certain margin of freedom for the expression of this youthful mood. But the plain, unpalatable fact is that in America today that margin of freedom has been reduced to the vanishing point. Rebellious youth is not wanted here. In our environment there is nothing to challenge our young men; there is no flexibility, no colour, no possibility for adventure, no chance to shape events more generously than is permitted under the rules of highly organised looting. All our institutional life combines for the common purpose of blackjacking our youth into the acceptance of the status quo; and not acceptance of it merely, but rather its glorification.

The good folk of Twitter were extremely helpful when I needed to double-check how much blackjacks and fruit salad sweets cost in the 1960s. Without them I might have written my book twice as fast.

But no one could say he hadn't gotten even. He could not count the field women whom he had sexually degraded and demoralized and in whom he had left his seed so their bastard children would be a daily visual reminder of what a plantation white man could do to a plantation black woman whenever he wanted, nor could he count the black men whom he had made fear his blackjack as they would fear Satan himself, making each of them a lifetime enemy of all white people.

The winged stallion came in for a landing. He trotted over to Percy and nuzzled his face, then turned his head inquisitively toward Piper and Jason. “Blackjack,” Percy said, “this is Piper and Jason. They’re friends.” The horse nickered. “Uh, maybe later,” Percy answered. Piper had heard that Percy could speak to horses, being the son of the horse lord Poseidon, but she’d never seen it in action. “What does Blackjack want?” she asked. “Donuts,” Percy said. “Always donuts.

In April, millions of tiny flowers spread over the blackjack hills and vast prairies in the Osage territory of Oklahoma. There are Johnny-jump-ups and spring beauties and little bluets. The Osage writer John Joseph Mathews observed that the galaxy of petals makes it look as if the “gods had left confetti.” In May, when coyotes howl beneath an unnervingly large moon, taller plants, such as spiderworts and black-eyed Susans, begin to creep over the tinier blooms, stealing their light and water. The necks of the smaller flowers break and their petals flutter away, and before long they are buried underground. This is why the Osage Indians refer to May as the time of the flower-killing moon.

Punching - 2 shillings Both eyes blacked - 4 shillings Nose and jaw broke - 10 shillings Jacked out (knocked out with a blackjack) - 15 shillings Ear chewed off - same as previous Leg or arm broke - 19 shillings Shot in leg - 25 shillings Stab - same as previous Doing the Big Job - 3 pounds and up

Just because your electronics are better than ours, you aren't necessarily superior in any way. Look, imagine that you humans are a man in LA with a brand-new Trujillo and we are a nuhp in New York with a beat-up old Ford. The two fellows start driving toward St. Louis. Now, the guy in the Trujillo is doing 120 on the interstates, and the guy in the Ford is putting along at 55; but the human in the Trujillo stops in Vegas and puts all of his gas money down the hole of a blackjack table, and the determined little nuhp cruises along for days until at last he reaches his goal. It's all a matter of superior intellect and the will to succeed. Your people talk a lot about going to the stars, but you just keep putting your money into other projects, like war and popular music and international athletic events and resurrecting the fashions of previous decades. If you wanted to go into space, you would have.

People think blood red, but blood don't got no colour. Not when blood wash the floor she lying on as she scream for that son of a bitch to come, the lone baby of 1785. Not when the baby wash in crimson and squealing like it just depart heaven to come to hell, another place of red. Not when the midwife know that the mother shed too much blood, and she who don't reach fourteen birthday yet speak curse 'pon the chile and the papa, and then she drop down dead like old horse. Not when blood spurt from the skin, on spring from the axe, the cat-o'-nine, the whip, the cane and the blackjack and every day in slave life is a day that colour red. It soon come to pass when red no different from white or blue or black or nothing. Two black legs spread wide and mother mouth screaming. A black baby wiggling in blood on the floor with skin darker than midnight but the greenest eyes anybody ever done seen. I goin' call her Lilith. You can call her what they call her.

There was no way I could be confident! But it was obvious that the patient will die if I don't do something!" -Dr. Honma

A good lawyer knows the law. A great lawyer knows the judge.

Come on, Blackjack,” I said, trying to sound upbeat. “I’ll buy you some donuts in New Jersey.

Entranced by her gorgeous green eyes, I realize that the Queen of Hearts is not in the blackjack dealer’s deck, but rather sitting at the table drinking a watered-down Vodka Cranberry.

Hey, boss, said Blackjack. Can we take a donut break? I wiped the sweat off my brow. “I wish, big guy, but the fight’s still going on.” In fact, I could hear it getting closer. My friends needed help. I jumped on Blackjack and we flew north toward the sound of explosions. FIFTEEN

Marriage is one of our most defining moments because so much is wrapped up in it. If building a career is like spending twelve hours at the blackjack table—seeing the cards as you make your decisions, playing each hand with current winnings in mind, having a new opportunity to take a chance or play it safe with every card dealt—then choosing a mate is like walking over to the roulette wheel and putting all your chips on red 32.

There is not a single penal institution or reformatory in the United States where men are not tortured “to be made good,” by means of the blackjack, the club, the straightjacket, the water-cure, the “humming bird” (an electrical contrivance run along the human body), the solitary, the bullring, and starvation diet. In these institutions his will is broken, his soul degraded, his spirit subdued by the deadly monotony and routine of prison life.

Even as a game of chance, however, Brexit is especially odd. It is a surreal casino in which the high-rollers are playing for pennies at the blackjack tables while the plebs are stuffing their life savings into the slot machines. For those who can afford risk, there is very little on the table; for those who cannot, entire livelihoods are at stake. The backbench anti-Brexit Tory MP Anna Soubry rose to her feet in the Commons in July 2018, eyed her Brexiteer colleagues and let fly: ‘Nobody voted to be poorer, and nobody voted Leave on the basis that somebody with a gold-plated pension and inherited wealth would take their jobs away from them.’ But if that’s not what people voted for, it is emphatically what they got: if the British army on the Western Front were lions led by donkeys, Brexit is those who feel they have nothing to lose led by those who will lose nothing either way.

I don’t think about politics,” Rabbit says. “That’s one of my Goddam precious American rights, not to think about politics. I just don’t see why we’re supposed to walk down the street with our hands tied behind our back and let ourselves be blackjacked by every thug who says he has a revolution going. And it really burns me up to listen to hotshot crap-car salesmen dripping with Vitalis sitting on their plumped-up asses bitching about a country that’s been stuffing goodies into their mouth ever since they were born.

Then, the most crowning insolence of all -- he was virtually blackjacked into paying for his own ammunition, clothing, and food by being made to buy Liberty Bonds. Most soldiers got no money at all on pay days.   We made them buy Liberty Bonds at $100 and then we bought them back -- when they came back from the war and couldn't find work -- at $84 and $86. And the soldiers bought about $2,000,000,000 worth of these bonds!   Yes,

He was a windblown blossom of some two hundred pounds with freckled teeth and the mellow voice of a circus barker. He was tough, fast and he ate red meat. Nobody could push him around. He was the kind of cop who spits on his blackjack every night instead of saying his prayers. But he had humorous eyes.

It seems whenever we get too high hat and too sophisticated for flag-waving some thug nation comes along and decides we're a pushover all ready to be blackjacked. And it isn't long before we're looking up mighty anxiously to be sure the flag is still waving over us. Jimmy Cagney as George M. Cohan in Yankee Doodle Dandy

This is Blackjack himself,” I said. “Your work so far has been superb. I expect even more. Keep the bastards dying!

I tried explaining to Blackjack that taking a flying horse through the drive-thru would give every cop in the doughnut shop a heart attack, but he didn’t seem to get it.

As I kept walking, I thought about that blackjack dealer, and how bone-deep terrifying it is to be a child and know that you cannot decide what adults do to you.

BLACKJACK GETS JACKED

Stay alert!" I told Blackjack. "I've got an idea." Oh, I hate your ideas

The boy will tell you my mind has gone with the dogs down the hill to the city. It’s off playing blackjack at the casino while I’m left up here in the cold.

Some men might make a complicated business of going after a burglar. It was simple and easy, the way I handled it. I crept quietly downstairs and into the dark living-room, and parried a blackjack with my head.

Second, being wrong hurts us more than being right feels good. We know from Daniel Kahneman and Amos Tversky’s work on loss aversion, part of prospect theory (which won Kahneman the Nobel Prize in Economics in 2002), that losses in general feel about two times as bad as wins feel good. So winning $100 at blackjack feels as good to us as losing $50 feels bad to us. Because being right feels like winning and being wrong feels like losing, that means we need two favorable results for every one unfavorable result just to break even emotionally. Why not live a smoother existence, without the swings, especially when the losses affect us more intensely than the wins?

Mom once snuck me into a casino. We were going on vacation to Crater Lake and we stopped at a resort on an Indian reservation for the buffet lunch. Mom decided to do a bit of gambling, and I went with her while Dad stayed with Teddy, who was napping in his stroller. Mom sat down at the dollar blackjack tables. The dealer looked at me, then at Mom, who returned his mildly suspicious glance with a look sharp enough to cut diamonds followed by a smile more brilliant that any gem. The dealer sheepishly smiled back and didn’t say a word. I watched Mom play, mesmerized. It seemed like we were in there for fifteen minutes but then Dad and Teddy came in search of us, both of them grumpy. It turned out we’d been there for over an hour. The ICU is like that.

Every day is precious. And like is too damned short!” Ren hadn’t forgotten the heart attack that had nearly killed Blackjack two years before. “Are you all right?” she asked, laying her hand on his heart. “My heart will be fine. So long as you don’t break it.

Three of its greatest leaders and their horses have been carved into the north face. Jefferson Davis and his horse, Blackjack. Robert E. Lee and Traveller. Stonewall Jackson and Little Sorrel. Riding across the craggy granite, the immense figures are breathtaking. On

I've always been his favorite." "Is that so?" Lazily Shelby folded her arms behind her head. She could picture him as a boy,seeing beyond what other boys saw and storing it. "Why?" "If I weren't modest,I'd confess that I was always a well-mannered, even-tempered child who never gave my parents a moment's trouble." "Liar," she said easily. "How'd you get the broken nose?" The grin became rueful. "Rena punched me." "Your sister broke your nose?" Shelby burst out with delighted and unsympathetic laughter. "The blackjack dealer, right? Oh,I love it!" Alan caught Shelby's nose between two fingers and gave it a quick twist. "It was rather painful at the time." "I imagine." She kept right on laughing as he shifted to her side. "Did she make a habit of beating you up?" "She didn't beat me up," he corrected with some dignity. "She was trying to beat Caine up because he'd teased her about making calf's eyes at one of his friends." "Typical brotherly intimidation." "In any event," Alan put in mildly, "I went to drag her off him,she took another swing,missed him, and hit me. A full-power roundhouse,as I remember. That's when," he continued as Shelby gave another peal of laughter, "I decided against being a diplomat. It's always the neutral party that gets punched in the face." "I'm sure..." Shelby dropped her head on his shoulder. "I'm sure she was sorry." "Initially.But as I recall, after I'd stopped bleeding and threatening to kill both her and Caine, her reaction as a great deal like yours." "Insensitive." Shelby ran apologetic kisses over his face. "Poor baby. Tell you what, I'll do penance and see about fixing you breakfast.

In April, millions of flowers spread over the blackjack hills and vast prairies in the Osage territory of Oklahoma. There are Johnny-jump-ups and spring beauties and little bluets. The Osage writer John Joseph Mathews observed that the galaxy of petals makes it look as if the " gods had left confetti". In May, when coyotes howl beneath an unnervingly large moon, taller plants, such as spiderworts, and black eyed Susans, begin to creep over the tinier blooms, stealing their light and water. The necks of the smaller flowers break and their petals flutter away, and before long they are buried underground. This is why the Osage Indians refer to May as the time of the flower-killing moon.

There’s not much here that tempts me though. I look for folks who appear to be having fun, but can’t find any. Row after row of sad faces hooked up to slot machines like arms connected to IV's, drugs pumping into their minds. Table after table of drained souls looking to leave scraps of happiness and dignity on the green felt of the blackjack table.

El sol y la luna atestiguan, distantes, el comienzo de muchos finales.

Jeez, how stupid was I? What kind of job can a reservation Indian boy get? I was too young to deal blackjack at the casino, there were only about fifteen green grass lawns on the reservation (and none of their owners outsourced the mowing jobs), and the only paper route was owned by a tribal elder named Wally. And he had to deliver only fifty papers, so his job was more like a hobby.

The risk you are likely to be rewarded for taking is the risk of owning all stocks. In effect, rather than betting on one roll of the dice, one spin at the roulette wheel, or a single hand at the blackjack table, you can own the whole casino. You can do this effortlessly, cheaply, and reliably by buying a total stock-market index fund, a low-cost portfolio of all the stocks worth owning.

Owen took a step forward, blocking Blackjack’s path. For the first time, Trace noticed Owen was wearing his badge above his heart. “You don’t want to make yourself any more of a suspect than you already are,” Owen said. Blackjack made a dismissive sound. “Don’t pull that Texas Ranger bullshit with me, son. I diapered your bottom.” “You’ve never touched a diaper in your life,” Owen countered.

The blackjack oak is a hard tree. I chopped ours down. Sitting to the side of our wooded acre. Standing 20-feet tall. The ax was old. Older than I was at the time. A weathered handle hurt the hands. A rusty head barely cut. Chipped away at the tree. Over hours. Over days. And the tree fell. A creak. A crack. A soft thud on sandy ground. My blistered hands dropped the ax. Tired legs limped away. Summers were long then. And trees fell.

We got to the casino and ordered some drinks. We then walked around, drinking and losing. We had some drinks at the craps table and lost money there. We had some drinks at the slot machines and lost a little more over there. Our drinking and money lasted longer at the blackjack tables, but even there our drinks and winning streak dried up. The more we drank, the flirtier we became. Although I was hemorrhaging money like crazy, I was the luckiest guy in the casino.

We don't have mobs and crime syndicates and goon squads because we have crooked politicians and their stooges in the City Hall and the legislatures. Crime isn't a disease, it's a symptom. Cops are like a doctor that gives you aspirin for a brain tumor, except that the cop would rather cure it with a blackjack. We're a big rough rich wild people and crime is the price we pay for it, and organized crime is the price we pay for organization. We'll have it with us a long time. Organized crime is just the dirty side of the sharp dollar.

So you aren't an engineer. You're merely a man who knows engineering." "What about yourself? You didn't stick with it." "No," she admitted, "but my reasons were different. I saw three big, hairy, male men promoted over my head and not one of them could do a partial integration without a pencil. Presently I figured out that the Atomic Energy Commission had a bias on the subject of women no matter what the civil service rules said. So I took a job dealing blackjack. Luna City didn't offer much choice in those days—and I had you to support.

My great-great grandfather and I were best of friends, although we never met. Fire and shipwreck orphan us – 140 years apart. We escape to imagination to survive our fate. There, midst flights of whimsy we find one another. Companionship quells our loneliness. We create fables and tales, shields against a harsh existence. We must battle animals and humans of prey. Together, he, the future abolitionist-publisher James Thaddeus ‘Blackjack’ Fiction, and I vault from glory-laden adventures to tragedy and then to triumph. I am Raji Singh and this is my story.

There is not a single penal institution or reformatory in the United States where men are not tortured "to be made good," by means of the blackjack, the club, the straightjacket, the water-cure, the "humming bird" (an electrical contrivance run along the human body), the solitary, the bullring, and starvation diet. In these institutions his will is broken, his soul degraded, his spirit subdued by the deadly monotony and routine of prison life. In Ohio, Illinois, Pennsylvania, Missouri, and in the South, these horrors have become so flagrant as to reach the outside world, while in most other prisons the same Christian methods still prevail. But prison walls rarely allow the agonized shrieks of the victims to escape—prison walls are thick, they dull the sound. Society might with greater immunity abolish all prisons at once, than to hope for protection from these twentieth century chambers of horrors.

What a dreadful experience for a young boy who just wanted the company of his dad, who just wanted to whack at baseballs in the backyard with the old man, who just wanted to be taught to use a circular saw, who just wanted to learn the rudiments of five-card stud or blackjack, who just wanted to understand the precise location of the clitoris or how to pronounce clitoris, or who wanted to learn how to order meat from a waiter, or who wanted to say the word meat with great gusto, or who wanted to learn the proper way to mix and shake a martini, or who wanted to learn to say good little piece of tail, or who wanted to contemplate the necessity of moving on, or who wanted to neglect to shave, or who wanted to learn the specifics of firearms, wanted to be able to eject a used shell, to drive with one hand and dangle the other out the window, to belch without shame, who wanted to drink in the morning, who wanted not to bother flushing the toilet, who wanted to learn to walk naked from the bathroom without worrying about who saw him, and who wanted to cut down his colleagues, his personal friends, in midsentence when he had to. Who would not want his dad when his dad was gone?

It was as if the wars they were conducting were to be symbolized in their own relationships. I thought how contention makes us human. How every form of it is practiced religiously, from gentlemanly debate to rape and pillage, from dirty political attacks to assassinations. Our nighttime street fights outside of bars, our slapping arguments in plush bedrooms, our murderous mutterings in the divorce courts. We had parents who beat their children, schoolyard bullies, career-climbing killers in ties and suits, drivers cutting one another off, people pushing one another through the subway doors, nations making war, dropping bombs, swarming onto beaches, the daily military coups, the endless disappearances, the dispossessed dying in their tent camps, the ethnic cleansing crusades, drug wars, terrorist murders, and all violence in every form countenanced somewhere by some religion or other … and for its entertainment politicidal, genocidal, suicidal humanity attending its beloved kick-boxing matches, and cockfights, or losing its paychecks on the blackjack felt and then going back to work undercutting the competition, scamming, ponzi-ing, poisoning … and the impassioned lovers of their times contending in their own little universe of sex, one turgidly wanting it, the other wincingly refusing it.

Mummy’s seen so much of the world, lived in so many different places,” I said. I reeled a few off. Raymond, surprisingly, looked distinctly unimpressed. “How old is your mum?” he said. I was taken aback. How old was she? I started to work it out. “So . . . I’m thirty, and I think she must have had me when she was very young—nineteen, twenty? So she’ll be . . . I’d guess she’d be in her early fifties now, something like that?” Raymond nodded. “Right,” he said. “So . . . I’m wondering . . . I mean, I don’t have kids, so what would I know—but I imagine it can’t be easy, lodging in an opium den in Tangier if you’ve got a toddler with you? Or . . . what was the other thing? Working as a blackjack dealer in Macao?” He spoke very gently, as though he were afraid to upset me. “I mean, if you added up all the things she said she’d done, wouldn’t it cover a longer period than thirty years? Unless she did it all before you were born and she was still a teenager. And if she did . . . well, I’m wondering . . . where did she get the money from, to do all that traveling, and wasn’t she a bit young to be going to places like that on her own at that age? What about your dad? Where did she meet him?” I looked away. These were important questions that I couldn’t answer. Questions I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer. But really, why hadn’t I ever thought about them before?

Well," Eddie said, "I don't know how hard it'll seem to you, but it struck me as a toughie." Nor did he know the answer, since that section of Riddle-De-Dum! had been torn out, but he didn't think that made any difference; their knowing the answers hadn't been part of the ground-rules. "I SHALL HEAR AND ANSWER." "No sooner spoken than broken. What is it?" "SILENCE, A THING YOU KNOW LITTLE ABOUT, EDDIE OF NEW YORK," Blaine said with no pause at all, and Eddie felt his heart drop a little. There was no need to consult with the others; the answer was self-evident. And having it come back at him so quickly was the real bummer. Eddie never would have said so, but he had harbored the hope-almost a secret surety-of bringing Blaine down with a single riddle, ker-smash, all the King's horses and all the King's men couldn't put Blaine together again. The same secret surety, he supposed, that he had harbored every time he picked up a pair of dice in some sharpie's back-bedroom crap game, every time he called for a hit on seventeen while playing blackjack. That feeling that you couldn't go wrong because you were you, the best, the one and only. "Yeah," he said, sighing. "Silence, a thing I know little about. Thankee-sai, Blaine, you speak truth." "I HOPE YOU HAVE DISCOVERED SOMETHING WHICH WILL HELP YOU," Blaine said, and Eddie thought: You fucking mechanical liar. The complacent tone had returned to Blaine's voice, and Eddie found it of some passing interest that a machine could express such a range of emotion. Had the Great Old Ones built them in, or had Blaine created an emotional rainbow for himself at some point? A little dipolar pretty with which to pass the long decades and centuries? "DO YOU WISH ME TO GO AWAY AGAIN SO YOU MAY CONSULT?" "Yes," Roland said.

Hit/Stand Decisions on Hard-Total Hands •  Stand on all hard totals of 17 and higher. •  When the dealer is showing an upcard of 7, 8, 9, T, A, hit all hands until your cards total 17 or higher. •  Stand on hard totals of 13, 14, 15, 16 vs. dealer upcard of 2, 3, 4, 5, 6; otherwise hit. •  Stand on hard total of 12 vs. dealer upcard of 4, 5, 6; otherwise hit.

Double Down Decisions on Hard-Total Hands •  Double down on all hard totals of 11 vs. dealer upcard of 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, T; otherwise hit. •  Double down on all hard totals of 10 vs. dealer upcard of 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9; otherwise hit. •  Double down on all hard totals of 9 vs. dealer upcard of 3, 4, 5, 6; otherwise hit.

Like she knows she’s still in my veins, embedded in my marrow…no matter how much time has passed or how much things have changed. She’s still my constant. The last person I think about when I drag my sorry ass to bed after too many beers, and the first person I think about when I wake up with my head throbbing. She’s my twenty-one in blackjack, my jackpot on a slot machine, and my royal flush that’s always just out of my reach. She’s the lethal poison I can’t get out of my system.

This plan, of betting only at a level at which I was emotionally comfortable and not advancing until I was ready, enabled me to play my system with a calm and disciplined accuracy. This lesson from the blackjack tables would prove invaluable throughout my investment lifetime as the stakes grew ever larger. Eddie

The cards dealt at blackjack also seem to appear at random but not if you “track the shuffle,” which is a way to beat the game by watching the order in which the discarded cards are stacked, then mathematically analyzing the particular shuffling technique being used, leading to a partial prediction of the new ordering of the cards for the next deal. The likelihood of any card being the one that is dealt next is not random if you count the cards. What appears random for one state of knowledge may not be if we are given more information. Future prices are not predictable and no one can beat the market, but only when market prices “truly” fluctuate randomly.

Neither Jerry nor I believed the efficient market theory. I had overwhelming evidence of inefficiency from blackjack, from the history of Warren Buffett and friends, and from our daily success in Princeton Newport Partners. We didn’t ask, Is the market efficient? but rather, In what ways and to what extent is the market inefficient? and How can we exploit this?

High-frequency traders went home every night with no position in the stock market. They traded in the market the way card counters in a casino played blackjack: They played only when they had an edge.

Làm Chủ Ván Bài: Bí Quyết Chơi Blackjack Từ Chuyên Gia Blackjack không chỉ là trò chơi may rủi. Để chiến thắng, ngoài việc hiểu luật chơi, bạn cần trang bị những kỹ năng sau: Chiến thuật "Single Deck": Khi nhà cái lật 4 lá bài và bạn có tổng điểm 12 (ví dụ: 10 và 2), đừng ngần ngại rút thêm 1 lá nữa rồi dừng lại. Chiến thuật đơn giản này có thể mang lại lợi thế bất ngờ. Kỹ thuật "Card Counting": Đếm các lá bài đã được lật ra của nhà cái không chỉ giúp bạn ước lượng tình hình mà còn tăng tỷ lệ đắc thắng lên đáng kể, thậm chí gấp đôi phần thưởng.

Hakeem Kaspar, was a lineman for the county, as in that Glen Campbell song I’ve always found lovely but weird, though at the time I was discovered on the highway, I hadn’t yet heard it. The second, Bailie Belshazzer, worked as head mechanic at one of the country’s first wind farms. The third, Caesar Melchizadek, was a blackjack pit boss in an Indian casino.

The aim of the “professional gambler,” as he is called, is to make money. He can be recognized by deliberate and extremely disciplined wagering. His wagering is systematic and usually limited to infrequent but highly favorable opportunities. The behavior of the professional gambler is highly controlled and usually the result of a studied approach to his chosen game. He concentrates on games where the element of skill is sufficient to produce the possibility of a player advantage, such as blackjack and parimutuel betting. The professional gambler is similar to the stock arbitrageur in that they both take calculated risks. They are dealing with an uncertain outcome and seek to profit from their ability to anticipate the future or to see the future—in other words, to speculate. Professional gamblers are actually speculators because of the characteristics they exhibit when risking money. They are not seeking entertainment at the tables like gamblers do, and they are not trying to be right. They are trying to make money.

Plan for Success is a staple of management philosophy, particularly in our high-tech industries. It leads us to pour desired outcomes into concrete, and make commitments based on achieving those outcomes. Plan for Success is the intellectual equivalent of: Make big bucks by winning fifteen consecutive hands of blackjack without taking any money off the table till the end. It works when it works, but leaves you in the lurch when it doesn’t (which is most of the time).

A land more severely solitary could hardly be found anywhere on the face of the globe. —JOHN MUIR, 1881

By the way, the odds against making a living in the day-trading business are about the same as the odds against making a living at racetracks, blackjack tables, or video poker.

Blackjack," I said, relieved but a little irritated. "It's the middle of the night!" Blackjack huffed. Ain't either, boss. It's five in the morning. What you still sleeping for?" "How many times have I told you? Don't call me boss." Whatever you say, boss. You're the man. You're my number one.

the eighth widow taught me how to play blackjack; the eighth widow taught me the suits and what they meant: King means husband, queen means wife, spade is the shovel she buries him with.

If I lose the best out of three, I’ll go to Magie Noire with you.” I pause for effect, slanting my head to the onyx-haired gentleman at the table. “And Maddox.” “And me.” Jax raises his hand. “That’s how we roll.” “Fine, Magic Jax. And you,” I allow. His pierced lips flourish into a boyish grin. “You’re on, pretty lady,” Cash says, shuffling the cards. “Three rounds of blackjack to determine the winner.

As she looked back, the trail behind her faded away and she was way up in the air, with no man behind her and only the smooth trail leading into the sky.

We had special moves like Pretty Poisons, Sleepy Eyes, Shark Attacks, and Biggie Fries; Bottle Caps, Bus Stops, Double Touches, and Bunny Hops; Death Rallies, Dot-to-dots, Best Friendsies, and Mystery Spots; Lumberjacks, Passbacks, Blackjacks, and Hackysacks. It sounds more like something out of a Dr. Seuss book rather than a sport.

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He gets a little distracted in the springtime when he's searching the skies for cute lady pegasi.

So.” He locked eyes with her. “What’s this all about? Why—” “Listen.” Harper shook her head. “To begin with, there’s some things I can’t tell you.” “I don’t see the point of keeping secrets, Ms. Harper.” “Espy. Please.” “Okay. Espy. I know your name. I know you work for the DOJ—” “You don’t know anything, Detective. Believe me.” “Mike.” “Okay. Mike.” She took a sip of her tea. “You have no idea what’s really going on here.” “So what did you want to talk about? You gonna threaten me? Tell me what’s gonna happen if I don’t keep quiet?” “No. Not at all.” She set her tea down. “You’re here because we’d like your help.

A big Wall Street bank’s biggest advantage was its access to vast amounts of cheap risk capital and, with that, its ability to survive the ups and downs of a risky business. That meant little when the business wasn’t risky and didn’t require much capital. High-frequency traders went home every night with no position in the stock market. They traded in the market the way card counters in a casino played blackjack: They played only

Why did he have to have such a dry sense of humor? She'd liked talking to him, even when she could tell he was thinking about his alleged feelings for her. That look of his--the one which meant he was comparing her to a summer's day or something--should make him seem like an awkward teenager. It didn't. And she wasn't sure why not.

Blackjacks of the Roads: Highwaymen, Sharpers, and Empirics (Advanced Player’s Handbook). “Awesome.

Known as "Ike,” Eisenhower was born prior to the Spanish American War on October 14, 1890. Graduating from West Point Military Academy in 1915, he served under a number of talented generals including John J. “Blackjack” Pershing, Douglas MacArthur and George Marshall. Although for the greatest time he held the rank of Major, he was quickly promoted to the rank of a five star general during World War II. During this war he served as the Supreme Commander of the Allied Expeditionary Forces in Europe. Eisenhower was responsible for organizing the invasion of North Africa and later in 1944, the invasion of Normandy, France and Germany. Following World War II, influential citizens and politicians from both political parties urged Eisenhower to run for president. Becoming a Republican, the popular general was elected and became the 34th President of the United States. Using the slogan “I like Ike!” he served as the 34th President of the United States from 1953 to 1961. Having witnessed the construction of the German Autobahn, one of lasting achievements we still use is the Interstate Highway System, authorized in 1956. ] He reasoned that our cities would be targets in a future war; therefore the Interstate highways would help evacuate them and allow the military greater flexibility in their maneuvers. Along with many other accomplishments during his administration, on January 3, 1959 Alaska became the 49th state and on August 21, 1959 Hawaii became the 50th state. On March 28, 1969, at 79 years of age, Eisenhower died of congestive heart failure at Walter Reed Medical Center in Washington D.C. He was laid to rest on the grounds of the Eisenhower Presidential Library in Abilene, Kansas. Eisenhower is buried alongside his son Doud, who died at age 3 in 1921. His wife Mamie was later buried next to him after her death on November 1, 1979.

Come along then, and we’ll saddle up Blackjack,” Mr. Hornbee said, reaching for his hat. “Blackjack?” Matt asked, following him outside to the barn. “My mule,” Mr. Hornbee replied. “He’ll follow the trail through the woods and take you right to the river. He’s smarter than any horse you’ve ever been on, I’ll wager.” Matt watched uneasily as the long-eared, sleepy-looking Blackjack was led from the barn. Matt wanted to tell the old man that he had never been on a horse before, much less a mule. A skateboard, Mr. Hornbee. That’s the last thing I rode on, Matt was thinking as he watched Blackjack open his mouth in a big-toothed yawn. “You can take care of your business yonder, son,” Mr. Hornbee told him, nodding toward a little shed behind the house. “My business?” Matt asked with a blank look. The old man shook his head and sighed heavily. “Surely that head wound has left you confused,” he said, gently leading Matt to the shed. “Come along, now.” And he opened the door and gave Matt a little push inside. “Oh, that business!” Matt smiled, on discovering that the shed was an outhouse.

Matt wanted to tell the old man that he had never been on a horse before, much less a mule. A skateboard, Mr. Hornbee. That’s the last thing I rode on, Matt was thinking as he watched Blackjack open his mouth in a big-toothed yawn.