The ballad of oscar ganz
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Oscar Ganz turned 53 but the event didn’t register. Not too much registered with Ganz. He was an accountant for the Meyers Turnbull Accounting firm and had been for the last 26 years. He had never missed a day, putting in 10hrs a day, five days a week, and six on Saturdays. He was dependable to a fault, rarely taking holidays or vacations. He was single and had absolutely no social life, obviously.

He lived simply and frugally. His one unnecessary expense was for the woman who came to his flat several times a week to clean. She also shopped and prepare meals for him to put in the oven when he got home and take to work with him for lunch. He’d only seen her twice: the day he hired her and once 14 years ago when he walked in on her fucking the concierge on his sofa (he hadn’t even come home early -- he never did). He had done the same thing for the last 27 years. Arrive home at 8pm, heat and eat his dinner, watch an old classic movie (the Thin Man series with William Powell and Myrna Loy were his favorites) and go to bed. He was up and at work each day 10 minutes before anyone else arrived.

On this day, he was once again mindlessly driving to his office. Occasionally, however, he gave a little thought as to the significance of the date but decided it would come to him eventually and put it out of his mind.

“Oscar, you need to take a right at the second light coming up.”

He almost jumped out of his skin! He looked in the rearview. Nothing! He turned and looked over the back seat as thoroughly as possible. Nothing! He checked the radio. It was off.

“Settle down. Everything is o.k.. Just turn at the light.”

It was like a cold mist had settled over him; he was clammy and covered with cold beads of sweat. He was scared and confused. “WHA-- WHO--?”

“Relax, Oscar. I’m only here to make you rich. Good, you made the turn. Pull in here.”

“This is my bank!”

“Right. Go in and withdraw 40 thou.”

Oscar was alarmed. Of course, he had a lot more than that. He had saved every nickel he could since he was five, but this went against everything he was about. “Now just hold on! I’m not--”

“Oscar, really, please shut up. I’m trying to make you rich and I only want to be here for a day. How many days would you like to go through this?”

“You’d --”

“Come back? Yes, absolutely”

Oscar huffed, puffed, and fumed in silence before finally relenting. He came back to his car and sat with the cash in his lap trying to contemplate what he had just done.

“Get on I-5 and head north.”

“Wait! I have to go to work! I can’t be--”

“Fine, Oscar. Until tomorrow, then.”

The very thought was more than he could bear and he headed for the freeway. As he drove north, he wondered how far he would have to go. Canada? After about 15 minutes, he started asking questions, hoping the voice my clear up what was going on. He was met with silence. Finally --

“Exit here, west”.

“There is nothing there but the horse track and the ocean.” He was met with more silence as he exited and drove to the Delmar horse track. He pulled in there and parked since there was nowhere else to go. Oscar sat in the parking lot for over an hour staring at his money and freaking out inside. As soon as the doors to the stadium opened up--

“Get up, get out, let’s go.”

As with any other public place in the world, Ganz had never been here before. He’d only seen horse races in the movies. All the characters in those movies always seemed happy to be there, so he relaxed some.

“See that window over there with the sign over it saying “TELLER”? Get in line. When it’s your turn, give them your money and tell them to put it all on number 3 to win in the second race. No questions or we can come back tomorrow.”

Oscar succumbed to the threat, not knowing exactly what he was doing. He asked for an explanation, looking like he was talking to himself as he wandered around the facility. Someone asked him if he would like their racing form because they didn’t need it anymore. It was covered with numbers, so he was delighted and accepted the offer. It didn’t take him long to figure out all that glorious data was for the purpose of establishing probabilities. He turned to the second race in the book. Horse number 3 was named Ride Sally Ride. It’s probability of winning? 60 to 1.

He was hit again with cold sweats. He had most assuredly lost a big chunk of his savings. He had no-showed on his job. And why? He reviewed the data over and over again, comparing all the horses in the race. It seemed the odds were about right for Ride Sally Ride. The big screen above him caught his eye. It listed the horses that were to be in the next race, the second race, and their odds of the payout. Number 3 was now only 25 to 1. He quickly surmised that the size of his bet had reduced the odds. That didn’t mean the horse was any better. He felt like crying. He hadn’t heard the voice in an hour and it wasn’t there to offer any consolation now. But wait. If he won...even at just 25 to 1, he’d win over a million dollars! If this day had taught him anything, it’s that crazier things could happen.

Ganz was now somewhat buoyed by what the future might hold. The speaker system blared that “post time” was in three minutes. Figuring the race was about to start, he went to the stands and found a seat. As the horses proceeded down the track to the starting gate, he spied his horse, tail raised, taking a shit as it sauntered along. Again, he asked the voice if it was there and was still met with silence.

Finally, the horses were released from the gate. No. 3 had the blue blanket and got a good jump on the pack. Ride Sally Ride maintained the lead by six lengths as the horses rounded the first turn. Ganz was experiencing a number of feelings that were previously unknown to him. Ride Sally Ride was showing no sign of letting up as she came around the third turn with only a couple of the others picking up a bit of speed. Ganz was stunned to realize he was actually cheering and screaming encouragement. As they came upon the final stretch, it appears the No. 4 horse and the No.7 horse were battling each other for second place until the latter suddenly broke away with sudden, newfound speed. But it was too late for No.7 to catch Ride Sally Ride - until she stumbled just before the finish line, went down on both front knees, and threw her rider into the side rail. No. 7 blew past for the win.

Although Ganz was speechless, he didn’t have to wait long to hear the voice:

“Son of a BITCH!!!”
Ahahahahahahahahaha, I really liked this!
It was entertaining, but I need to know what the fuck the voice was.
I enjoyed it and anticipate more.
The O in Oscar and the G in Ganz should have been capitalized.
Tell me. How many capital letters can you find in ALL the thread titles beyond the first word?
If you fancy yourself a writer you should develop good grammatical habits.
Have you tried to properly capitalize a thread title? It can't be done. Whatever server side code that is processing the title also strips all capital letters except the first.

Give It A Try.
Murf wrote:
If you fancy yourself a writer you should develop good grammatical habits.

Here's a quick thought:

Look at every thread title....all of them...in this forum. Or you could also try starting a thread title and you can capitalize the fuck out of it....what do you notice?

This forum only allows you to capitalize the first letter of the thread title.

If you're going to talk shit, at least know what you're talking about.
Why start now?
What's happening PTA?
Thanks for the laugh... As always...
If I'm ever in jail Walnuts.. You should mail me some jokes lol
i see a question mark mid sentence of a title is capitalized
You haven't played in 4.5 years. Why are you here again?

Prelude to Agony wrote:
Murf wrote:
If you fancy yourself a writer you should develop good grammatical habits.

Here's a quick thought:

Look at every thread title....all of them...in this forum. Or you could also try starting a thread title and you can capitalize the fuck out of it....what do you notice?

This forum only allows you to capitalize the first letter of the thread title.

If you're going to talk shit, at least know what you're talking about.

I, for one, appreciate the input from the ghosts of Drippys past as well as the dedication to proper grammar in thread titles.
The community of folks I met when I did play. That was a nice deflection though...I mean, if you like measuring dicks, I was also here 11 years before you, which doesn't account for WON time, which would make it longer.

Anyway, back to how you don't know what you're talking about.
r u sayin ur dik is 11 lite yrs long.
Well...if we're being honest....so, you know how when you fold space time and it looks like the fold touches each other? Yeah, about that long.
talk of folds touching each other, regardless of context, really makes me hot
Dick too long, arms spaghetti, now to find the biggest hole in the universe or armpit for that matter and have a go at it? You really think that's going to work, nonono said Einstein in his special thesis about falling in love and I quote:

"Here on Earth, when you push a small “rigid” object, like a pencil or a stick (or dick), the object appears to move all together, immediately. In reality though, a compression wave travels down the solid object from where you pressed it at the speed of sound within the object. The speed of sound in wood is ~4000 m/s, so when you push one end of a 1 meter long (~3 foot long) wooden stick, the other end actually doesn’t move for about 0.25 milliseconds. This is the fastest you can send a message within this particular solid. To increase this speed, you could simply increase the density, but it will never be as fast as the speed of light."

So with a dick of a light year or multiple light years long, it can eh... take a while for it to send the signal back to your brain to then possible enjoy the experience and/or reach orgasm.

Do you understand? >:p
Murf wrote:
If you fancy yourself a writer you should develop good grammatical habits.

If you fancy yourself a critic, you should develop something to say worth a shit.
Mr. Walnuts wrote:
Murf wrote:
If you fancy yourself a writer you should develop good grammatical habits.

If you fancy yourself a critic, you should develop something to say worth a shit.

Lol, yes everything you type here is fucking special.
Did you hear that? I told you, if you just waited, someone would recognize your golden light.
Murf wrote:
Mr. Walnuts wrote:
Murf wrote:
If you fancy yourself a writer you should develop good grammatical habits.

If you fancy yourself a critic, you should develop something to say worth a shit.

Lol, yes everything you type here is fucking special.

Thanks, but the point I was making is that nothing you put forth ever is.
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