Mini Yak II  - the Keno Strikes Back

  An expedition was mounted into Tiger Territory at Balmain in pursuit
of the changing Keno Algorithm. As you will all know by know, a
certain Brenton Vettoretti is endowed with the ability to pick the
Keno algorithm, so this time we took a bucket of gold, ready to win a 
fortune.

  Alas, dear viewer, I have to say that Brenton the Infallible is a
false prophet.

  But, to begin at the beginning...

  We planned to leave Concord in the early evening and thus avoid the
dreaded peak-hour dragon, but Brenton the Infallible turned up early,
smelling heavily of tobacco and demanding to be entertained for two
hours. This presented no problems. I gave selected readings from the
Revelations of St John the Divine while tapdancing to the "Best of
Elton John," and this was well received although I had to sedate
Btrenton and lock the door to prevent his excape.

  We then set off in the Vettoretti stretch limo (with the horse's
head in the boot), and a scenic tour was arranged of various Mafia
dumping grounds near the docks. The tour climaxed when Brenton showed
me his back passage to the rectory.

  We were invited into the bordello near the docks where Frank lives.
He took us to the garret where his wife locks him in at night, with
only a computer and a tin of Foster's for company. Brushing the tears
aside, and many vicious yuppies that now inhabit Balmain, we fought
our way to the Leagues Club, where Frank took command and handed out
false identity cards to prove that we were members of another club.
Brenton was given a Jenny Craig Weight-loss Card, and mine was Madame
Lou's Sporting Gentleman's Club.

  The doorman  was greatly inpressed, and threw us down the stairs,
which we took to mean that we were now Provisional Members who lived
more than 5km from Balmain, and climbed in a back window.

  Brenton the Infallible demanded that he should be fed before he
picked the algorithm, so we had a Chinese meal of steak and chips
cooked in a wok, and discussed what an awful shit Rod Speed is (as is
traditional for yak nights). 

  Finally, we confronted the dreaded Keno, discovering that the Tigers
only had two TV sets; one of which had no red, and the other of which
was so defocussed it looked clearer with my glasses off. There was no
lady in a cage to take the bets, so they made do with a barman who put
our money in his pocket saying: "One for you, one for me."

  Brenton then  refused to pick the algorithm. He would not stop
drinking Heineken and talking, despite the bucket of wet concrete on
his head, but we bet on the numbers anyway, in full knowledge of the
odds, thanks to Frank's brilliant Pascali program. Brenton told us
that 42 & 56 seemed to be around a bit, and they promptly vanished (at
great expense). I returned to betting on 31 & 33 because it worked at
Ettalong. Brenton picked "the least likely I could think of, and won.
He won on everything, cleverly hiding his winnings so we could not dob 
him in to a wife he keeps preganant and barefoot in a kitchen.

  We were so disgusted that we then gave him a good kicking, and the 
happy barman refused to take any more bets and threw us out on the 
street with the yuppies. Fortunately, Frank spoke the language, and
was able to show them his mobile phone.

  I don't think I'll go to the next one. Brenton is the only one who
keeps winning, but at least I got drunk and had a good vomit, so the
evening was not a dead loss.

Regards,
Bob
 
___ Blue Wave/QWK v2.12
@EOT:

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