My life can be summed up as a series of exponentially worse decisions. The problem lies in the belief that I am making the best possible choices at the time. Hindsight often proves otherwise, and foresight never takes the hint.

* * *

The decision to flee came suddenly. It was 11pm on a Tuesday night. I had just finished a shift in the kitchen when the urge to gamble came over me like a warm blanket. My immediate geographical location offered plenty of opportunity for all night gambling, but Niagara Falls, the Vegas of the North, was only a short 90 minutes away on the highway. After gassing up the car and withdrawing the rent, I set out white knuckled on the open road seeking easy fortune and cheap thrills.

I enjoy driving at night. Something about headlights and taillights gives me a heightened sense of awareness. The act of operating a motor vehicle becomes more ethereal, floating down the road surrounded by glowing orbs in constant change—plus the radio plays better music. This transcending experience loosens any inhibitions regarding speed limits and personal safety.

My success in gambling stems from adherence to a strict code:

  1. Know when to: hold/fold 'em, walk away, run.
  2. Only bring cash you are willing to lose.
  3. Leave all credit/debit cards in the car.

Three short hours into my stream of consciousness casino experience and I had broken all of my rules. I struggled to make out the 1-800 number for the "Have a gambling problem?" hotline through my tears.

Harrah's blue globes
The last Harrah's.
On the drive of shame home I got an inexplicable erection, probably fueled by the rush of gambling without actually winning—a sort of casino blue balls. The sun started to come up and there was increased traffic though, so masturbation was out of the question. Finally, I found myself sitting in a McDonald's parking lot looking up escort services on my phone. Apparently last call was 4am—just missed it.

After the most uncomfortable road trip ever, my priapism continued unabated. It was time to treat my penis as the cyst that it was and drain it with medical proficiency.

I can only postulate that the reduced blood flow to my brain affected my judgment enough to think it was a good idea to hit the "random video" button on a porn tube site I had never visited before. No matter what came up, I was going to use the material.

It doesn't really matter now what I saw, just know that it was disgusting. The central theme for the scene could only be described as "urine." I felt physically ill watching it, but 17 seconds later I had ejaculated without an orgasm. Nauseously trying to close the window, I vomited on my still erect penis.

I no longer have a gambling problem.