Gambling at the end of July is just fucking rough. Whenever I go down big in the fall.. blame it on college football. Yea I went down a grand but I was down $1250 before the 9am London game started.

The summer is a completely different ball game. If you’re getting tuned up by MLB lines worse than Adrian Peterson’s kid after he came home from school with a frowny face on his calendar, there’s no relief. Sure there’s WNBA but like come on lol.. it’s women’s fucking basketball.

Anyway, every now and then you’ll come across a week in the peak of the summer where you’re picking winners left and right. That’s the situation your boy is in right now. No need for applause. The only problem, those numbers aint real until they’re etched in stone on Sunday night as you’ve survive another 168 hours of being a gross, smelly degenerate. The problem is clear; the week is just entirely way too long.

Waking up Saturday morning with a gross 8-9 (-12 units) record for the week doesn’t make getting out of bed any easier. This is where the heater started. Fast forward to Monday at 6:30pm, those 12 units we were down has quickly turned into 22 units in the black.

However, none of that is going to last because Sunday is basically a month away. Say a prayer for the cute little bankroll I gathered up. Also, say a prayer for Mook as he quits the Juul life. Some people just can’t handle the clouds they blow, truly hate to see it.

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