An hour into the party, the guest list consists of us six losers (minus The Raccoon, natch), Clonie, and Karen. "This is the sorriest party I've ever been a part of!" High Roller yells. "It's certainly the sorriest party I've ever thrown!" He declares it's time to gamble.

We follow High Roller and Vino Corleone into the $100-minimum-bet blackjack area to watch them work. Vino promptly pulls out his good-luck charm: two small plastic pigs, which he aims at the dealer in order to place the bad swine mojo in that general direction. High Roller, meanwhile, gets the entire table to scream "Omaha!" every time the dealer busts. Why? "Every blackjack player worth a darn knows that Omaha, Nebraska, is just north of the 21st parallel," he says. Actually, it's just north of the 41st latitudinal parallel, but the shtick is too good to ruin with mere facts.

The mood changes as the poor young dealer goes on the most magical winning spree ever seen at a blackjack table. If you have 20, he has 21. If he turns over 15, his next card is a six. They keep him at the table for two shifts. This does not sit well with High Roller. He lets the pit bosses know of his displeasure as they pretend not to hear him despite standing four feet away.

"This isn't right!" he yells to everyone within a five-casino radius. "I know this isn't right! And they know that I know! And I know that they know that I know!" He snatches Vino's pigs and hurls them across the casino. Vino scurries after them, cursing. You don't get entertainment like that at home.

---

Day 3: Feeling Pokery
High Roller and Vino have had all the fun they can stomach, so they jet home. Sweater Vest has also checked out, leaving only Dr. Real Estate, Señor Cowboy, and me. Oh, and The Raccoon, whom we sighted briefly. (We were leaving, he was going to bed.) High Roller leaves us a gift: the room key to his comped suite. For a day, we High Roller it.