Rip Snorter's Blog

Mega Millions tonight:

Megaball - 6, 10 or 20 with 6 preferred

Whites:  7, 15, 22, 33, 39, 40, 43, 44, 45, 46

Someone recently observed on one of the threads on the Mystical Forum that the users of Lottery Post are desperate to win, frightfully gullible and therefore unable to make discerning judgments.  They’ll believe just about anything, declares he.

The poster further opined that this shortage of good sense on the part of LP users made the presence of erudite hecklers and naysayers a laudable characteristic of the site, applauding one such poster as a ‘lottery police patrol’.
 
Naturally I agree. 

I can think of nothing more inviting on a Mystical Lottery Forum than encouraging a cadre of erudite self-appointed non-believers and self-styled thought police to kibitz from the sidelines with subtle sneers and innuendo about the various comments, people and issues of the threads. 

An infallible prescription for success, thinks I. 

Helping all those folks who think they can predict numbers by astrology, dreams, psychic tools, understand they are damned fools for thinking so is just helping them get back inside the fences, doing them a favor.

 As a man who’s flown an airplane under a bridge just for the hell of it, bet his retirement and a career that Y2K would happen with a full understanding that it was all or nothing, that a new career at this time of life would be a almost out of the question, a man who’s burned up a small fortune, several 4x4s and a multitude of lady friends chasing a lost gold mine, a man who can heal a case of C Hepititis in a person a thousand miles away whom I’ve never met and get her off the liver transplant list, I'm your man.

I’m a prime candidate to believe I can do just about anything and willing to believe just about anything. 

What jackanapes non-believers choose to believe has no bearing on my life.  I wouldn’t change a single minute of mine, not one electron of brain function that allows me to believe life's to be lived and that every human being has limitless capabilities.

I've been hopping fences all my life.

Jack

 

The owl/cat incident I described in the previous entry, the sense I get that this nation is at war somewhere, despite my careful avoidance of news media reports and anything outside the boundaries I’ve established around my attentions…. (Roughly summarized: If I can’t do anything about it, it’s none of my business), and someone telling me there’s been a series of cases of bubonic and hanta virus in New Mexico this year in domestic animals and humans, caused me to poke around in some old files.

The hanta virus is a second-cousin to Ebola…. Causes a fairly effective method of exiting the vehicle via painful internal bleeding.  It’s mainly from mouse and other rodent droppings, but it finds a path into the food chain to predators, including domestic cats.  New Mexico’s blessed as the home base and distributor for the product.

Twice-blessed, you might say, because we also have a burgeoning population of prairie-dogs, the reservoir for bubonic plague.

When I was a kid, prairie-dogs were as nearly extinct as humans were able to make them at the time.  We all did our part to finish the job, popping them with our .22s when we had the chance.  Pesky little critters like to make towns, carry a lot of fleas, and bubonic and man were just about the only thing keeping the population at a level that left room for other uses of the earth.  We’d already pretty well killed off the predators that used to control them, coyotes, owls, wolves, rattlers, hawks and eagles, because of their fondness for agricultural fauna as a part of their diets.

So, when all those creatures except coyotes became protected, prairie-dogs came back like gangbusters.  Now we have a glut of most of them…. Prairie-dog towns everywhere, owls and hawks so prolific it’s almost impossible to raise free-ranging chickens, and bubonic’s coming back a bit more every year.

Philosophically, I’m in favor of the end results of all this.  It’s just the intermediate steps to getting there that are difficult on a personal level.  Losing domestic animals to preditation without any recourse is a bit hard to swallow for a man who grew up believing that isn’t the way things ought to work.

Anyway, as I was saying before all that digression by way of explanation, I was reminded of something I wrote a few years ago and dug it out of the files.  Decided to share a bit of off-the-wall jingoism and paranoia with you:

 

“Trouble!” says you.  “What trouble?”

“The Ruskies went home a decade ago,” You say.  “Berlin wall came down and no one even remembers it.  The Germans are all running around hugging one another worrying about mad cows and leaving everyone else alone.

“We kicked the holy bejesus out of Samdam Hoooosane and his royal guards,” you say, “And might do it again if he doesn’t behave,” You say, “And we’re all safe and sound here in the land of milk and honey.....Ain’t gonna war no more,” You say, “Except the occasional invasion of a minor third rate Middle Eastern or Balkan country,” You say.....”All safe and sound, swords into plowshares, all that.” 

And you really believe that, do you?

Well, if you believe that, you’d better prepare yourself for a shock down to your carefully manicured and polished toenails......'cause the real challenge is still out there, the real challenge is happening right there in your back yard even as we speak, in your attic, in the sewer under your squeeky clean porcelain commode;  in the trees behind your quiet complacent little hidey hole you’ve made for yourself to stick your soft American head into.

You kept your guard up all those years because one of the Marx brothers talked about lulling the West into a false sense of security, and of course he was right.  Of course he was. 

Only the timeskid was slower than anticipated and all the Marx brothers died. 

Yeah, Groucho and Harpo sleep with the fishes, but it’s still going on. 

The fifth column is here, now, at work near you, near your home.

"Rats." I say.

"Rats?" You say.

Yeah. Rattus Rattus, the good American rat, the roof rat, is the only real American who knows, and he ain’t saying much. 

Old Rattus Rattus suffers silently in his simple Christian American way; fighting quietly for his homeland with American knowhow.  Sure, it sounds silly and pointy headed, Rattus Rattus, but that’s his damned name, same as yours is Homo Sexian or some such thing.

Rattus Rattus struggles without complaint for his tiny children, while slowly, the habitat and other lousy habits, recede every year.  You ought to know by the name; Rattus Norvigicus, the Norwegian rat, the dreaded wharf rat:  the foreign rat the communist pinko athiest moslem heathen yellowjapaneseinvader super rat of the future is bullying him back.

While you sleep there in your complacent soft pillowland, it's going on outside and up in your attic, in the streets, the alleys, the sewerplants, the amber grainfields, the feedlots, the silos, Rattus Rattus battles for you against the silent invaders. Rattus Rattus draws his lines in the sand, digs his little burrows, fortifies, and retreats as the highly mechanized divisions of Norwegian rats advance, house by house, burrow by burrow......Every year the Rattus Rattus line moves inward a few miles, seven miles in along the whole perimeter.

Yeah.  There are bulges, enclaves of encirclement.  Enclaves of resistence, but Norvigicus takes no prisoners, spares no one.  And you sleep silently, peacefully while your own good American rats are diminished, you who gutsylike bomb the bejesus out of other commie pinko foreign middleastern terrorsist muslim and Balkans, sleep while your own brotherrats in your own back yard die without your help.

And what do you think, you sleeping bastards, will happen when the final conquest is complete?  Do you think you will be left alone, when the last fighters have all fought on your behalf, when the silent armies of Rattus Rattus are all destroyed, all the food for ravens scattered on the battlefields of America?  Don't bet on it.  The sound of scratching in the ceiling, inside the walls has barely begun.

Time to join the battle, fellow Americans, time to get out the cyanide, the 1080, the pelletguns and the mousetraps, time to stock up on cheese, and warfrin, and time to prepare for the big battle for America in the American way.  Time to begin the manufacture of tiny tanks, (maybe Tonka and some of those can help) and artillery pieces, and scatterguns and nervegas and miniaturized nuclear weapons.....time to join in the real battle for America here at home.

If you aren’t with us, you are against us, behind enemy lines, already under the areas controlled by the foreign devils, and you won’t be spared, unless you form an underground, a fifth column of your own.....

They’ve already got all the other countries, the other continents, and as has happened so often in history, America stands alone against them, a tiny host of good American rats, behind the scenes, fighting against all odds for you, to the end......

And that doesn’t even touch on the imported fire ants killing our domestic fireants, the imported Africanized bees killing our good American queen bees and selfishly taking over the hives, the Russian Thistles (tumbleweeds) cluttering up our prairies, the imported hares (jackrabbits), the English Sparrows (that battle’s already lost), the tamaracs (salt cedars stealing our precious water for their foreign interests),  and the imported fruitflies.......it’s all there, all in black and white, been written down, so it’s
true.....a multi pronged attack against all that’s good in America.....while you sleep.......

And now the foreign weathermen, the Canadians and Mexicans, are predicting our weather, keeping the good stuff for themselves......

Anyway, here's what one of my cats had to say about the owl attack last night:

 

That's life in the big city.

Jack

Last night I was sitting on the front porch having a last smoke before taking it to the wagon yard.  Pleasant night, quiet, cool enough to need a light jacket.  All the cats were inside, I'd counted them as I argued and cajoled them indoors an hour earlier.

So, when I heard a large owl drop out of the tall elm just south of the property line and whopwhopwhopwhop through the porchlight I didn't have a moment of concern about what it was about to snag.  Two brief feline screams from the meadow to the north told the tale.  The cat in the woods cried farewell.

I came in and did a head-count, just making sure my atrophied brain hadn't fooled me, or that one of the sneaky felines hadn't slipped outside when I opened the door to go out.  All present and accounted for.

I'd guess the neighbors to the south lost one of the three they leave out nights to prowl for rodents.

Anyway, about the wheel.  I had things worked down to what I hoped was 20 numbers, cross-checked, filtered, shrunk and distilled.  Got an abbreviated wheel with them on the pick five, then scattered the same numbers around as red ball.

$50 worth of tickets, every number that hit on the PB jackpot last night showed up on at least two tickets, but I hadn't included 36 as one of the red ball choices.  Wouldn't have won in any case, but to get those numbers bunched up for the $100000 bonus as white balls would have required a lot tighter wheel, maybe $500  bucks worth instead of 50.  Maybe more.  I haven't looked.

I'm going to have to see if I can duplicate that process several more times on a fairly consistent basis before I spend $500 on a wheel.

Meanwhile, I'm still convinced that if the numbers can be filtered down to 20 on a consistent basis, they're following some set of rules that will allow them to be narrowed down a lot further...it's just a matter of understanding what they're about, thinks I.

Jack

 

Of course, it's not really 180 million, the PB illusion. 

Probably more like 90 million before the feds take their cut to help finance the various wars, pavement repairs, mind control, salaries, bad neighborhoods (such as Washington DC), copshop grants for more tools to keep people from going 5 miles over the speed limits and kevlar suits to make a smaller window of opportunity when they kick down the doors of the wrong people for the wrong reasons.

But I digress.  I'd suppose the 90 million will find itself losing a lot of weight, once the feds take what's due them, maybe bring it down to $45 million.  Then the State will nibble a bit, maybe bringing it down to what?  $30 million?

Still a pretty fair hunk of change for your average person who used to dream about someday getting a fancy 2-story mobile home with pink flamingos and ceramic elves prancing around the front yard, a living room full of television and plenty of candies and plastic monsters for the brats to make every day into Christmas.  Lots of booze and maybe some nose candy would sneak into the equation just so's to assure the great American success story manages to run the whole gamut.

On the other hand, a person might begin by buying a piece of remote real estate surrounded by public lands, build a Zen Temple on one hilltop, a Hindu Temple on another, and fill in the space in between with cabins and comfortable meeting areas invisible to one another.... cabins where people so inclined could come meditate between sessions of learning a different way to look at reality, meeting rooms where they could spend their days learning Silva.... a miniature Robert Monroe facility.... Zen.... Reiki..... Remote Viewing.... spiritual healing and psychic surgery, all rolled up in a place so remote and inspiring as to make it impossible to spend time there without having an earthquake in the spiritual well, just for the price of a person wanting to do it.  Drive the money changers out of the temple, you might say.

Cool thing about that, aside from the mere fact of it, is that most of that could qualify as a religion by almost any definition.  Tax attrition of the 180 million might hang a hard left and skid to a stop, narrowly avoiding a collision with the First Baptist Church of the Latter Day Scientists or whatnot.

One of you folks here on the Lottery Post are bound to win that 180.  How could it be otherwise.  What's it going to be?  A fancy two-story mobile home, or a Zen temple with tentacles into OBE and Silva?

Something to consider.

Jack

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Todd:

Someone emailed me a link about the cartoon artist.  Evidently the guy's neighbors really aren't that thrilled with his work.  http://www.roadsideamerica.com/roger/QueryTips.php3?tip_AttractionName=&tip_Description=&tip_Town=Mullinville&tip_State=KS&Submit=Go+Roger%21

I don't know much about art, but I know what I wouldn't want to have fall on me.

Jack

Thanks Emily (for the comment on the previous entry).

Naming cats after gasoline brands isn't something mine would tolerate, I'm thinking.  Good idea for Mercury Cougars and other mechanical cats, but your average feline prefers something more personal, such as being Hydrox # something or other, thinks I.

Couldn't fathom how low all those PB numbers  were tonight.  A real nest of bottom feeders.

Wonder if it rolled.

Jack

There's an ongoing thread on Lottery Post, though maybeso it ends and begins again the way the head of a snake on a Hopi tablet pursues the tail, or poor old YinYang has to always go back to the place it began. 

The thread is a carnival, a celebration of what the posters would do if they won the lottery.  I've been thinking about that a bit, wondering what I might be wise enough to do or not do.  Wondering what some of my best friends, as well as what some fascinating strangers I've never met might do.

Anyway, I think I know what I'd do.  Naturally what I'd do would be jammed to the gullet with wisdom, good tastes, subdued good manners, though probably lacking in ostentation.  Therefore, unworthy of sharing here on the blog, where I feel the responsibility to entertain and edify in equal parts.

So, let me discuss discerning tastes a bit.  How good tastes have been demonstrated by close friends and associates.

When I was in the cabin waiting for the catastrophy of Y2k a jellicle cat of a certain size wandered in and hung around making a nuisance of himself to the other cats, but yearning for fulfillment as a barn cat.  I always welcome cats if there's room for them in my organizational chart.  Particularly jellicle cats. 

This one came to be known as Xerox.  (Most of my adult life there's been a place for a Mehitabel, a Hydrox, a Xerox, and a few other names.  When there's an opening in one of the names and a new animal arrives, it gets the empty name.  When this one came there was an opening for a Xerox.  Simple enough.)

Anyway, Xerox was a good cat.  He caught a lot of mice, never succeeded in becoming an indoor cat, and dodged coyotes, owls and hawks for the duration of his tenure.  He was holding himself back for better things.

After Y2k didn't happen for most people, after it became obvious that I'd made an error in judgement that would require me to move back to town, Xerox naturally came with me.  It was there in Grants, NM, while he stalked vermin along a ditchbank that Xerox had his moment of glory.  A pair of bald eagles flew along that ditch a couple of times a day doing roughly the same thing Xerox was doing.  Not many days passed before the male made a dive from a hundred feet and ended Xerox's hunting days until the next life.

That, my friends, is discerning tastes.  That is going out in high style for any cat, being killed by a great bald eagle.

On the other hand:

Naiad.  Littermate to the current Hydrox, never cared much for Xerox, never paused to indulge in a moment of awe, respect for the discerning tastes of Xerox.  She has her own methods of discernment, of demonstrating her breeding:

A couple of days ago she brought this to the front porch, placed it at my feet for my examination.  It's a rare bird in the US, particularly this far north.  It's a Streak-backed Oriole, usually found in Mexico, but sometimes in Arizona.  This one can be found lying on a box in the carport in northern New Mexico.  Haven't arrived at a proper disposal approach.  Anything I that comes to mind seems inadequate or inappropriate.

Anyway, I'm reasonably certain if Naiad won the jackpot her main ambition would be to kill an American Bald Eagle, preferably a male, and drop it at my feet on the porch.

There's a man in Mullinville, Kansas, I'm betting has the most votes in all Christiandom in favor of him not winning any lottery.  His place borders the highway.  Here's an example of the kinds of things he'd most likely do a LOT more of if he won the jackpot:

It goes on for most of a mile, cartoon characters of plate steel.  Everyone would probably as soon he sticks with the resources available to him now, as opposed to a sudden and unexpected means of acquiring a forest of shiny metal.

I have exquisite tastes, myself, and I can't tell you how glad it makes me to see along any fenceline, the least display of good tastes.

Jack

 

I got so busy waxing poetic with my mountain a while ago I clean forgot what I was intending to post. 

Here are some numbers that have been popping up a lot lately on the 17th.  These are from all the major 6 number draws on the 17th for the past 180 days.  Some of the numbers appear to have a taste for whatever drawings on the 17th of the month have to offer in the way of entertainment, refreshments and fellowship with the opposite sex, given the number of times they're  inclined to hit:

Mass 2/17/05	12	19	33	39	41	43
Mass 3/17/05	2	6	19	20	27	34
NY 1/17/2005	5	7	9	22	44	45
NY 2/17/2005	21	26	29	34	36	42
NY 3/17/2005	1	14	19	33	41	43
FL 1/17/2004	2	12	40	41	44	46
FL 4/17/2004	1	13	22	36	42	47
FL 7/17/2004	3	12	25	36	46	47
FL 11/17/2004	6	10	20	33	35	51
OH 7/17/2004	2	16	26	27	35	44
CA Nov 17 ‘04	16	23	36	44	47	10
CA Jul 17 ‘04	7	11	20	30	35	4
PB 11/17/2004	15	25	31	36	46	37
MM 12/17/2004	16	34	38	42	47	1

 

Lofty in their ideals, but prone to seeking one another out for company, those numbers.  Not immune to a bit of harmless corruption, either.  You'll notice old 43 came to the party twice and had no shortage of suitors.

Jack

Saturday a recently acquired friend and I revisited one of the sites I spent a lot of time puzzling over during the Lost Adams Diggings saga.  The place was the focus of the ’98 search (link) and a good many years prior to that.  Sometimes it amazes me how many times I climbed and unclimbed the west face of that mountain, always finding something new and puzzling.  I spent most of a month camped at the top, friends coming in for a week or so, then heading back to their lives elsewhere without finding what we were looking for, but finding enough adventure, fellowship and mountain air for a while and remember as one of the good times.This was Jim’s first time up there.  We went in mainly to look at a rock pillar that’s peeling away from a cliff face. 

It’s a formation that fascinated a man I’ve come to know awfully well by his work; a man I never met, but whom I followed around that mountain puzzling over what he did, how he did it and why he did it.  A man who lived and died 150 years ago, roughly.  A man who knew a gamble when he saw one, went into a canyon spang in the middle of Apache country at a time when the best he could hope for if he was a quick death, or if his luck was bad, hanging upside down over a slow fire.

I’ve been wearing the arrowhead that almost certainly killed him hanging from a leather thong around my neck for a decade or more.  The ruin a few charred logs high, a long-tom sluice he carved with an axe out of a three-foot diameter log, a 400 pound rock he chiseled down to use as an arrastra and a hundred or so signs and symbols he made on rocks, along with his various diggings are all that’s left to tell what kind of man he was. 

A gambler, he was, gambling on being caught by Apaches, gambling a broken leg in a place where such a thing was sure death.  A man who believed in himself so thoroughly that in that setting that he pecked away at the base of a 50 ton pillar of rock trying to get at what was underneath until it gives a man the fantods even today to walk beneath it.

One of the things I’ve spent a lot of time contemplating as I watched Orion chasing the Pleiades across the night sky to the background music of wind in the treetops is the thought of how a man of that sort would feel about a world where low-level risk-taking is a criminal offense. 

A time when edging the nose of  a vehicle onto the pavement without fastening the seatbelt probably won’t get you hurt, but it will almost certainly get you a conversation with an armed pair of mirror sunglasses.  A time when risk is defined in how many years it might take you to get cancer from whatever you’re eating or smoking.  When excessive gambling is betting the grocery money at the blackjack table.

I wonder if he’d have played a wheel, or just picked a few numbers that suited him and bought a hundred tickets with the same six numbers on them, going for broke on something he believed in, the way he did in life.

 

One of the ways we define who and what we are includes what we're willing to give up to travel around the sun a few more times.  That guy on the mountain wasn't inclined to give up much.

Jack

 

 

In 1970, the University of Texas was squared off against itself.  The frats, the student government, the sororities, the administration, the ROTC department, and the cops on the one side, and us on the other.

The Vets against the Vietnam War, the Wobblies (IWW), the Panthers, the Young Socialistist Alliance (Trotskyite), the RYM2 (Revolutionary Youth Movement faction of the Students for a Democratic Society), Weathermen (the other, more interesting side of the SDS), and hundreds of other splinter groups were taking a fair beating, though we had the numbers.  I was sort of in the middle of all that, writing for the alternative newspaper, the RAG, and trying to get an education dovetailed with sex, drugs and Rock and Roll with an occasional riot, march or rally thrown in for good measure.

That's when we invented the Yin Yang Conspiracy.  An ad hoc political party.  We ran a longhair named Jeff Jones for student body president, and we threw the bastards out, lock stock and fraternity pin.  Lordee we thought we'd done something fierce, beating the system that way.  Hot diggedy damn.

Anyway, it's in memory of that microscopic triumph among people who had in common only that they opposed the War, that I'm calling these numbers, The Yin Yang Conspiracy:  These numbers are going to win the Vietnam War the easy way.  Tomorrow night, 6 of them are going to hit on Mega Millions:

6	10	13	17	22	25
27	32	33	35	36	39
42	43	49	50	52

Here are the ones I believe are the strongest conspirators:

6	22	25	27	32
42	43	49	50	52

And once they've won it, maybe we can just skip the one going on right now and bring those boys home before too many more have to get all shot up and crippled up and completely forgotten by the patriots who are waving flags back home.

Jack

 

This is the great pick. 

 It was found in a collapsed tool shed in the Zuni Mountains, handle intact, though it had been hidden there at least 50 years and maybe 75 or longer.  

It's Bowdil 6-10, an extremely unusual tool.  Has an axe handle instead of the usually cylindrical handle found on picks, replacable tips, so's the man using it can wear them out with impunity.  The man who once owned this amazingly high quality tool managed to break it completely out of the handle (see the vertical weld along the left side - there's a similar one on the flip side), but valued it high enough to weld it back together.

You don't see picks like this one much anymore.  Certainly not on Power Ball or Mega Millions.

So.  What do we really know about 43?  We actually know quite a lot. 

4/22/2005	23	25	43	46	49	26
4/12/2005	15	20	43	47	50	24
3/22/2005	6	11	27	37	43	34
1/26/2005	5	32	43	47	48	33
1/8/2005	9	11	22	24	43	2
12/28/2004	18	29	32	38	43	50
11/26/2004	7	9	18	37	43	34
11/10/2004	14	21	29	43	45	26
11/3/2004	11	35	43	45	48	42
10/26/2004	14	25	39	43	49	27
8/14/2004	4	10	11	18	43	41
6/12/2004	6	20	43	48	52	28
5/25/2004	5	18	34	36	39	43
5/15/2004	1	26	27	43	46	31
5/8/2004	3	9	17	37	43	39
4/3/2004	6	7	26	32	43	13
3/24/2004	18	20	39	43	47	31
3/17/2004	7	15	20	24	43	5
2/14/2004	10	24	25	35	43	32
2/13/2004	14	30	42	43	45	30
12/27/2003	16	17	32	34	43	31
12/17/2003	15	18	19	21	43	7

For beginners, we know that despite all that pink and her preference for black lace undergarments, 43 is not a lady.  She prefers to hang out with low company, the Power Ball draws, far more than with the highbrow Mega Millions cliques. 

We know she's a bit promiscuous, though she's maintained a long-term, if intermittent relationship with a few rangy specimens such as 15, 18, 32, 34, 26, 46, 47, and 48, all of whom are known to hang around in biker bars, covering the political spectrum from anarchist to pink.

We know she's something of a racist, repudiating the Red Ball flamboyance when she's able, though she doesn't mind putting on the dog with her friends, 31, 34, and 26 have come into a bit of unexpected cash and want to whoop it up a bit in the Red Ball Saloon.

We know that, while she doesn't frequent any date consistently, lately she's been putting her two-bits in on the 22^nd and that in the past she's done the same on the 26^th, the 12^th, the 3^rd, and the 17^th.

We know she recently made a trip to  Georgia, where she was seen in familiar company:

GA LS

4/20/2005

13

15

18

29

43

46

All in all, I think I'd look for her to dance a bit more in this lot when she shows up again:

15	18	27	34	37
39	45	47	48	50

But, don't make the mistake of believing she's a lady, despite all that pink and the black lace underwear.

Jack

 

 

Mega Millions was a Communist last night for most who'd spent their energies trying to anticipate the foibles of the draw.  Made me happy I don't play it.

But a closer look, a retrospective might be worth the price of admission.

MM

4/22/2005

23

25

43

46

49

26

23, 25, 46, 49 and 26 should have gotten close scrutiny from us and only been rejected as a conscious choice as part of the culling.  Especially the first two.  49 was showing up enough other places to need more notice, which it didn't get from me.  23, 25, 26, 46 were running strong, but the herd was too large, so we culled them, didn't notice them, ignored them, or just used methods that didn't cause us to anticipate any of these numbers over all others.  But here's what the universe told us for a few days prior to last night, those of us who speak the language and were listening (which didn't include me):

GA F5	4/21/2005	2	13	15	33	37
WV Cash25	4/21/2005	7	9	12	18	20	25
PA Match	4/21/2005	19	22	25	30	33
DC Hot5	4/21/2005	6	8	16	23	32
DC Quik	4/21/2005	7	15	18	22	25	33
Ohio 5	4/21/2005	4	7	20	23	29
NY Take5	4/21/2005	1	4	9	33	37
Florida Fan5	4/21/2005	8	15	18	26	33
Colo Cash 5	4/21/2005	12	15	27	28	29
Cal Fan5	4/21/2005	6	19	26	28	35
MASS Cash	4/21/2005	6	12	24	29	40	46
Tx Cash 5	4/21/2005	4	10	13	33	36
Texas 2 step	4/21/2005	13	16	19	27		26
ILL Little Lotto	4/21/2005	2	6	8	23	25
GA F5	4/20/2005	11	22	23	35	39
GA LS	4/20/2005	13	15	18	29	43	46
WV Hot	4/20/2005	15	16	22	23	27
OH Super	4/20/2005	3	15	19	32	37	44	12
Ohio 5	4/20/2005	3	12	13	30	39
NY Lotto	4/20/2005	3	30	34	44	45	51
NM RR	4/20/2005	5	10	16	22	25
KS Cash	4/20/2005	2	5	13	25	32
Oregon Mg	4/20/2005	4	10	12	25	46	47
Texas	4/20/2005	9	10	16	25	44	37
Florida	4/20/2005	1	7	25	30	41	46
Cal	4/20/2005	7	13	15	28	31	9
PB	4/20/2005	7	16	33	34	46	27
DC	4/20/2005	15	16	22	23	27	10
ColoLotto	4/20/2005	11	23	29	30	34	42
MASS MEGA	4/20/2005	4	7	12	32	36	42
PA Match	4/19/2005	12	24	28	34	47	49
NM RR	4/19/2005	1	3	7	15	19
MM	4/19/2005	5	6	14	42	47	3
Mass Cash	4/19/2005	1	5	7	31	32
Mass	4/18/2005	3	10	15	16	34	38
NM RR	4/18/2005	1	12	15	27	31
KS Cash	4/18/2005	9	12	19	27	30
ColoLotto	4/16/2005	8	9	14	17	20	30
WV Hot	4/16/2005	15	16	21	23	38

43 is the only number in the entire ensemble that didn't show up, with 49 being second in the running.  It would have taken a lucky quick pick or an awfully large wheel to get 43 by most methods.

43.  It's definitely a dark horse.... It showed up in GA LS draw on the 20th, but on the biggies  

MM

3/22/2005	6	11	27	37	43	34

PB

1/26/2005	5	32	43	47	48	33

It's been keeping a fairly low profile.

Seems to me what we need now is a long look at 43 and 49 because they were the weakest of the lot, and find a means of identifying them yesterday before the draw that would have culled out most of the other numbers.  Backtracking from our perspectives of yesterday, thinks I.

 

No problem.  Yes?

 

Jack

 

 

 

 

A person who's ever been to a livestock auction might be driven to flights of fancy about those draws, liken them to an auction barn on Saturday morning.  Truckloads of etherial kine, swine, sheeplike and goatlike creatures coming in by trailer, pickup truck, offloading into pens where someone slaps a number on each back. 

Run into the barn, Mega Millions, Powerball, the big bidders in the bleachers behind the steel fence, eyeing one another with distaste and mild suspicion.  NM Roadrunner, Kansas Cash, all the little guys watching the biggies, hoping to go home with a little something at the right price.

19 comes through the big doors at the end, whips snap to get him moving to the center where everyone can look him over.

"Here's a prize one.... good breeder.... look at the bollocks on that guy!.... Weighs in at 1452 not counting the angry.  Who'll start the bids on this snot slinger?  Who's going to be the first to try to trailler him?"

MM gives an almost invisible flinch of his hat brim.

"Ha!  I knew you couldn't pass this one up."   Whip points from the floor.  Glance at PB, expecting."

 

GA F5	4/21/2005	2	13	15	33	37
WV Cash25	4/21/2005	7	9	12	18	20	25
PA Match	4/21/2005	19	22	25	30	33
DC Hot5	4/21/2005	6	8	16	23	32
DC Quik	4/21/2005	7	15	18	22	25	33
Ohio 5	4/21/2005	4	7	20	23	29
NY Take5	4/21/2005	1	4	9	33	37
Florida Fan5	4/21/2005	8	15	18	26	33
Colo Cash 5	4/21/2005	12	15	27	28	29
Cal Fan5	4/21/2005	6	19	26	28	35
MASS Cash	4/21/2005	6	12	24	29	40	46
Tx Cash 5	4/21/2005	4	10	13	33	36
Texas 2 step	4/21/2005	13	16	19	27		26
ILL Little Lotto	4/21/2005	2	6	8	23	25

 

 

Every day, every night.  Who's going to try to trailer this one?  19 who'll give me 20, 20, 25, 20?