Today was supposed to be a day for my people to shine! And by my people, of course I mean all those who make up the mighty Sevener clan, the mightiest of families this side of the Eighters, proudly dominating over the Sixers since 1864. We’re a strong, German breed, having migrated from the motherland to America on 7 boats in approximately the year 700, and boy, was it tough for our ancestors to keep quiet about this strange and new land for as long as they did, especially certain individuals who will remain nameless! Our people had a strong passion for exploration, discovery, and also food – one tradition that us modern day Seveners take very seriously, especially during holidays and special occasions when it’s not at all uncommon to find entire woodland mammals that have fallen to the hunger of a local Sevener clan. Needless to say, our stomachs are not ones to be trifled with, so I guess it should kinda go without saying that if you ever find yourselves over for Christmas or New Years, you might want to keep an eye on the little ones … especially if they go well with barbecue sauce…

Anyways, as I was saying, today in fact is a special day for all of us Seveners, as my family had scheduled to hold something of a family reunion this weekend to celebrate all things 7, but unfortunately, this particular party just didn’t happen to be in the cards for me … at least geographically speaking, anyways … and since them science fellas are still poking away at those teleportation devises that we’ve all been yearning ever since the other Scotty started beaming his co-workers here, there, and everywhere back in the late ‘60s, there was just no way that I was going to get from Florida to Michigan and back in time without racking up a whole lot of speeding tickets so I found myself sitting this one out. But all was not lost, I decided roughly seven minutes later as a light bulb appeared above my head to indicate that some sort of idea had developed in my upper-cranial region. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t as good of an idea now that my wallet’s considerably lighter, but at the time – oh boy, did I think I was just brilliant!

Of course, we all know that the next best thing to spending actual quality time with your family is incessant gambling until you’ve lost so much that even your richest hypothetical, long-lost uncle couldn’t bail you out of debt to our Native American Casino Overlords! Besides, who could pass up a trip to the local gambling haven on what astrologers, witch doctors, and really superstitious people would consider to be “the luckiest day of the millennium?!” For the record, I actually consider 1/1 to be the luckiest day, as we narrowly avoided that armageddon predicted to wipe out all civilization by screwing up our computers, electronic date books, etc… Fortunately, even if it had taken place, I was comforted in knowing that the clever Futurama Wall Calendar that hangs next to my computer was completely immune to the Y2K bug, but let’s not get off topic here – armageddon didn’t happen, we all lived, so let’s go gambling…

We had a simple plan for 7/7/07 – get in, get rich, get out and rub everybody’s faces in it. Where could we go wrong?! The cards were all in our favor – the luckiest day from the perspective of most, the luck of the Sevener name, and without giving away too much personal information, I’ll have you know that I was even wearing my lucky boxers that day – it was almost going to be too easy! Money would fall from the slot machines like a metallic downpour, chicks in hot pants would bring us free drinks and coo at our success, and far off in the distance, my celebrating relatives would know that they’d have a lot more bragging and flaunting than usual to put up with at the next family Christmas.

Well, that’s how it was supposed to go, anyways, but it seems that the powers that be at our local casino didn’t exactly get that memo and instead of being ready and waiting to delve out our future children’s trust fund, those folks were running around like it was nobody’s business as the place was literally flooded with thousands of other people trying to horn in on our luck! The nerve! The best explanation I can muster is that all of those unlucky people swarming around us must’ve somehow managed to dilute our good fortune, thus sending us home empty-handed as opposed to the filthy, stinking rich scenario that had played out so perfectly in our heads on the way over.

So the moral of today’s story? Superstitions are a load of hogwash – how’s that for starters?! The only lucky gambling day there is would be one when you oversleep and forget to go because otherwise you’re pretty much just flushing your hard-earned Benjamins down the toilet. Sure, occasionally that toilet backs up and you get to reap the benefits, but usually it’s just another day on the crapper.

Nonetheless, happy day to the rest of the Sevener clan out there near and far – here’s to hoping that your day fared luckier than mine. May all your jokes be hilariously dirty, your meatballs be intoxicatingly spicy, and your gambling ventures at least come close to breaking even…