#nondnd

Gather round children, and let me tell you a true tale of… woe or perhaps weal (that’s good fortune for those of you uncomfortable with nerdspeak).

A highly inebriated relative of my roommate called up, informing him and anyone that was listening that she won $2,100 in a casino.

Wait. It was $21,000. No. $2,100. Wait. $4,000. Nope, $21,000 for sure. All in cash. Wait. Some cash. Maybe.

She is downtown. On the street. Alone. Yelling on her phone about her good fortune. She is holding her phone, her wallet (which will not close as it is stuffed with money), and smoking a cigarette in the rain.

Wait.

The casino paid the winnings by $4,000 in cash and the rest on a “black debit card”.

My roommate, the paragon of responsibility, calls the parent. The parent drives to the casino and is met with disdain.

Yelling with the occasional “I love you” occurs.

The parent eventually convinces the recalcitrant 35 year-old to hand over most of the cash and the black card. The parent is unwilling to continue to deal with her hot mess of a child.  She returns home.

The relative then discusses the fact that she didn’t really win the money, but it was won by a guy who gave it to her. You know. The guy who wrote Champagne Supernova.

Roommate clarifies: “that shitty song from the 90s?”

Yes. That one. Apparently Noel Gallagher has nothing better to do than hang out in a casino in a small Midwestern city. She boasts that he gave her a black card and a driver’s license.  To buy boobs. New boobs. For her.

Wait.  Is this the black card from the casino?

No.

Really?

No.  Maybe?

Moving on.

Roommate clarifies: Is his name Noel?

She is unsure. A tense moment passes.

Roommate casually notes that she could check Noel’s driver’s license.

Yes. This is the answer we have all been looking for.

The inebriated relative responds: Of course, it’s Charles Michael the author of Champagne Supernova. He is passed out in the free hotel room the casino has comp’d her. From having won all that money.

Pause.

She continues. Did you know that Champagne Supernova is about taxes?

Frown lines deepen on roommate’s face.

Realities begin crashing down on everyone besides the drunken relative.

Meanwhile the parent has returned to the family dwelling. Calls are made. My roommate asks the parent: What name is on the “black card” that supposedly harbors all of the casino winnings.

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