I See the Devil Driving Your Bus

An Open Letter to Mystic Lake Casino

Dear Mystic Lake,

I live in one of the poorer neighborhoods in Minnesota. Many people in my neighborhood are homeless, jobless, or living in poverty. Few sights boil my blood more than seeing your buses picking up the poor in my neighborhood.

You don't regularly give free rides to the affluent people of the suburbs, those who can afford to throw money into your coffers, perhaps. I never saw your buses coming to where I grew up. But I see them now, picking up the poor, the dejected, the hopeless, the minorities. This is an evil preference, and behind your pleasantly purple buses promising a good time lurks the claws of a malevolent prey ready to eat up the disadvantaged.

Experience has proven that hard work and moderation is the way to happiness and health. You lie through your hungry teeth, telling the poor that they ought to be rich. You swindle them into believing luck will save them from their troubles, and bring them happiness. You offer wealth and happiness, but you take for yourselves the paychecks of the desperate. Oh wicked deceivers, do you not know that the devil is the father of lies?

Are you so fat and greedy, you detestable pigs, that you cannot stuff your face with the excesses of the rich and the materialists, who drive in hordes to your casino in their SUVs and sport sedans? Why are you not content with the many sheep that come to your door, but insist on dragging the disappointed off his stoop to the door of doom? Indeed, must you squeeze the last cent from those who have but few? How insatiable is your lust for filthy money?

And how dare you talk to us about charity. Ivan Karamazov would not follow God for building his kingdom upon the tears of one little girl. How many tears do you build your kingdom upon? How many broken homes, addicted parents, and angry fights, or drunken binges have you inspired? Is not the tears of one little girl, going hungry once again because her mother gambled away her last paycheck under your roof, is not this enough to forever reject your charity. No, don't tell us about the parks, and community centers, and programs your bags of mammon fund. There is no kindness in your dirty dollars.

I know it's not fashionable to believe in the devil anymore, but I see him driving your bus. I am not the sort to throw bricks through windows. But I do ask God to see to it that you fail. May your roof fall in, your foundation erode, and your halls become vacant. May the music of your machines be replaced by the hissing of desolation. May your ill gotten money become bitter in your mouth. Choke on the bones of your wealth, be filled with sickness and sorrow. And forever give up this detestable business.

Finally, to those politicians who whore after your money and deal deceitfully with your lobbyists, may they come to a miserable end. There is no place for you in a free country. May your breed wither and die.