You can get anything you like in Fun City, but you can't get scrapple.
Mr. Smith exits the elevator from his hotel room into Camelot's vast cavernous medieval-themed labyrinth of a casino. He is immediately assaulted by the thick smell of cigarette smoke partially masked by perfumed air freshener and the cacophony of thousands of guests demonstrating their belief in Fortuna, the Roman goddess of luck, by staking their hard-earned income on the proposition that the Law of Large Numbers is wrong, or does not apply to them, or is at least temporarily suspended.
Mr. Smith thinks it's touching that so many people believe in something.
One obese matron sits at a Black Gold 50 Grand slot machine, her buttocks spilling over the sides of the seat, pressing the "play" button so fast and hard that Mr. Smith expects repetitive stress syndrome will ensue. He wonders if she will then apply for Social Security Disability Income. Likely Obama voter, he thinks.
Making his way through the casino floor, as one must do to go anywhere, Mr. Smith passes an overpriced Medieval-themed restaurant and an overpriced "Celebrity" restaurant to get to the overpriced "Casual" restaurant. He takes a seat and peruses the menu.
"Hi, I'm Gloria, and I'll be serving you this morning." Gloria personifies Middle American womanhood, with the possible exception of the dragon tattoos decorating her arms from wrist to shoulder, and the purple hair. Gloria is dressed in what would be an authentic Medieval costume if Medieval women exposed all but the pink parts of their boobs and wore kilts that, on bending over, expose lacy underwear embroidered with the words "Precious Cargo."
"Can I get some scrapple?" It's not on the menu, but Mr. Smith is hoping that he can, in fact, get whatever he wants in Fun City.
"What's that?" Wherever Gloria comes from, it seems that scrapple is not part of the local cuisine.
Mr. Smith warms to his favorite subject. "Scrapple is a mush of pork scraps and trimmings combined with cornmeal and buckwheat flour, and spices. The mush is formed into a semi-solid congealed loaf, and slices of the scrapple are then panfried before serving. It is best known as a rural American food of the Mid-Atlantic region, and commonly considered an ethnic food of the Pennsylvania Dutch, including the Mennonites and Amish."
Gloria squints. "I'll ask." She departs, stooping for a moment to scoop up a scrap of paper from the carpet and exposing precious cargo.
Mr. Smith scans the room and notes that most of the other diners, all of whom seem to be taking a break from placing bets against the Law of Large Numbers, also seem to be placing bets against the science of nutrition, at least so far as it concerns weight management.
Gloria returns. "We don't have that." Mr. Smith orders a cheese omelet instead.
The omelet, when it arrives, is enormous. This seems to be a pattern in Fun City. Overfeeding lulls the frontal cortex into a state of oblivion; the rubes stagger out of the dining rooms and, in a state of moral euphoria, continue to spend the milk money on bets against the Law of Large Numbers.
The check, when it arrives, is equally enormous.
Later that day, Mr. Smith addresses the conference. The text of his speech:
Thank you ladies and gentlemen. The key to successful investment management is this: invest prudently, diversify broadly, avoid undue risk, and respect the Law of Large Numbers. Thank you.
There is a thunderous wave of applause. Mr. Smith smiles, waves and departs Fun City.
