Description: This gambling game is popular in the slot games, we must choose lines and than, press start.
If you fortunate, accumulate points, which turns into money.
Also when it comes profitable point, we have second chance, where we choose red color or black, if we guess it, won money doubles.
If you comes three strawberries, we are given a chance to accumulate more points.
The Academy of American Poets is the largest membership-based nonprofit organization fostering an appreciation for contemporary poetry and supporting American poets.
For over three generations, the Academy has connected millions of people to great poetry through programs such as National Poetry Month, the largest literary celebration in the world; Poets.org, the Academy’s popular website; American Poets, a biannual literary journal; and an annual series of poetry readings and special events.
Since its founding, the Academy has awarded more money to poets than any other organization..
The painting (you can google it) is a close-up, bright, garish portrait of fruit cocktail.
Seeing it released a flood of memories of the 50s and 60s for me, so I decided to try to make a picture of that time period via this popular food of my childhood.”Rocket-shaped popsicles that dyed your lips bluewere popular when I was a kid.
That era got labeled“the space age” in honor of some longed-for,supersonic, utopian future.
Another food of myyouth was candy corn, mostly seen on Halloween. Faint of taste and watery, it contained anemicgrapes, wrinkled and pale. Fan-shaped pineapplechunks, and squares of bleached peachand pear completed the scene. It meant you’d pretend semblances,no matter how pathetic, were real, and thatwhen things got dicey, you’d spurn the truth.
With its striped triangular “kernels” madeof sugar, wax and corn syrup, candy cornwas a nostalgic treat, harkening back to dayswhen humans grew, rather than manufactured,food. Fruit cocktail’scolorlessness, its lack of connection to anythingliving, (like tree, seed or leaf) seemedcautionary, sad. No more nourishing than a child’sfinger painting, masquerading as happyappetizer, fruit cocktail insisted on pretendingeverything was ok. Eating fruit cocktail meant you might denythat ghosts whirled throughout the houseand got sucked up the chimney on nights Dad wadded old newspapers, warned youaway from the hearth, and finally lit a fire. A lettuce is no less than me, so I respect you,though it’s also true I may make a salad of you,later. Our speciesis blowing it, bigtime, as you no doubt know,dependent as you are on water and soilwe humans Tamed by starched collars or looped by the noose, all hail the stem that holds up the frail cranial buttercup.