Kicking ass and taking shots

I finally somewhat recovered after the tournament bullshit and decided life was semi-worthwhile living for a while and went downstairs to the casino with Shawn and Jamiepoo to grab a bite to eat. We finished up eating and went to the poker room and I didn't feel like playing at all, Jamie didn't feel like playing either but Shawn went right to work. He sat down in a $1-5 Stud table and tried to act all big bully world champion and run the table over with a complete bluff. He put about $24 in running his bluff all the way to the river and got called by an old lady and she dragged the monsterous $50 pot which was most likely the biggest pot that stud table has seen in months. Shawn of course was pissed off. "How can she god damn call me with two pair how the fuck can you call that bullshit".

She read him like a book, I'm not sure if it was his quivering lip, his shaking hands or the enormous amount of sweat flowing down his forehead that gave it away but whatever it was she picked up on it and called his ass down. Good girl, put that fucker in his place. Unfortunately, this wasn't the only time Shawn was going to get schooled today, he had a pretty rough day. I suggested that we would go play pool. Jamie being the up-beat social person that he is decided that he was going to take a nap and that we could suck his dick. That did sound like a good idea but since we had just ate, we passed on it and just me and Shawn went to play pool. We got directions from a dealer how to get to the pool-hall and took off driving. Poor little Shawn had no idea what he was getting into. We came over to the pool-place and they had a bunch of different tables. He asks me do you want to play on regulation tables or whateverthefucktheotheronesarecalled? Huh? What? I want to play on a fucking pool-table with pockets and a felt, the fuck are you talking about? That was about all I could think of, he started quoting how one type of table was 9 by 6 and another was 7,5 by something else and at this point, I'm wondering if I picked a bad mark to try to hustle. He might know what he's doing after all. We rack up the first rack and he takes off swinging, I let my breath out because I realize that I have nothing to be worried about. The half-blind man playing in the seniors section behind us just made shots out of the blue without even looking at the table, as he could barely see, and he still did better than Shawn.

I smoked him in the first game after he pocketed the eight-ball, and this is when he got the nickname Captain Scratch. I will give him one thing, he did pocket a ball nearly every shot, it just rarely was one he aimed at, it was even more rare that it was one of his balls. It often was one of mine or the cueball, but you know, it's the thought that counts, right?

He spotted this smoking hot chick playing pool all by herself over on one of the tables in the middle. He kept eyeing her as I have to admit it was pretty hot when she racked up as she was nice enough to bend over and show her rack too, he kept telling me "I should ask her to come over here and play." Sure enough, about fifteen minutes later two other goobers that looked pretty young come walking in and ask her to play with them, which she did. This set him off too and I think this might have partly been why he played so bad, I mean it has to have been some other reason than the fact that he plain sucks.

I ended up going easy on the poor guy and we finished the game 9-8 in my favor. I let him have a lead of 8 to 6 before I decided to start playing and came back and swept the last three games. I don't think he said a single word for about five minutes, he was crushed. We then came back to the casino and Jamies buddies Angie and her daughter Ashley, with her friend Stefanie were over at the casino down here. Angie is the local slot-machine and video-poker addict, I believe, and she is married to Frankie whose lakehouse we visited the other day. Still following?

Ashley and Stefanie

So Angie went off to gamble and the girls and Jamie decided they were going to go drinking and Ashley immediately asks, "Who wants a red-headed slut?" That was awful straight-forward, I thought? She could atleast have asked me for my last name and her hair wasn't even very red, I was confused but I thought what the hell, could be fun. I start to work on my belt buckle when she informs me it's a type of drink. Oh. Silly me. I don't function well on liquor so I figured that's a brilliant idea. We have a few drinks, and a few beers all while Jamie is still sipping on the first beer he bought some odd hours ago. There's no shit that the man is broke when he clutches the bottle he bought like it's a piece of caribbean treasure he doesn't want to give up, it could be that, or that he just doesn't like getting too drunk. Shawn is downing beers a little bit rapidly as he had quite a few losses today he had to try to forget. He got beat in Stud, he got smoked at pool and somehow his amazing Phillies lost another game. I swear every other day when we wake up, he usually turns on the TV and you hear the traditional, "FUCK!" yelled out loudly and it's always the same thing. The Phillies lost another game. I mean I'm not much of a bandwagon supporter who only supports my team during winning streaks but holy shit, enough has to be enough.

Anyway, I get kind of tired around noon as I slept all of two hours the previous night still replaying the tournament hands in my head until I went crazy. I'm fucked up like that. I've always said I'd like to have Dr Phil try to figure out what goes on in my head at times, I think both me and him could be surprised at what he might find. Anyhow, we stay downstairs and chit-chat with the boys and girls when we all go upstairs to the suite to hang out for a little bit, I guess. I was feeling sort of drunk and tired so I fell asleep at midnight in the bed and they left to go downstairs again, at 2:30 in the morning they storm back in again giggling and screaming like banshees. Ashley and Stephanie both stumble in and Ashley feels a little "sick" and had to go "rest" a while in the "bathroom". Stefanie laid down on the couch, Shawn slept in the chair and Jamie was playing with his cock under the covers in his bed. That's how he rolls. I put on the iPod and tried to go to sleep but kept getting woke up by all the giggling retards, I went back downstairs, came up again and tried to sleep, then rinse and repeat same procedure again. At about six in the morning, I guess, Ashley's mom Angie came up and gave us the report for how she did playing slots.



As you can tell by the picture, she didn't win millions. She could have, though. She just didn't. They take off out of here and we go downstairs to the poker room, just me and Shawn. I decided to get in a game together with Brent (Brant?) however the hell you spell the guys name in a 10/20 NL. He's a cool ass dude that Jamie introduced me to down here in Tulsa, apparently Jamie knows all the cool people, which is why he hangs out with me obviously. Duh. We played for a few hours until Jamiepoo comes downstairs and decides to take a shot himself in the game. I was already a decent loser after a guy busted me out of a thousand or so, and was making a come-back when Jamie finally makes a big hand. He flops a flushdraw with a gutshot straight draw against a guy who held two queens on a jack-high board. The pot was just over 1600 dollars and even though the guy with the queens read him so absolutely perfectly and made a brilliant call, Jamie hit his flush on the turn and dragged the pot. That would've normally have been good news but the motherfucker that he beat in the pot was ME. Go figure he gets lucky and sucks out in a big pot when he's playing against me, god that was fucking awful. We then go back up to the room and that's sort of where we're at now. I was tired as a motherfucker six hours ago but it's now nine in the morning and I'm wide awake. I make no sense.