This meant
that a lot of Mike’s pals would be playing some form of limit poker, getting
extremely drunk and having a good time. A
lot of the players would be dealers, most of whom work at BSC, but there would
be other friends of his too, including other BSC regulars, like me. The first time I was invited to such a game
it was just Crazy Pineapple and that story is told here. The next time was also Crazy Pineapple and
that story is told here and here.
And then we had a non-birthday event to celebrate, away from BSC, and
that story was told here. For that last time, a rotation of Crazy Pineapple,
Omaha and an abomination of a game called “Reverse Hold’em” was played.
For this game
now, the game was going to be half Crazy Pineapple and half Omaha, 2/4 limit
but with a half-kill. Mike had to get
special approval for the half-kill because kills and half-kills are normally
verboten at BSC. If I was still a limit
player, I probably would have already done a post or two about how much I hate
kill games, but for a crazy dealer’s game like this was going to be, I was fine
with it. I was less fine knowing that
half the time we’d be playing Omaha (for my diatribe about Omaha, see here.) But I do like Crazy
Pie and I also like playing wild limit games with my buddies and with crazy
dealers. I was hoping to win some money
and get a blog post out of it, but I only accomplished one of my goals. OK, I accomplished another one of my goals,
which was to not have a finish to my birthday like the one I told about here.
The game was
supposed to start at 6pm, and I had to work of course and managed to arrive
only a little bit early. To my surprise
the game was already going, but the table wasn’t full. The important thing is that Mike had already
arrived and had already started drinking.
I dunno when he started drinking but he was already pretty hammered
before I was even dealt my first card.
Mike had an
unusual card protector that he was using.
It was a small figurine of a character from South Park, Randy
Marsh. Apparently in one episode Randy
gave himself testicular cancer by putting his balls in the microwave so he
would qualify for medicinal marijuana.
The figurine depicted Randy sitting on his huge balls that were
basically as large as him.
Mike kept
showing off hit figurine to everyone who came by, and asked all the girls to
rub or lick his balls. He meant the
character’s balls. I think.
At one point,
one of his co-workers, Susan came by to bring chips. She was working,
not playing. She spent some time
examining the figurine and walked past me.
I asked if she rubbed Mike’s balls.
“I licked them,” she said. O.K.
The table was
10 handed and originally I sat down in seat 9. To
my immediate left was none other than Adolf himself.
There was a floor
person playing when I got there, actually higher than a floor person but not
the poker room manager. The dealer was Ginger, who clearly couldn’t wait to take
an “early out” and start playing herself. This higher-than-a-floor-person told
Ginger, as she was about to deal a hand, “Give me a hand please. I want a hand. I said give me a hand, not a hand-job.”
Ginger just
laughed but thinking back to when I was in the corporate world, I couldn’t help
thinking this was pretty blatant sexual harassment! He could definitely have gotten into trouble
for that comment if Ginger so desired.
It’s also possible that Ginger was relieved that he was demanding that
she not
give him a hand-job.
A few minutes
after I got settled in, Prudence and Tom showed up. Prudence took the
last seat, on the other side of the table from me, and Tom helped open the
second table. Before long, they had
actually had three tables going with a waitlist. It was the third and final table that was the
table that was considered “the fun table.”
It had the most drinking and the most wild, crazy players, led by
Ginger. Every time I looked over there,
she was standing up and practically dancing at the table (tho she didn’t give
anyone a lap dance that I saw). No more than 45 seconds ever went by without
hearing raucous laughter from over there.
I suspect that if I had been playing at that table, this would be a much
longer blog post.
My night
started out dreadful, pokerwise. I
couldn’t win a hand at either game.
Seriously, I think I went about 2 hours before winning a pot. Even at 2/4 that adds up. It was almost that long before I even had a
chance of winning. I was usually out of
the hand at the flop if I even got to it.
But against Mike, I flopped a gut-shot straight flush draw. Mike bet out and I just called the flop and
the turn, but on the river I hit my flush.
It was a low flush, but it was the first made hand I’d had all night so
I bet out. That put Mike in a quandary
but he eventually called. He had the
flush too but his was 10-high and mine was 7-high (he also had the 6 I need for
the straight flush)
By this time
Mike was well beyond drunk and he was actually mad at me for betting out! He was mad at me even tho he won the
pot! That was more than a little bewildering
since I hadn’t won a pot yet and that looked like a good chance for one. He was giving me a hard time, “You scared me,
betting out there, and it was you…..” By
that he meant he knew I was a tight player and wasn’t likely to be betting
there without a good hand, probably better than his 10-high flush.
At one point
soon after the hand, he shouted to me, “I hate you Robert!”
This was the
kind of game where you expect to take verbal abuse when you win a pot, that’s
part of the deal. But you aren’t really
expecting to get shit thrown at you when you lose a hand, especially since it
would have been the first hand I’d won since I sat down.
Finally,
playing Omaha, I had Q-5-2-2. I’ve still
haven’t read “Omaha for Dummies” but I’m thinking that’s not a great starting
hand. However, I had been so card dead
that I decided to play it anyway and see if I could hit a deuce (which probably
wouldn’t have been good enough, I know—I was really hoping to flop quads). The flop came Q-Q-5. Not what I was going for but I’ll take
it. I knew there was a good chance that
a boat wouldn’t hold up in this nutty game but at least I had a shot. The only caller I got was Adolf, and I fully
expected him to suck out me as he did in the post where he earned his
pseudonym. But the turn was the last
Queen. Now I had quad Queens and felt
pretty good. He called my turn bet and
it didn’t matter what the river card was.
Adolf had his
$4 in his hand waiting to call my river bet.
I faked putting it out a few times, and then finally bet. As he called, I said,, “What, you don’t want
to raise?” No, he didn’t want to
raise. I showed my queen and he showed 2
Aces, so he did have the second nuts.
Since I now knew the point of this game was to give people shit for
losing a hand, I started bitching about him not raising there. He took exception to that, saying I should be
grateful that he paid me off for my quads.
Then I realized
that this was the first hand I’d won all night, and I said so. “Finally won my first hand and it took quads
to do it.” No one gave me any sympathy.
I was already
mad at Adolf because he had been straddling my big blind all nite. At one point I said to him, “You keep
straddling my big blind and you’re gonna be Adolf again.” But that didn’t phase him, “Good, I want to
be Adolf, again.” Ya vol!
Then there
was a hand of Crazy Pineapple that was quite annoying. I had pocket 3’s and some other card so I
called a preflop raise. The flop missed
me (10-6-x) so I should have been done with the hand. But no one bet the flop, I got to see the
turn card for free. It was a 3. Before I could bet it, Prudence bet. I of course raised. She was surprised but she called. A 6 on the river paired the board and gave me
a full house. It was just the two of us
now and Prudence checked, I bet, she called.
She flipped
over 10-6 for 6’s full, a bigger boat than I had. Damn, just the way my luck had been going
that night. But then I thought, “Some free
card. That free card cost me money!”
Then I
thought some more. Prudence had flopped
two pair with her 10-6. But the only
reason I had turned the set was because no one bet the flop. Why the hell didn’t she bet her two pair on
the flop. I yelled over to her, “Why the
hell didn’t you bet the flop. You had
two pair. You bet when you have nothing,
but you don’t bet when you have two pair?”
She laughed
and said, “Don’t give away my strategy!’
But she texted me to explain. She
was first to act, and she expected the preflop raiser, one of those wild, crazy
dealers, to bet and she planned to check-raise.
But instead he checked and of course I checked with my underpair. Grrr.
I should
mention that Prudence has been staying on the wagon lately, and did so on this
night. Perhaps it was not a coincidence
that she failed to mention any of her more intimate body parts or really say or
do anything outrageous that I can report here.
One of the
players at the “fun table” was a daytime cocktail waitress who works the poker
room. Now, only because it is actually
relevant to the story will I point out that this waitress has large
breasts. A cocktail waitress with large
breasts? Who’d a thunk it? Anyway, she was wearing a low cut top. At one point she came over to our table to
visit with Adolf. I guess Adolf had just
won a big pot and his chips were a mess, but he was now in another hand and so
the waitress was leaning over behind him stacking his chips for him.
Did I mention
she was leaning over? Yeah. Well it so happens that the guy who was in
the hand with Adolf was right across from Adolf. I believe he was getting quite the
eyeful. The waitress was not unaware of the
view she was offering. I heard her say,
about Adolf’s opponent, “I’m distracting him with my breasts.” I guess Adolf must be quite the tipper to get
that kind of assist.
I finally got
my revenge on Mike when I flopped a straight in Omaha and it held up against
him. A straight winning in Omaha? OK, it was Broadway but even so, that’s a
long shot. Later, I saw Mike in the
Men’s Room and he said, “I forgive you Robert.”
He was even drunker at that point than when he got mad at me for losing
a hand to him. It was pretty strange.
But not as
strange as the comment he gave a male dealer who pushed him two or three big
pots in a very short period of time.
Directly to the dealer, he yelled at the top of his lungs, “I want to
butt-f*** you!” The dealer said sure, he
was good for that. I think his response
might have something to do with the size of the tips Mike was giving him.
No one came
by to warn Mike about his language, although I’m pretty sure they could hear
him at Paris.
I don’t mean
the casino, Paris. I mean the city in
France.
Speaking of urination,
which I wasn’t until now, one of the players, a regular player in the room,
needed to go to the Men’s Room but was waiting for the button to come. He was struggling waiting, however, and was
pretty obstinate about waiting until the button was in the right position. He was telling all of us just how badly he
had to pee. Just then, the waitress come
by to take orders, which was pretty much the last thing he needed. The player said to the waitress, who he knew
well from playing in the room every night, “Can you pee for me?”
She thought
about it a second and said, “Not standing up, I can’t.”
Heather, the
star of this post here and many others, joined the table after we had been
playing for a few hours. She was
drinking steadily and also mentioned that she need to pee. She too did not want to leave the table, but
in her case I think it was more do to her not wanting to miss any hand at all,
not really worrying about where the button was.
At one point, as she was complaining about her situation—“I gotta pee so
badly”—she took the half empty glass of whatever it was she was drinking and
put it under the table, out of view, presumably between her legs. I can report that she only had it down there
a second or two, and there was not any more liquid in it than when she took it
off the table.
At one point
Heather warned Mike, who was saying the f-word as if he was getting paid to say
it, to “Watch your f***ing language.”
And she wondered how Mike was going to be able to drive home. Mike explained that he had gotten a room for
the night. His wife was already in the
room, and in fact she had come down to say hello to us before Heather arrived.
Heather liked
the idea that Mike’s wife was waiting in a hotel room for Mike. “She’s waiting for you? That’s nice.
Is she waiting there for you in lingerie—or maybe nothing? And maybe some drinks? Just two Jaeger bombs? Jager bombs on her boobs? That’d be nice.”
It was
getting late and I was getting tired of losing. And I had to work the next day,
so I cashed out. I think it was only
then that I noticed that “Buzzedsaw” was at the other table (not the “fun
table.”). Buzzedsaw is an AVP’er and has
the distinction of being the very first stranger to tell me he read my
blog. It actually happened the same
night I met Prudence (see here).
This game
took place right after the club I wrote about in my Slut Parade post (here) had opened. There was some discussion on AVP about how the
club had affected the MGM poker room (this was before they moved the poker room
away from the club). Buzzedsaw told a
very interesting story, and thus I asked him if he could—you’ll pardon the
expression—flesh out the details so I could include it in a future blog
post.
This appeared
to be my chance so I hit him for details before I left. It took place around 3:30 AM. The club had
attracted a huge crowd (this was the first or second weekend it was open) and
it was now breaking up. A guy came out of the club and there was this hot,
sluttily dressed woman with him. The guy
sat at Buzzedsaw’s table to play some poker and the girl wanted to watch him
play. Instead of pulling up a seat
behind him, she wanted to sit on his lap and the other players didn’t object. And at some point, the guy gives the girl
some kind of signal and she disappears to get more girls. While she’s gone, another hot girl (also
sluttily dressed—shocking, I know) shows up and she also sits on his lap for
awhile. But then she leaves too.
Soon
thereafter the first girl comes back with five other girls. They are of varying degrees of hotness (two
were extremely hot, two were not really hot at all and one was smack-dab in the
middle). Somehow the girls were all
“assigned” a player and each one of them stood behind one of the players at the
game. They were smiling at the guys and
complimenting their muscles but they weren’t asking for anything. Buzzedsaw didn’t think they were “pro’s”—just
drunk.
The girl
“assigned” to him was the one in the middle of the hotness scale. After feeling his arms for awhile, she turned
around and started massaging his shoulders with her ass. Which was no doubt barely covered by an
extremely short, extremely tight dress.
I’m pretty sure that the official massage girls that patrol the poker
room don’t give massages like that.
I guess I
need to start playing poker at 3 AM.
With that,
another birthday with a wild poker game was over.
No comments:
Post a Comment