That’s It for the slot hoki Other One

 

Somehow, I knew where this was headed. No good can come of it. Nothing positive would be molded from the mental mud this week. I’m the blogger-in-waiting, the guy who knows Otis. If you’re luring fish, I’m the friggin’ worm.

Let’s start here : 12 AM Friday (Vegas Time)

This is the start of my work day. I’m always here this early. It makes for a nice commute. Sort of like playing automotive frogger with the early morning drunks. I had one story to tell before I got on the plane. One quick tale and then the high-tail to Sin.

Get this :

Someone broke into a trucking company in the southern slot hoki part of the county. He stole a dump truck (the kind with tires bigger than men), and drove it downtown. Check that. He drove it to jail. Directly to jail. The idea, it turns out, was to ram police cars parked just outside, which he accomplished with great style. He then hopped out, ran to a nearby gas station, and called 911…on HIMSELF.

Why?

To tell dipatchers what he just did, and DARE them to catch him. He got away, but police took the payphone into custody. Just another day at the office. I love my job.

That story was in the can by 12:00PM (Vegas time)…the airplane…and further absurdity.. await.

The G-ster touched down 12 hours later…and was starting to feel the effects of what was already a long day. It was also a very long flight and, did you know, those in-flight beers are $5.00 EACH.

CJ met me at the front door of the EXCAL, and it was straight to poker. I knew I was in trouble. I saw Otis, and what turned out to be Pauly, playing some sort of limit game but I was too cool for that. I hit the NL. I should have known better. Here’s a sample :

I’m in the SB and have 3 limpers to my K, 10s. I limp. So does the BB.

Flop is K, 10, 6. Two checks and a bet into my two pair. I bet the pot and the BB and original bettor call. Turn is a rag and after another check I bet big.

BB pushes all-in. I call.

River is another 6.

He limped with AA. His two pair whips my 3 pair. G-Rob rebuys. Agony ensues. This was my trip.

Friday…errr..Saturday…5:00 AM (Vegas Time)

So I limp away after losing another buy-in and wander back to the forest. Never was a bar so aptly named. It a haven for degenerates and whores, losers and the lost. A perfect place for G-Rob to find “Big Mike”.

He offered me a drink. I drank. He offered another. I ‘nothered. The blows kept coming. Let me just point out that in my neck of the woods, nobody out drinks the “G”, but here in the forest, Mighty Mike is an Oak.

I met Otis and CJ there…and Al..and Iggy…and Maudie…and Blood…and Daddy.

I really liked Daddy, despite my discomfort with calling a man “daddy”. We played a little more short-handed NL and the worm began to turn. So did my stomach….Is that SOUTHERN COMFORT??!

Back at the bar, Iggy kept demanding to know where I was a blogger, and as a two time contributor here, I wasn’t sure how to answer. I felt like the blogger add-on I knew I was. But these things happen, c’est la vie.

Saturday, I guess, 9:00 AM

‘Bout this time the buzz was a roar. Man cannont live on hard booze alone. I was starting to die. By this time, Otis had the good sense to bail. He stumbled upstairs to a Tower 1 room, and crashed on the floor. Of course, that sort of responsibility WILL NOT STAND.

“Where’s Otis,” Cried Iggy.

“Get him down here,” belched Al.

This was a chance to make a good impression. I was the man for the job.

So upstairs I wandered..to kick on his buddy’s door. An angry man answered..and this drunk man poured in. Otis was curled in a tight ball beneath one of those hotel comforters that you know doesn’t get washed.

“Hey man,” I very politiely said, “they’re getting a limo”.

No response.

So I tried “OTIS!”. Puntuated with a sharp kick in the ribs.

No response.

Then the talking stopped and the massacre began. I reckon a good 20 hard blows to the middle of Otis. I doubt he felt a thing. And finally, I returned to the forest with the man himself.

Stay TUNED for the good part….

I’m trying to be concise.