Get your money back at the door

After spending the greater part of yesterday's icy day playing cards, then falling down and busting my lard ass on that ice, today I had to post a little bit about the nature of the games we play. We being the five other idiot friends of mine who thought it would be a good idea to play a "snow day poker game." The idea for that game was first mooted at 11 a.m., the first cards were dealt about 3:30 p.m. Did I mention we are idiots, my friends and I? We decided to fiddle, fart, and fuck around for 4 daylight hours, and wait until it was near dusk to start playing. The idea was further strengthened by the fact that about the time we started assembling to play it began to piss down (frozen) rain. If it is possible to piss down frozen rain. We did not want to play during the day, when nature was taking a break from pelting sleet down upon us. Where is the fun in that? Let's play at dark in the middle of the worst of the storm, so we can drink a few beers, and then about 11 p.m. risk life and limb getting home. This just goes to show you what a clever lot of fellows we are. Of course, each and every one of us has an advanced degree in something. Proving that education is no bar to acting a clown. Either way, we all made it home alive (as far as I know), and no one pulled a gun on anybody else in the 6 hours or so of poker playing that we did. We played a variety of poker games, but the most popular (except with me, since I can not fathom the rules) is Omaha Hi-Lo. A terrible, terrible game that seems to cause mass confusion, but nevertheless my band of intrepid friends fell in love with it. By hour four of this marathon there were five of us left, and four of them called Omaha almost every time they dealt. It was a money game, and did I mention we are idiots? Idiots playing a money game that one of us did not understand at all, and the other four seemed to have only a loose grasp of the rules. It was great fun, and one fellow lost quiet a chunk of change because he became determined to win a hand of Omaha regardless. He finally did, about three hours into it, and managed to rake a pot of about 5 bucks. That 5 bucks would not even come close to making him even for the night. I usually just folded my Omaha hand, and waited until it was my deal to change the game to draw poker. A simple game, and one that I grew up playing (it is the game that Hawkeye Pierce helped teach me), I did quite well at it, and was able to win a tidy little sum. A good time was had by all (or at least by most), and sliding out of the door at 11 p.m. and landing on my ass was the icing on the idiot cake. Luckily I had enough beer in me that I was unable to feel too much of the pain from the slip. Only my dignity (what little I have) was injured. This little glimpse into my rock start like personal life is just a way of me saying that for today, January 30th, there is no hero of the day.

P.S. How cool is it that W.C. Fields' granddaughter posted a comment on my blog post about him. Or least someone claiming to be her. I guess my fame is spreading, and I should probably be careful that I do not libel anyone in the near future.