CHEATING AT A CHARITY POKER EVENT

My brother and I played ninety-eight Port Macquarie lads in a wonderful charity poker event a few months ago. The $100 entry fees all went to the trust, so we were playing for nothing more than pride. Good-hearted, piss-taking banter abounded. I’d been lipping-off incessantly about what a sensational player I am and how I’m called Cool Hand (my self-ascribed poker call-sign) for a reason.

Here’s what happened.

In Texas Hold ‘Em (the Cadillac of poker), you end up with five communal cards on the table and your two cards (called “hole” cards). You then make the best hand, with any combination of the seven.

The communal cards were K 9 K Q Q. When those last two cards came out the Port Macquarie lads immediately yelled “TWO SYDNEY BOYS.”

My two hole cards were Jacks, which were great at the start of the hand, but by the end, being lower than the KKQQ communal cards, were not going to win.

Matty the doctor, had committed a big chunk of his chips. Johnny the plumber, Phillip the lawyer and myself, had already gone “all-in”, meaning we had bet every chip we had. The pot was MASSIVE.

The doctor turned over his hole cards. Ace, 4.

Damn. His Ace, plus the KKQQ, was the winner, assuming nobody had another K or Q in their hands. I readied myself to chuck in my losing cards and head to the bar.

The plumber flipped his pair of 7’s with a loud cheer, incorrectly thinking he had beaten the doctor’s Ace.

Lawyer (yelling loudly) – “READ ‘EM AND WEEP JOHNNY.” He proudly flips a pair of 8’s, thinking he had just pipped the plumber’s 7’s, out of this enormous pot.

I was ready to say “sorry lads, but Matty has knocked us all out.”

It didn’t come out that way.

Me – “YOU CAN BE THE BEST PLAYER IN ALL OF PORT MACQUARIE, AND THAT WON’T EVEN MAKE YOU THE BEST PLAYER AT THIS TABLE BOYS! DOCTOR’S ACE, PLUMBER’S SEVENS OR LAWYER’S EIGHTS, NOT ENOUGH AROUND HERE. THERE’S A HORNSWOOD MAN AT THE TABLE!” I flipped my (losing) Jacks.

I held my breath.

They all groaned.

Me – “Bar’s over there boys! You put up a much better show than I was expecting. You play just like we do in Sydney… but less hard… with not as much skill… or insight… with a slightly feminine twist”.

They hurled all sorts of light-hearted abuse at me and left the table.

About an hour later, I had been knocked out and we were standing around having beers.

Lawyer – “F#ck Cool Hand, you knocked me and Johnny out in one hand.”

Me – (with a smile) “Don’t feel bad Phil… I cheated.”

Doctor – “Wait… What?”

Plumber – “Cheated???”

Even my brother had a look of astonishment.

Me – “Had no choice. I was looking at an early exit.”

Oracle (my brother’s self-ascribed poker call-sign) – “And the next hand you used those ill-gotten chips to knock me out mother-f#cker.”

Me – “It’s the age old question fellas. If somebody cheated in a charity poker event, and nobody caught him, did he actually cheat?” I gave a nonchalant, what can you do shrug.

Oracle – “YES YOU CHEATED!”

Me – “Hang about, let’s not use the word cheat, let’s go with… bamboozle. Oracle, some of these boys are fairly new to the game, but by you not catching me on the bamboozle, you’re an enabler! On some level, I’m the real victim here, my reputation could have been sullied.”

They stared at me, dumbfounded.

Me – “I just saw an opportunity you guys were offering, to bamboozle, and took it. You were all so excited about 7’s being beaten by 8’s, that I knew you’d be totally thrown by my Jacks. I expected Oracle to loudly out me as a cheat, but he was chatting and missed it.”

I sipped my beer.

Me – “The bamboozlement was not premeditated, but once done, I had to cover my tracks. You must be brazen when collecting chips you haven’t won, or people may intercede. You put your illicit booty just to the side of your proper chip stack, so if you get caught bamboozling you just act embarrassed and slide them back into the centre. Once you’ve bamboozled, you quickly rake in all the cards, so even if somebody is unsure, the moment’s passed.”

Plumber – “Are all North-Shore blokes dodgy?”

Me – “Aaaah, you know… it feels good to come clean. It was getting me down, being a charity event and all. Like a pasta-engorged Mafia boss confessing to a donation-loving priest, it’s like it never happened. Let’s not forget lads, we’re all here for a common cause! We’re all here for the right reason! We’re all here to make a difference! We’re all here raising money for bowel cancer! AM I RIGHT BOYS?”

Plumber – “Prostate cancer.”

Me – “Oh, whatever. Whose shout?”

 

Thanks for reading my blog, where I put my heart and soul down in words, for you!

What’s new? I love my Sea Eagles, but Manly make it EXTREMELY difficult to be loyal.

Like a noble, armour-clad knight astride a powerful war-steed, in dogged pursuit of my elusive dream to one day make a living as a writer/blogger, I’ve started writing emails for small businesses, to entertain and entice their customers.

Imagine “Hornswood Pool Shop”, who if they exist are probably spamming customers a few times a year. When it comes to catchy writing that people will actually read, Hornswood Pool Shop are good at… pools.

Perfect pH, but their communications though accurate and informative… are also boring and sadly perish, unloved and unopened.

But thanks to me, their campaigns can be worshiped by the people!

Opened. Read! Cherished!! Held aloft, like the Life of Brian shoe or that chubby little Lion King.

At the moment I’m… low-tariff, because I’m just starting (despite often nearly doubling industry open-rates). Know any businesses who could benefit from having wonder and awe sent out to their database? You’ll allow me to continue claiming at parties much to my wife’s chagrin, that I am in fact, a writer.

If you could Like or Share, to help me become famous, would be wonderful. Twitter? https://twitter.com/writehandman99

Cheers.

SOME LAWYERS ARE TOSSERS

Every third person on the Upper and Lower North Shore, has a law degree. They’re my people, so I’m not anti-lawyer. However…

After a thousand beers, I was busting at a Hornswood Christmas party. There were four people in the toilet cue, so I discreetly headed to the backyard (I know, I know, it’s uncivilised, but my wife had already left, so I had no etiquette compass).

On my way I heard two cigar-smoking guys on chairs in the backyard, mention NRL, so I got sidetracked. I shook the hand of the first guy, Jack Townsend. I went to do the same with the big guy. He put his hand forward, patronisingly limply.

Me – (with a friendly smile) “Jeez mate, your hand’s so flaccid I thought you wanted me to kiss it!”

Jack laughed. Old limp-hand, not so much.

Old limp-hand – “Oh how terribly droll. I am Thomas Davies the third, SC.”

Me – “SC?” I pondered. “You’re not… Santa Claus?” I jokingly pointed at his large gut. “I’m Jase Gram… TCEB.”

Old limp-hand/Thomas Davies III – “SC… Senior Council.”

I realised Thomas Davies III wasn’t taking the piss. That’s actually the way he introduced himself.

Thomas Davies III – “To what does TCEB refer?”

I felt a little inadequate.

Me – “Oh… I thought we were just mucking around. It stands for The… The Clint Eastwood of Bloggers.”

That made him laugh. At me!

Me – “Thomas Davies the third. I know that name.”

Thomas Davies III – “A lot of people do.”

Me – “Weren’t you the rich old guy on Gilligan’s Island?”

Got him.

No laughter.

Me – “Is that a Pommy accent I hear Thommo? You-”

Thomas Davies III (interjecting) – “No, I am just educated. It’s Thomas, in point of fact!”

Me – “Did I hear you lads mention NRL?” The hostility was getting me down.

Thomas Davies III – “I would only mention the NRL if I was in court defending one of their players.” He looked at my drink. “Why am I not surprised you put Coca Cola in your whiskey?” They smiled at each other rudely.

Me – “It’s rum, in point of fact!”

Got him again.

Thomas Davies III – “Do not take this the wrong way, however I have little desire to talk with you.”

Me – “Hmmm, how many ways can I take that?”

Thomas Davies III – “I just don’t think either of us will gain anything, from us having a colloquy.”

Me – “A what?”

Thomas Davies III – “A conversation.” Damn, he was smart.

I was desperate to urinate and he wanted me to leave, but I did not want to give him the satisfaction.

Thomas Davies III – “You simply will not be able to contribute on our topic?”

Me – “Oh yeah? Upon what topic are you palavering?”

Got him a third time. I’ll see your colloquy and raise you one palaver!

Thomas Davies III – “The law.”

Bummer

Me – “The law it is then, Thomas Davies…” I deliberately left off “the third”.

Thomas Davies III – “Unless you are a lawyer… you… wont… understand. Are you?”

Me – “Well… no I’m not, but you didn’t know that.”

Thomas Davies III – “You don’t look like a lawyer.”

Me – “I’ll take that as a compliment!”

Thomas Davies III – “It wasn’t meant as one.”

Me – “Too late! I have taken it.”

Got him once again.

My bladder was about to explode, but I wasn’t budging.

Thomas Davies III – “You’re a blogger. How cute. To the housewives about cooking or makeup? Obviously not clothes.” He sure knew how to hurt.

He pulled out a pocket watch and checked the time.

Me – “So bloggers can’t be intellectual hey? Tell that to Richard Van Der Sande.” Fake name.

Thomas Davies III – “Who?”

Me (to Jack Townsend, I pointed my thumb sideways at Thomas and said dismissively) – This guy.”

Got him. It had become easy.

Me – “It’s been wonderful Law Dogs, but I have to urinate.”

Thomas Davies III – “Charming.”

Me (as I walked towards the back fence) – “You the urine police? WHO WEARS A THREE-PIECE SUIT TO A PARTY ANYWAY?” I gave him the bird over my shoulder.

Thomas Davies III – “IN A SUIT IS HOW I AM MOST COMFORTABLE.” Man, he had an answer for everything.

I had never been in my mate’s yard before. In the darkness I didn’t notice it dropped away at a 45 degree angle. I stepped out and in a shower of rum and Coke plummeted into the abyss. I tore all the muscles on the top of my left foot (which was to take about a year to repair) and was rolling around in absolute agony. I couldn’t walk.

Me – “FELLAS! HELP!” Silence.

Me – “JACK! THOMMO? BE THE FIRST TO HELP A POTENTIAL LITIGANT?” Further silence.

I was hobbled. I had to swallow my pride.

Me – “THOMAS DAVIES THE THIRD?”

Thomas Davies III – “Yeeees?”

Finally they came down and helped carry me back towards the house.

Me – “Either of you know a GOOD lawyer?”

I was in intense pain and had drink all over my shirt.

Me – “Lads… I still have to piss.”

 

Thanks for reading my blog, where I put my heart and soul down in words, for you!

What’s new? I love my Sea Eagles, but Manly make it EXTREMELY difficult to be loyal.

Like a noble, armour-clad knight astride a powerful war-steed, in dogged pursuit of my elusive dream to one day make a living as a writer/blogger, I’ve started writing emails for small businesses, to entertain and entice their customers.

Imagine “Hornswood Pool Shop”, who if they exist are probably spamming customers a few times a year. When it comes to catchy writing that people will actually read, Hornswood Pool Shop are good at… pools.

Perfect pH, but their communications though accurate and informative… are also boring and sadly perish, unloved and unopened.

But thanks to me, their campaigns can be worshiped by the people!

Opened. Read! Cherished!! Held aloft, like the Life of Brian shoe or that chubby little Lion King.

At the moment I’m… low-tariff, because I’m just starting (despite often nearly doubling industry open-rates). Know any businesses who could benefit from having wonder and awe sent out to their database? You’ll allow me to continue claiming at parties much to my wife’s chagrin, that I am in fact, a writer.

If you could Like or Share, to help me become famous, would be wonderful. Twitter? https://twitter.com/writehandman99

Cheers.

A VEGETARIAN FRACAS

A few weeks ago, thanks to the generosity of some great friends, we were staying in a fancy ski lodge. I had a run-in with six 100% vegetarians in the café underneath.

My wife had already had dinner, so she went upstairs, while I waited for mine.  On the next table sat three ridiculously good-looking couples with perfect clothes, skin, hair and teeth (it was like a table full of Osmonds). They all ordered gluten-free.

Not them, but you get the idea.

The vegetarians had been drinking, were laughing loudly and yelling. I suspected they were wealthy Eastern Suburbs preppies, they weren’t down-to-earth like Upper and Lower North Shore folks.

Me (walking over to their table) – “Howdy Chad’ster (I’d met Chad in the lobby). It’s good to meet fellow vegetarians! You’re ALL gluten intolerant?”

Chad’s wife (I didn’t get any of their names) – The six choose no gluten.”

I burst out laughing. I stifled it immediately upon realising she wasn’t joking.

Chad’s wife – You’re a vegetarian?” She seemed surprised.

Me – “Hells to the yeah! I must admit, though it seems a lifetime ago now, I only came into the light fairly recently.”

Chad’s little mate – “I can’t even look at killers of innocent animals, eating carcinogenic meat. The smell makes me want to puke. Don’t let me get started on the ecological footprint! They’ll all die early, and rightly so.”

Me (not quite knowing what to say) – “I had a vegetarian frittata for lunch.” I smiled proudly.

Chad’s wife – “If it had a face, or if it had a mummy, it won’t end up…”

All the vegetarians answered loudly – “IN OUR TUMMY.”

I was taken by surprise and reeled back slightly.

Me – “Vegetarianism purges my body of past dietary sins. And God knows I’ve committed more than most!” I patted Chad on the back.

My food arrived, so I returned to my table.

Ten minutes later I could hear hushed voices coming from the vegetarians. I flashed a look at them and they were all giving me the old stink eye!

Waiting a few moments, pretending I was reaching for the salt, I snuck another look and there were six great-looking, Eastern Suburbs vegetarians, glaring daggers at me! What had I done?

I heard Chad’s wife’s raised voice, “WELL I’M GOING TO SAY SOMETHING IF YOU WON’T.”

After a few minutes I got a tap on the shoulder. It was Chad with a weird look on his face.

Chad – “Jase, you told us how wonderful it is to be a vegetarian.” He slurred his words a little.

Me – “Yeah mate. Wonderful.”

Chad (pointing at my dinner) – “You’re eating a meat pie.”

I heard Chad’s wife call out “It’s disgusting… HE’S disgusting”.

Me – “What? Oh.” With a friendly chuckle. “I am a vegetarian Chad’ster, but not in the traditional sense. I do eat meat every day.”

I sipped my beer.

Me – “But Chad’ster, I’ve had meat for lunch and dinner, every day of my life. But, now I only have meant ONCE a day. It’s literally a 50% drop in my meat intake. In fact if you include my breakfast of vegemite toast, I’m actually 70/30 vegetarian.” I smiled.

Chad – “Meat every day?”

Me – “ONCE a day only Chad’ster. 70/30, so I’m just rounding up.” I smiled warmly.

Chad – “You cannot call yourself a vegetarian! The six are vegetarians. YOU’RE NOT.”

Me – “You call yourselves the six? Chad’ster I’m… predominantly vegetarian, so surely I should be able to use the cool title.”

Chad – “You’re having meat every day for crying out loud.”

Me – “Of course it’s hard for me to be considered a vegetarian when compared to you purists, you hundred percenters, but surely there are different levels. Anyway, it’s your vegetarians fault, for not having a term that describes somebody who is… pretty much, vegetarian.”

Chad – “YOU’D BETTER STOP.”

I was taken aback by his aggression. I cut off a huge piece of pie, mouthed to Chad “I’m a vegetarian” and defensively shoved it in my mouth. It was really hot.

Me – “Looook Chad’ster, I’m on holiday with my family. I don’t want any trouble. I’ve become 70% since Sunday, but what if, in the spirit of compromise, I don’t call myself vegetarian until I’m say… 80/20?” Chad shook his head.

Me – “How about this, what if I call myself… a Meagan? A meat eating vegetarian.”

Chad – “YOU’VE BEEN OFF MEAT SINCE SUNDAY??? TODAY’S ONLY THURSDAY!!! WHAT SORT OF MAN ARE YOU?”

Me (sensing Chad’s dissatisfaction I quickly racked my brain) – “How about a vegemeatagain?”

Chad gave me a look that said, God I hope the bottom falls out of your share portfolio. All the vegetarians stood up to leave, just as my lovely wife arrived.

Chad’s wife (she stopped and staggered a little at my table) – “We all think what you’re doing is a HORRIBLE… loser.” On they walked.

Me – (speaking to my wife, loudly so the vegetarians could still hear from the door) – “I SHOULD HAVE GONE VEGETARIAN AGES AGO DARLING! IT’S BLOODY EASY!! I MAY NOT BE A HUNDRED PERCENTER, BUT THE COW IN THIS PIE CERTAINLY WAS!!” I rammed some more pie in my mouth.

My wife looked incredulous.

Me – “Not my fault! The six are vegetarians who won’t let me call myself one!”

My wife – “I was gone ten minutes!”

 

Thanks for reading my blog, where I put my heart and soul down in words, for you!

What’s new? I love my Sea Eagles, but Manly make it EXTREMELY difficult to be loyal.

Like a noble, armour-clad knight astride a powerful war-steed, in dogged pursuit of my elusive dream to one day make a living as a writer/blogger, I’ve started writing emails for small businesses, to entertain and entice their customers.

Imagine “Hornswood Pool Shop”, who if they exist are probably spamming customers a few times a year. When it comes to catchy writing that people will actually read, Hornswood Pool Shop are good at… pools.

Perfect pH, but their communications though accurate and informative… are also boring and sadly perish, unloved and unopened.

But thanks to me, their campaigns can be worshiped by the people!

Opened. Read! Cherished!! Held aloft, like the Life of Brian shoe or that chubby little Lion King.

At the moment I’m… low-tariff, because I’m just starting (despite often nearly doubling industry open-rates). Know any businesses who could benefit from having wonder and awe sent out to their database? You’ll allow me to continue claiming at parties much to my wife’s chagrin, that I am in fact, a writer.

If you could Like or Share, to help me become famous, would be wonderful. Twitter? https://twitter.com/writehandman99

Cheers.