Poker In The Front . . .

Yesterday was my brother's birthday. You all know him as Randal Graves, the wiseass who comments here from time to time. Last night, my sister-in-law held a poker party for said wiseass: no chicks allowed.

The fourteen of us - including Uncle Ray, my cousins Glenn, Craig, Tim, and Kevin, amongst others - put up $20 each, and we decided the top three would get some dough. Most of it would go to the overall winner, some to second place, and third place would get their $20 back. The game was set.

We split up everyone to fit on two tables - although my table was very tight, thanks to my Twinkie-filled ass - and started playing Texas Hold 'Em. One by one, the players lost their chips, and soon the tourney adjourned to one table. By an incredible circumstance, I was still alive, even after being down to a few chips.

The pizzas came, and then Randal's mother-in-law's chocolate covered pretzels, and in between Victory Stouts, I was winning a few hands. More competitors dropped out of contention. Still, I was in the game. What the hell was going on?

An hour or so later, there were only two of us left: me and Randal's friend Jeff. Jeff was a terrific player, and I figured that when I lost, at least I'd go home with some green. But an amazing thing happened; I was beating him! We went round and round for what seemed like forever: he would win a hand, then I would do the same. I looked at Jeff's chips, and noticed that he was almost empty.

I dealt the cards again, Jeff went all in, and we showed our cards early. We each had one pair, and were waiting for the show cards. They flipped one by one, and there I was, with a queen as well as the pair . . . and I had beaten him. I couldn't frakkin' believe it. I won! While I heard Randal and Uncle Ray calling me derogatory names in the back of my head, I stared at the chips in disbelief. Jeff shook my hand, and said, "Good game, man." And I smiled like an idiot.

A happy idiot.