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Poker Story

Hammadown (Chapter 11)

By November 29, 2021December 1st, 20212 Comments

The return of Lizz Winstead! (You betcha!) We go 8 strong with players averaging 25+ years at the EBPG. Robin Henley and I drink wine that came recommended by the guy who sold it to her. Two royal flushes are faked in the same hand. Safe space, smafe space. And did someone mention Poodle vagina?
Dig it!

(Game Day: November 22, 2021)

“The Returnstead of Winstead”

Many years ago, at a poker table 45 blocks away, the incomparable Lizz Winstead would regularly join us for poker playing pleasure. And now, after many gestation periods of having better shit to do, the first lady of abortion has once again graced us with her ever-loving presence. But like the head cheerleader five weeks after prom night, she was late. More on that in a hot minute.

After repeated calls for a 7pm start, we shuffled up and dealt at an unusually close to prompt 7:20. Cockman was the first one to show up and the first to complain about having thrown out his back. That meant he wouldn’t be helping me retrieve the very heavy table from the basement. Freed, Hank, and Robin Henley came through the door next and guess which one of them was healthy and strong enough to help me go get the table? If you guessed “not Hank or Freed” you guessed right. Chivalry may not be dead, but it definitely has a bad back.

Robin brought a bottle of red from one of the several wine stores within a block of my crib. Turns out she buys wine the exact same way I do: “The guy at the store said it’s good.”
And ’twas.
Eddie and Joe were not far behind and we had our starting 7, minus Lady Lizz for the time being.

We played the usual first round of Dollar Bob (Omaha hi-lo) and I was very pleased to sweep the first large pot of the night. Unfortunately, winning hands of any significance would prove elusive to me for the rest of the evening. It doesn’t make the game any less fun, but it sure as fuck doesn’t help make it more fun.

Freed lost to Cockman in an early big-pot hand that went through all the rounds of betting and ended up with them revealing their hands thusly:

Freed: I have a straight to the…
Cockman: Flush.
Freed: Winner.

Fervent self-protector, Kyle Rittenmouse, came up in conversation and Mulligan spit out a joke his friend, comedian Jeffrey Joseph, wrote on Facebook after the verdict.

“Justice is blonde.”

Huge laugh from the entire table despite the fact that Vile Shitinmouth himself isn’t blonde.

Earlier in the evening, Lizz texted me that she had a “work thing” and might not be able to make it. I asked if she could come over after she was done and she said, “is 8:30 too late?”
Is 8:30 too late?!
It’s a poker game, not a fucking sleepover for 5-year-olds!
Precisely 23 minutes before her projected arrival, I got another text…

Lizz brought both.

One of the glorious aspects of the EBPG is that it’s a safe space for being unsafe. At one point, perhaps inspired by the nazi-like themes of any conversation involving the likes of Bile Rittenfuck, we came to the conclusion that there’s probably a steak house in Germany called “Himmler’s.” Somebody then felt free to add the obviously horrible slogan “Our steaks are Jewcy!” It’s a pretty nonsensical pun, but we all laughed. And then somebody else felt free to make an obviously inappropriate oven joke that we all agreed was, at the very least, too soon. I thought about writing it down anyway, but the joke was so distasteful it actually made my pen spit out its own ink.

There was one particularly memorable game of “Douche and Douche” (get dealt seven cards, pass 2 to your right and 2 to your left, get 2 from your right and left, pick your best 5, put them in order and reveal them as you bet.) Eddie and Hank ended up heads-up, both showing the exact same cards of a Royal Flush, not a totally inconceivable hand to get in this game. When it came time to declare, however, they both went low.
What whaaaaat?!

Neither of them even had a flush. They ended up both turning over a red jack for the Ace High Straight splitting the obviously not-big-pot. It was exciting though!

At one point, Charlie (the greatest little dog in the world) was up on the table giving Eddie a little too much lovin’. In other words, he was humping Eddie’s arm with such conviction that it caused us to come to the obvious conclusion that Eddie’s sweater had to be made out of at least 98% poodle vagina.
Nothing else made sense.
We all started filling in Eddie’s thoughts:
– “Why the hell did I wear my 98% poodle vagina sweater?!”
– “Well, at least now I know it’s real poodle vagina.”
– “Next time, we should all wear poodle vagina onesies and make it the best night of Charlie’s life!”

EDITOR’S NOTE: Dave Freed was the first one to say the word “Poodle,” so as I was jotting all this down, he turned to me and said, “give me credit.”
Done.
Of course, he was fucking around when he said it.
But, yeah… that Poodle Vagina bit was all Dave. (WINK!)

We often play a game called “Good, Bad and Ugly.” You deal two rows of five cards face down. The top row is “Good,” the bottom row is “Bad.” Each player then gets five down cards of their own. Those are “Ugly.” One card from the good and the bad rows are turned over for each round of betting. The good cards you get to use as part of your hand. But if you have any of the bad cards in your hand, you have to throw them away. Sometimes, you have two of the same cards that come up in the bad row and you have to throw them both away. That sucks. And it happens to Hank a lot. So, we call it “Getting Hanked.”
In one game of GBU, Hank “Got Hanked” twice!
First on the flop. This we call “Hankimmediamente!” (Or at least we do now.) He had to throw away a pair of 3’s.
Then, it happened again on the river and he had to throw away a pair of 2’s.

It was a very rare “Double Hanked,” or what our Spanish friends call “Doble Hank.”
Hank lost that hand.
#TrueStory

Outta nowhere…

Freed: He’s a bad mutha…
Me: Shut yo’ mouth!
Freed: I’m talkin’ ’bout JR
Me: Then I can dig it

Lizz was true to her hat and was somehow able to mention abortion at least once every thirty seven and a half minutes.

The photo is only blurry because we’re both so unfocusably beautiful.
(p.s. – If you need an abortion, Lizz knows a place.)

Joe: I gotta leave at 11
Whole table: Why wait?

I mean, if you’re gonna lob it in there like that, we’re all gonna take a swing.

Joe and Freed left early, but the rest of us played another half an hour during which Lizz unfortunately lost two big-pot hands including a monster Queen’s boat which was bested by Cockman’s more-monster Ace’s boat. An unfortunate way to end an otherwise triumphant return to the EBPG.

At the beginning of the night I announced that we should all definitely get a picture of the 8 of us. By the end of the night, roughly 8 of us were too high or too dumb or too both to remember to do that. But we did manage this slightly smaller gathering.

Ask me how I was able to somehow take the worst photo anyone in the photo has possibly ever taken and I’ll tell you: “Just lucky, I guess.”
But man-o-woman is it always nice to see these fine folks.

In closing, if you support the ongoing fight for reproductive rights, then please support Lizz and her merry band of badass feminists in their tireless fighting of the good fight through the physically and creatively unrelenting Abortion Access Front.
GIVE NOW or forever be a dick.

Peace!

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