Brokebank Moulton

Friday was suppossed to be my triumphant return to where I was first introduced to live poker. This is AC damnit, you know where this is. So I had gathered my crew of flunkies to be ready to roll over the Ben Franklin bridge to the soft seats in scumbag central. Atlantic City will never be Las Vegas simply because of the inablity to exercise the demons which lie mere blocks from its core. It would be like sticking Vegas in the middle of east St. Louis and wondering why the tycoons stay holed up in their hotels. Its great for the casinos who dont want them to leave, but it makes AC a resort destination for New York hoods and socialites alike that will never attract the type of residental boom that its more glamorous counterpart has shown in recent years. Irregardless of these truths, it was high time I paid a visit to the Taj Mahal poker room and got to take that long ride down the escalator to the poker room which was best captured in the movie Rounders.
I needed little convincing to get my buddies Nate, Crofton, and the Big Dog to go along for the ride, and we all agreed to meet at my parents place around 7PM for a hopeful 8PM departure. A former heads up conquest of mine and friend of my brother’s Shoeless Joe Jackass, who was described in an earlier tale, begged me to come along upon hearing about the excursion. Although it was no trouble to bring him, I made him agree to drive both ways and wear an outfit of my choice to ensure his inclusion and the dumb son of a bitch accepted my terms without negotiation. I would throw out an offer, he would accept without thinking, then I would tack on more terms until I couldnt reasonably think of anything else to force him to do. I ended up making him wear a horrendous flannel shirt, my loafers from fifth grade sunday school, and a hat that may have belonged to a member of a gay Run-DMC cover band. In addition to these sacrifices, he was to handle the driving duties and perform 20 starjumps at timing of my discretion.
Jackass got off a little easy, because I was so hungover from my thursday night sit down with Jack Daniels that I told him I would take care of the drive up and allowed him to partake in the fifth of rum and twelve beers that was split four ways.
This son of a bitch spat upon my kindness by whining about his pussy ass bladder moments into our voyage. Shit was like a small child who forgets to piss when you are at a rest stop so he cries to daddy until he gets his way. Rather than give in immediately to his urinary needs, I feigned disbelief and got him to claim that he could piss uninterupted for over a minute. Crofton sets the wheels of action in motion and got him to put up ten bucks that he could go for a minute and a half with no stops or stutters. Once the wager had been finalized, the wayward youth realized none of us had a stopwatch, a problem that was solved by an intoxicated yet inventive Nate. With the use of a timed cell phone call, we had jackass go inside of a stall at the rest area while myself and Crofton waited outside. We both felt awkward about the situation, particularly with the passerbys wondering what kind of faggot ass games we were playing as we listened intently just outside the enclosed kamode. There was some controversy regarding a potential stutter at the 1:15 mark, but when he stopped his flow at 1:32 we claimed he had made it to 1:30 exactly and that it was a push. In all fairness, it was sill quite a display of force.
We rolled into the Taj parking lot and made our way down the aforementioned mode of descalation. Jackass had taken out a 200 dollar cash advance on his maxed out credit card and went straight for the one two no limit game, while I scanned the limit offerings. I had brought about 220 bucks which constituted the entire amount I had budgeted for the rest of my east coast vacation and my impending trip to San Diego for New Years. That said, when I saw the 5/10 limit game I couldnt resist. Those are limits that are never played in vegas for no reason whatsoever, seems to make perfect sense to use red chips the whole way, but I had to sit when I saw it. My drunk associates took places at 2/4 games while I sat amongst these wannabe sharks. I cashed in for 150 and dropped a little early on before taking a big pot with two pair to go up 60. I missed every fucking draw while people caught up to me when I hit flops and whittled it down to forty bucks. I made a big score with KQ then hit top pair with J8 and had it hold up to take me all the way back to 180.
The whole fucking time I had a clear view of my buddy crofton at an adjacent table and there was no point at which the look on his face could be described without the modifier goofy-ass. Whenever hes out of a hand he has this goofy-ass look of concentration, and whenever hes in he has this goofy-ass look of fake confidence. Making him look even more the fool is the fact that he has a huge red bump over his nose from the mogul that dominated him earlier that morning. Everyone knows you dont have shit when you smile like a retard at the zoo, you goofy-ass bastard. Meanwhile, Im trying to play in a man’s game and I cant concentrate for shit with that staring me in the face at every turn. At least take the time to drink your fifth red bull and vodka between fucking up my chi. Maybe its unfair to blame Crofton for the tumult which ended with me missing a nut flush draw against four opponnents, but who the fuck else am I going to blame, myself?
Furious, I tore into the casino floor and found an open dice game. I cashed in for sixty and dropped it all within 5 rolls of the dice. We had only been there for about two hours and I was down to my last ten bucks. I fumed my way up to the snack stand where I purchased a quarter pound big bite hot dog that was quite clearly its weight after cooking not before. I daresay this mother fucker was a solid pound and they were just afraid to list its true force because it would scare off the uninspired. Well, listen up Dietz and Watson, Ill bury you cockaroaches, you think I fear your amalgamated pork shavings? I piled on the ketchup, relish, and onions, and I took it the fuck down. With renewed confidence I struted over to the video poker machines and lost the rest of my money. Fuck.
I then had the privledge of sitting in the poker room with absolutely nothing to do and dead sober as my friends were immersed in action. I didnt want to be “that guy” who told everyone it was time to go home because he busted out, but I couldnt have been angrier sitting there. I decided that I could take it for about two hours and told people I was looking to go at a little after two o clock in the AM. When two rolled around, Jackass was down about 86 bucks at no limit and feared rebuke from the good people at Visa cash advance. He decided to stay in Atlantic City in a desperate attempt to regain financial stability and take a train home rather than the free ride. Smart cookie that guy, hes going to go big places and not have to be supported by me and the rest of the taxpayers in the long term. After a small amount of prodding, Nate and the Big Dog also cashed out with the Big Dog being the big winner on the night. The only salvation I found in the cash out process was the fact that a drunk crofton had also gone bust both at the table and on the floor at blackjack. As he stumbled back into the poker room I stole one of Nate’s backlogged redbull vodkas to give to this goofy-ass bankrupt fuck. When I handed him the concoction I told him “Nate wanted you to have this”, and he immediately responded “Its about fucking time Nate”.
We stolled toward the parking lot and were completely unable to find our vehicle. Wandering around without guidance, crofton suggested that we check in this rickety alley that had like a chain link fence with empty boxes and a misplaced christmas tree behind it. The rest of us hesitated a moment, then followed him into our ambling judgement night. Walking up the steps we were greeted by a familiar red van and we all owed crofton an apology. As we turned to admit he had led us right we all had the same question “Where the fuck did crofton go?” We sat by the car for like ten minutes, then decided to drive around and try to find him. When that didnt work, we parked and tried to find him on foot. 20 minutes and the enlistment of two bicycle cops later we got a phone call from an enraged crofton on Joe Jackass’s cell phone claiming that he chased after our van as it left the premises. Being that we were still parked in the adjacent structure, we told him to shut the fuck up and walk his goofy ass back to the van. By around 3 in the AM we were finally able to head back towards the familiar confines of blue bell proper, all but the big dog poorer for the experience. Fuck Atlantic City.

Brokebank Moulton

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