Winner, Winner, chocolate Dinner

You ever get to the cashier at the CVS and put all your items in front of you to be scanned, but hide out with some little debbie snack shits up under your sweatshirt. Then after its all totaled and she asks for your money, you whip out the dessert cakes and sing “And the Swiss Cake Rollllllllls, AND THE SWISS CAKE ROLLLLLLLS, another love grows cold, pass the swiss cake rolls”. Then as you crack yourself up and she gives you a weird look you gather up your various microwavables and swagger back to your car. Well thats the kind of night it was last night, I put in a long day of tutoring and rewarded myself with a trip to the neighborhood drug dealer. After being dealt drugs, I reported back to my captains that the rooster was in the hen house, and we agreed to reconvene at my apartment right after I got the pizza. My buddy Scalley had some of his older brother’s friends in town who were jonesing, and along with them, my buddy Jon fresh off a stint at LA’s Commerce Casino, and my buddy Chewchiba who won a 7500 dollar poker hand last weekend, shit was gonna be quite a crew of wasted talent.
The first to enter were Scalley’s boys who looked like they had just played a doubleheader of keg softball. They were in town from philly, looking to party like it was 1989(their actual prime). Dudes were a great time, pounding bowls, letting loose with stories from their youth, generally just excited to be reintroduced to a pipe after a 36 hour abscence. There was some man talk comin from my corner about smoking these middleaged motherfuckers into a cancer ward, but I got put in my place in the end. Dude was loading up these huge bowls, and eventually my fragile lungs gave way to my tear ducts, leaving me helplessly seizuring in a pile near the couch. Im pretty sure every smoking contest I have ever entered has ended in this manner, but that wont stop me from issuing challenges. "You fucking tourists want to come into my town and talk a big game, your about to see how we do it in Sin City, rook. Rookie, Rookie, Rooooooooooooooooooooooookie. Seriously, meat, why dont you take your fucking dog and pony show up the road to Reno. Shit might play well in the sticks. Rookie. You know how I knew you were a rookie? I saw your 2006 Donruss card, shit might still have it in my album. It had big letters saying “Rated Rookie” under the shit, but when I looked closer I saw the word Over- penciled in up top. Now are you gonna hit this shit or are you just gonna stand there and stare at the stadium like a rube the first time you’re invited to the show?"
My favorite story of those that were drummed up was about a game we used to play as kids in Scalley’s basement in philly. We just called it “The Game”, and it was like hide and go seek on methamphedamines. Whoever was it would start at the top of the stairs with all the lights off. Everyone else would be hiding behind the sorted basement obstacles, loaded up with action figures and other projectiles. As our target descended, we would just fire hard plastic objects in the general direction of his head, trying not to be close enough to potentially be tagged for the duty next round. As you can imagine, some injuries were sustained. I remember Stoller being laid out on the cement floor for like ten minutes after getting nailed in the head with a golf ball. Im pretty sure he had a concussion, but we did not employ a moment of silence when we played literally the next day. “The Game” later evolved into something called either “Hostage” or “Wrong” where the person who was it was now blindfolded and everyone else could see in the well lit room. That permutation ended when someone got a compound fracture falling down the steps.
Chewchiba arrived with his buddy Bryce and we threw down for a couple hours while watching the UFC fight I had tivoed. Things kind of died out after the main event, and the representitives from the city of brotherly love bowed out to gamble up enough money for some hookers. I still hadnt heard from my buddy Jon, so I called him up to see what the hold up was. Turns out, he had entered a 162 dollar super tournament on Party Poker where first place paid 46 grand. There were only 12 people left and he was a slight chip leader, so we opened up the table to watch him play.
For like an hour and a half we watched him bully people around as we all discussed what we thought people were holding and whether he had made the right play. On one huge hand Johnny had clearly been bluffing and would have to go all in on the river to take down a pot worth a third of the chips in play, when it was checked to him, we were all screaming for him to throw in as he checked. Dude showed Ace 7 no pair flush draw against him, and he had to muck a 2 million chip pot because he was too big a pussy to bet. When they went to break, I called him up and berated him, the very beration which I believe led to what happened next. He took control of the fucking game, got it to heads up, and reraised a big raise with Ace Ten. Dude put him all in preflop which he called to see he was up against jacks. Ace and ten both come on the flop, and my boy is the massive chip leader looking to scoop 46 grand. Everything went as planned, and despite his repeated chop offers at various points in the tourney, he took down the big money. I called him and rather than discuss just told him to get his shit to my place, this was a celebration. We stayed up till like four am smoking bowls and eating swiss cake rolls. AND THE SWISS CAKE ROLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLS.

Winner, Winner, chocolate Dinner

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