The Homegrown Game

Hanging out with a drug dealer other than to buy weed is like dating a girl from work. Your not sure if you should mix the two worlds, but sometimes you just throw caution to the wind. My main man who for anonimities sake we will call Baron Von Bubon has been hooking it up for about the past year. The Baron’s always real secretive, meeting in odd places, and always looking around all shifty eyed. But the shit was good, and he was usually well supplied, so I couldnt say shit to the motherfucker. I played secret agent and came away with the enemy plants every time. We barely exchanged more words than the meeting place until one day when he was wearing a UFC shirt and we got to talking. He ended up watching the fights at my buddy’s place for the most recent Liddell/Coiture, and shit called me up a week back to see if I wanted to play poker. Thing was, I was blacked out drunk halfway through a pubcrawl, so I couldnt make it happen.
This time when he called, I was ready to cash the fuck in. I followed him from my apartment to a seedy area of town where white men fear to tread. We met up with two of his buddies, one of which was a wallflower stoner that we’ll call the pigman and another of which was this aging wannabe russian gangster who we’ll call Teddy KFC cause he looked like he had eaten his share of value buckets. Teddy KFC disarmed himself as he entered the apartment flashing a handgun and some sort of knife which he placed on the counter. I was in no way afraid at this point. Once Bubon had loaded me up a one hitter of the sixty shit, my fears floated away and I was able to shoot the shit with my future advesaries. As Teddy KFC told the story of him finding a hoodlum slashing his tires then having to shoot the man in self defense, I was not afraid. I took another anti-reality inhale, and prepared myself for war. A few more dudes filed in, topping out at 7 strong including myself. There was our host BVB, Teddy KFC, the pigman, this black dude who kept talking about how we were keeping him from his bitches who Ill call Big Perm, a random asian kid who seemed out of place that we’ll call Micheal Chang after the equally out of place mediocore male tennis player, and finally this kid from new mexico that seemed to have less thoughts running around in his head than the average salamander, so we’ll call him the sub-salamander. Once we were all seated and properly sedated, the cards and blunts started flying.
I played uncharacteristically tight, only raising preflop with pocket jacks and ace queen suited, but both got cracked. I was down to about half a buy in when I had ace king clubs in the blind. I smooth called and got raised and called by the button and little blind. I went all in, and both Big Perm and sub-salamander called, showing ace nine and queen three respectively. My shit held up, I tripled up and I never looked back. I started bullying the fuck out of these chumps and talking shit the whole way. I was calling myself the executioner, dancing around when I put someone all in and acting all indignant going “why doesnt anyone want to dance with me, it feels like an eighth grade dance all over again. Lets throw some chips in the middle, whos dancin.” Then I would go back to my obnoxious moulton style dancin which is all hips and shimmys. Shit was wearin real thin, especially with me winning on a bunch of suspect draws. I just had the know dude, I had blunts bein passed back and forth and the kid couldnt be taken off his game. I made a huge call with a 10-8 straight draw to take out Micheal Chang and the Baron. Eventually got it down to just me and Teddy KFC.
The guy was fucking murder. He would take like literally 7 minutes to decide whether or not to call and he was soley responsible for taking what should have been a two hour tourney to about a four hour one. When we got to heads up, I had about a 6 to one chip lead, and I just wanted to put him all in. At heads up, the Baron announced he would be throwing in a hunting knife to the winner that he didnt have a use for anymore. I deadpanned, “What are we, throwing evidence in the pot now?” No one laughed, I wasnt afraid. I just started talking more shit to teddy, “Think about it this way, if the Baron hadn’t invited me, you would have won dude. Nothing wrong with second best.” It was really getting under his skin, and I had the dude call an all in of mine with 10-8 offsuit, when I was holding pocket threes. He hit, doubled up. I skimmed him back down until he called an all in I had with K-Q against my A-10 and he hit a king. Now we were close to even, and shit was time for men to be men. I looked down at a four duece offsuit and raised 420. Teddy considered and called, for what was a quarter of our chips. Flop came duece, five, six, two clubs and I pushed all in. Dude called with KQ clubs, and it was all over but the cryin. You should have heard this guy bitch, “I cant believe he beat me with twos”. I just laughed as I collected up the chips, and spoke to the group sayin “You guys should practice this when Im not here.”
I took my bounty of ten bucks a man for 60 bucks profit and divedend reinvested in the sticky green. Shit rolled out of his place laughing at my vanquished foes, and stumbled to my car. Thats when I realized that I was in a dubious locale carrying drugs and a mystery knife, and all of the sudden every car looked like a cop. The beater ford taurus cruising in the lefthand lane, fucking undercover dude. That station wagon parked outside the 24 hour pub, looks like a statey playin dead. You think my shit isnt on to you? I somehow avoided the multiple profilers and found the comfortable confines of my apartment. As I sat down to enjoy my proceeds, I wondered whether a trained Serbian could throw my new knife from my balcony into an oncoming russian holding a gun and a bucket of leg and thigh pieces.

The Homegrown Game

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