When I sit down to play poker, all I ask for is a quiet, peaceful session. I'm not interested in where you're from, or what you do for a living. If you mistakenly happen to ask me, I will ignore your question. If you persist, I will deliberately misinform and disinform.
So when the conversation last night turned to why I hadn't said a word in 4 hours, I finally broke my silence.
"I have a major worry."
"What?" they asked.
"I've accidentally swallowed some Scrabble tiles. My next crap could spell disaster."
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Table talk
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4 comments:
lmao. good 1 bro. which shelter?
I hate the yappers, just hate them.
That's a good one, Mr. S!
Poker is a social game, and I don't mind people talking, as long as it isn't excessive and it's on subjects of interest to me.
I mean, females talking about their body parts is the reason my blog exists.
What freaks me out is the guy who, as soon as you come to the table, introduces himself, asks your name and where you are from, and gives you his life story before you've seen a card.
Pretty damn particular for a homeless guy. You aren't getting like that other homeless poker player, are you?
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