Vegas Bachelor Party Timelion v. 6
What’s a Timelion? A Big cat with a clock? Yes it's a tall Flava Flav. I watched that dreck of a TV show Flavor of Love and discovered Flavor gets upset when his name is misspelled “F-l-a-v-a” because it’s Flavor. I find that more than odd. Anyway, a timelion is also kind of like a misspelling or a homophone of sorts. But only if I said “misspelling” and you thought of a skinny 90210 veteran with twin airbags stapled onto her chest under a face only daddy, Secretariat or a gold digger could love. And a timelion is like a homophone, if you hear homophone and think a bejeweled, bedazzled, pink, feathered phone whose ring tone is set to “Fabulous.” Scan down for the real answer it's in volume one.
Anyway, we left our tale with SuperBill’s trying to serve his tournament penalty for his 504th f bomb by doing a lap around the table instead of sitting out a lap of hands. Once he was corrected, what’s a SuperBill to do to kill time? The husband and wife “team” at the limit table are gone. And the poker room has filled up a bit. The answer is obviously badger the nearest celebrity. Sure enough, he spies Tony Parker, the world champion point guard of the San Antonio Spurs sitting at 1-2 table.
SB: Is that Tony Parker?
Floorman (Whose facing is saying “Oh god no”): Uh…. Tony Parker? (Not a good bluffer).
SB: Yeah that is Tony Parker, you know that basketball player.
Floorman is flumoxed--what to do? He thinks too long, SuperBill is already across the room and at the table.
SB: Tony good to meet you.
TP (who has just folded): Right.
Some vague pleasantries are exchanged.
SB: Can I ask you a question?
TP: O… kay.
SB: You think you are good at poker?
TP: I’m not bad.
SB: Not bad? Or good?
TP: I guess I’m good.
SB (emphasizing his drunkenness, he’s a cagey phuck): Well, I’d thrash you one on one.
TP (clearly a competitor and not the type to back down from a challenge): Oh…really.
SB: Yeah. Soon as I win that tournament I’ll come and clear you out.
TP (bemused like he’d be if I had just assured him I could dunk): Okay well, I’ll be here.
SB starts to walk back to the tournament. The floorman informs him he’s got 9 minutes left on
his penalty.
Ooops, bad news for Mr. Parker. Floorman strokes his moustache and walks to the cage.
SB: Hey guy.
TP : Yes.
SB: You know, actually, the true way to measure whose better is to play heads up.
TP (perhaps knowing that distraction is the best way to divert an infant, drunk or idiot): You know that’s my brother down there. He’s good too.
SB focuses in or a dude with thick sunglasses, huge bling from his neck, and based on his demeanor possessing slightly less patience then Tony.
SB: Hi Tony Parker’s brother. Annnnnnnyway, why don’t we play heads up. Me vs. you.
TP (falling for the drunken idiot act—maybe it was because SB’s sweat was 80 proof): I’ll play you but you got your tournament.
SB: Tell you what, we’ll play but you put up a $1000 and I’ll put up $500.
TP: So I put up double the money?
SB: Yeah, you are worth like 10 of me.
TP (In his head… “more like 100 of you” but still smiling and humoring): Oh that seems fair. I don’t think they’d do it but it’d be fun.
SB (to the floorman): You’d get us a dealer to play heads up.
Floorman who has been watching the conversation, probably with one hand on the security buzzer the entire time is still wearing a smile of amusement. Even SuperBill is wondering why everybody is being so friendly and agreeable. Internal recognition that he must be much drunker then he thinks he is. That realization is quickly stowed in the n-f’ing way department.
FM shrugs: I think we can make that happen.
TP clearly doesn’t like the answer: Um, um, well, you still got your tournament to play.
SB: I can tell you are scared. And I understand. I’d be frightened too. Just like you’d kill me in hoops I’ll kill you in poker. So why play me heads up? Because you’re not going to back down from the challenge. You’ll be able to tell your kids about this one day. But since you are having second doubts, I tell you what, if I win the tournament we’ll play.
TP (who at this point has shown the patience of a special ed teacher): Fine, you win the tournament we are going to play.
At this point, a tiny woman sits back down in her seat, she’s got the Unabomber look going and you totally wouldn’t notice her, except for the fact she’s gorgeous. Most women under the age of 40 and under 160 libs in a poker room are like an 8 or a 9 just by virtue of being… a woman… in a poker room. So when you put a real beauty in there it’s like being in the presence of Athena. Point being… Eva Longoria is not going to hide under a hoodie. SuperBill theorizes the average woman should prefer beauty to brains, because he can see easier than he can think. Tony got lucky, Eva's got both, brains and beauty.
SB looks at TP and raises his eyebrows a couple of times knowingly. And looks over at Tony's wife and back to him. He raises the eyebrows again and gets a smile.
SB: Well done. Well done.
Anyway, we left our tale with SuperBill’s trying to serve his tournament penalty for his 504th f bomb by doing a lap around the table instead of sitting out a lap of hands. Once he was corrected, what’s a SuperBill to do to kill time? The husband and wife “team” at the limit table are gone. And the poker room has filled up a bit. The answer is obviously badger the nearest celebrity. Sure enough, he spies Tony Parker, the world champion point guard of the San Antonio Spurs sitting at 1-2 table.
SB: Is that Tony Parker?
Floorman (Whose facing is saying “Oh god no”): Uh…. Tony Parker? (Not a good bluffer).
SB: Yeah that is Tony Parker, you know that basketball player.
Floorman is flumoxed--what to do? He thinks too long, SuperBill is already across the room and at the table.
SB: Tony good to meet you.
TP (who has just folded): Right.
Some vague pleasantries are exchanged.
SB: Can I ask you a question?
TP: O… kay.
SB: You think you are good at poker?
TP: I’m not bad.
SB: Not bad? Or good?
TP: I guess I’m good.
SB (emphasizing his drunkenness, he’s a cagey phuck): Well, I’d thrash you one on one.
TP (clearly a competitor and not the type to back down from a challenge): Oh…really.
SB: Yeah. Soon as I win that tournament I’ll come and clear you out.
TP (bemused like he’d be if I had just assured him I could dunk): Okay well, I’ll be here.
SB starts to walk back to the tournament. The floorman informs him he’s got 9 minutes left on
his penalty.
Ooops, bad news for Mr. Parker. Floorman strokes his moustache and walks to the cage.
SB: Hey guy.
TP : Yes.
SB: You know, actually, the true way to measure whose better is to play heads up.
TP (perhaps knowing that distraction is the best way to divert an infant, drunk or idiot): You know that’s my brother down there. He’s good too.
SB focuses in or a dude with thick sunglasses, huge bling from his neck, and based on his demeanor possessing slightly less patience then Tony.
SB: Hi Tony Parker’s brother. Annnnnnnyway, why don’t we play heads up. Me vs. you.
TP (falling for the drunken idiot act—maybe it was because SB’s sweat was 80 proof): I’ll play you but you got your tournament.
SB: Tell you what, we’ll play but you put up a $1000 and I’ll put up $500.
TP: So I put up double the money?
SB: Yeah, you are worth like 10 of me.
TP (In his head… “more like 100 of you” but still smiling and humoring): Oh that seems fair. I don’t think they’d do it but it’d be fun.
SB (to the floorman): You’d get us a dealer to play heads up.
Floorman who has been watching the conversation, probably with one hand on the security buzzer the entire time is still wearing a smile of amusement. Even SuperBill is wondering why everybody is being so friendly and agreeable. Internal recognition that he must be much drunker then he thinks he is. That realization is quickly stowed in the n-f’ing way department.
FM shrugs: I think we can make that happen.
TP clearly doesn’t like the answer: Um, um, well, you still got your tournament to play.
SB: I can tell you are scared. And I understand. I’d be frightened too. Just like you’d kill me in hoops I’ll kill you in poker. So why play me heads up? Because you’re not going to back down from the challenge. You’ll be able to tell your kids about this one day. But since you are having second doubts, I tell you what, if I win the tournament we’ll play.
TP (who at this point has shown the patience of a special ed teacher): Fine, you win the tournament we are going to play.
At this point, a tiny woman sits back down in her seat, she’s got the Unabomber look going and you totally wouldn’t notice her, except for the fact she’s gorgeous. Most women under the age of 40 and under 160 libs in a poker room are like an 8 or a 9 just by virtue of being… a woman… in a poker room. So when you put a real beauty in there it’s like being in the presence of Athena. Point being… Eva Longoria is not going to hide under a hoodie. SuperBill theorizes the average woman should prefer beauty to brains, because he can see easier than he can think. Tony got lucky, Eva's got both, brains and beauty.
SB looks at TP and raises his eyebrows a couple of times knowingly. And looks over at Tony's wife and back to him. He raises the eyebrows again and gets a smile.
SB: Well done. Well done.
Comments
He's also seen SadsackBill whining and crying like a schoolgirl.
My bankroll is a little light right now, so I'm not sure how many nights I'll be staying in Biloxi, but there's always a chance for a Pussy Put The Cap on revival. After one of us takes down one of these things I'm all about the cocktails.