Fat Lady Sings

Posted by wynn on Feb 24, 2010 in Bad Beats, Table Talk | 0 comments

We have all sat at the table with someone that is obnoxious.

Here is one of my stories:

I can generally find SOMETHING attractive in the opposite sex.

Eyes.

Lips.

Hell, even personality.

Well, there was a night when MotorCity had to close to let the City of Detroit run tests on the backup generators.

Some buddies of mine wanted to go play at Greektown. At this time of night, it would have been tough to find a game at MGM.

At that time, Greektown’s poker room was a dump.

I sit down in seat 9. In seat 6 is a large woman.

A very large woman.

Not to be rude, but she reminded me of Jabba the Hut.

She reeked.

The smell was a cocktail of body odor, cheap perfume, and even cheaper wine.

This player had a pocket-sized radio that she kept under her blouse, resting on her shoulder.

No earphones. Oh no. She had her crappy-ass music playing out loud. Blaring off her shoulder.

To make it worse, she was singing along.

It was so bad that she could not make the American Idol blooper reel.

Whenever she would win a pot, she would stand up and do this disgusting dance complete with pumping her hips like she is having sex with, well, Jabba the Hut.

I searched for something attractive or redeeming about this player.

I found nothing but vomit in my mouth.

The problem was I wanted to play. Poker.

About an hour into this emotional assault, she sucked out on me.

I got the song. And the dance.

I was determined to felt her.

Another hour passes and I get a hand.

K-K.

The flop comes A-K-10 rainbow.

She moves all-in.

I put her on two pair, maybe a straight.

I am good enough to fold a set of Kings with this kind of flop. But, my emotions took over. I figure if she has me beat, it is a sign from the Force to go home.

Fuck it. I call.

Before I knew what she had, the turn brought another 10.

She flopped a straight.

My Kings full was good and she was down to the felt.

I racked up and left.

Floor management apologized for having to deal with her and comped me breakfast.

For three days, I had players at MotorCity ask me about that hand and such.

It was the only way I could shut her up.

The game was over, but the fat lady was singing no more.