A Story About Larry Trask

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A Story About Larry Trask

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My man and me, we're what you would politely call "alcoholics." Last December, Larry was tending to go with the 3-liter wine boxes. Though he never accomplished it, we'd talk about whether he could do an entire box in one day. All three liters. We came up with a term for it, "the full tres".

I then wrote this shaggy dog joke to him. Most of the story is embellished or straight-up fabricated, but one part isn't, and that's what I'll address at the end:

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My man, you know, back in the day, he liked to go to Vegas. Nothin' suited him better, made him feel more like a man, feel more alive, than kickin' it around the Strip, playin' 21, checkin' out the cocktail waitresses, kickin' it at the floor lounge, just generally getting the most out of every moment.

One thing he always wanted to try, though, but never had the courage: Sit down in the card room. Well, he'd had a lovely morning (love a breakfast prime rib at the cafe!), was already "feeling good" by early afternoon, and decided, this was the day. Already at home base at the brewpub in the Monte Carlo, it was a quick walk over to the poker room. Fumbling for a C-note, he bought a rack of white and sat down.

The first two cards came. He peeked underneath, hands trembling slightly from the nerves. No, this couldn't be. This was the hand you got when you were already settled in and knew what you were doing. Rockets? On his FIRST HAND EVER? Normally that would be great news, but any time other than now, please.

"Sir?"

Panic. "I'll fold,", and the rockets blasted off into the muck. This was not working. He immediately got up and sulked, defeated, to the bar right outside the room, certainly a safe haven for those who had a rough time at the tables.

After a couple 7n7s, he said, this is silly. Screwing up his courage, he went back in, and was able to fill a new seat immediately. "Let's play some fuckin' cards," he thought to himself.

And play cards he did. What an afternoon, which bled into evening, which bled into night. By that point, he was the kling klang king of the rim ram room. Up five hundy by midnight, just like in the sacred texts.

The card room manager came over. "Havin' a pretty good day, eh?" You better believe it, pal. "Thanks for playing with us," and the manager handed him a slip of paper. One comp to the buffet.

Well, my man LT, being a man of exquisite tastes, was not accustomed to dining in the buffet. But on the other hand, that sounded like a good idea. He was, after all, a bit peckish after nearly eight straight hours in the command chair.

From station to station he went, taking full advantage of the gratis meal. Another slice of prime rib (two in a day, but it's Vegas), medium-rare please. Potatoes au gratin. A salad on the side (we're not animals, after all), a little fresh fruit. Fresh baked French bread, yes please. Beans? Why not. Grab it all, he'd need all the energy he could muster for the rest of the evening.

On his way to the table, he passed by the dessert station. He certainly took note of the delicious pies and cakes out on display, but particularly took note of the fetching lass manning ("babe-ing?") the station. His eyes flitted back and forth between the desserts and her perfect blue eyes. She must have caught him, because she coquettishly asked, "Don't you want some dessert?" He had some clever lines for that, but thought better of it -- one victory at a time. He looked down at his meal, looked back at her, and simply replied...

"Not right now, I've already got a FULL TRAY."
===========================================

Now, the joke is bad, and the setup to the punchline is completely made up, but the part about him getting AA on his first-ever hand of poker in a casino and getting so nervous that he folded and walked away is absolutely correct, sir.

So in answer to ICJ's question: There is no etiquette, you can get up and leave whenever you want.
In the yard, not too far from the car.

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Ice Cream Jonsey
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Re: A Story About Larry Trask

Post by Ice Cream Jonsey »

That's outstanding.

However!

If you sit down, get your ass kicked really bad (like say rockets on three straight hands) and just get up and leave is there snickering? Or is everyone else worth a damn like, yeah, been there.
the dark and gritty...Ice Cream Jonsey!

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Re: A Story About Larry Trask

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In my experience, nobody much cares about you.
In the yard, not too far from the car.

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AArdvark
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Re: A Story About Larry Trask

Post by AArdvark »

What are rockets?

I only watched Rounders once with the sound on

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Re: A Story About Larry Trask

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Two aces. The best possible hand.
In the yard, not too far from the car.

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