Taking the Pineapple Express to Omaha for My Birthday

This goes back to my birthday earlier in the year, late April to be exact.  I’m always in Vegas for my birthday and I had extra reason to do so this year.  My dealer buddy Mike was having another birthday celebration that involved a wild poker game in the BSC poker room.  Mike’s birthday is the day before mine and he was celebrating his a day late, on my actual birthday. 

This meant that a lot of Mike’s pals would be playing some form of limit poker, getting extremely drunk and having a good time.  A lot of the players would be dealers, most of whom work at BSC, but there would be other friends of his too, including other BSC regulars, like me.  The first time I was invited to such a game it was just Crazy Pineapple and that story is told here.  The next time was also Crazy Pineapple and that story is told here and here.  And then we had a non-birthday event to celebrate, away from BSC, and that story was told here.  For that last time, a rotation of Crazy Pineapple, Omaha and an abomination of a game called “Reverse Hold’em”  was played.

For this game now, the game was going to be half Crazy Pineapple and half Omaha, 2/4 limit but with a half-kill.  Mike had to get special approval for the half-kill because kills and half-kills are normally verboten at BSC.  If I was still a limit player, I probably would have already done a post or two about how much I hate kill games, but for a crazy dealer’s game like this was going to be, I was fine with it.  I was less fine knowing that half the time we’d be playing Omaha (for my diatribe about Omaha, see here.) But I do like Crazy Pie and I also like playing wild limit games with my buddies and with crazy dealers.  I was hoping to win some money and get a blog post out of it, but I only accomplished one of my goals.  OK, I accomplished another one of my goals, which was to not have a finish to my birthday like the one I told about here.

The game was supposed to start at 6pm, and I had to work of course and managed to arrive only a little bit early.  To my surprise the game was already going, but the table wasn’t full.  The important thing is that Mike had already arrived and had already started drinking.  I dunno when he started drinking but he was already pretty hammered before I was even dealt my first card.

Mike had an unusual card protector that he was using.  It was a small figurine of a character from South Park, Randy Marsh.  Apparently in one episode Randy gave himself testicular cancer by putting his balls in the microwave so he would qualify for medicinal marijuana.  The figurine depicted Randy sitting on his huge balls that were basically as large as him.

Mike kept showing off hit figurine to everyone who came by, and asked all the girls to rub or lick his balls.  He meant the character’s balls. I think.

At one point, one of his co-workers, Susan came by to bring chips.  She was working, not playing.  She spent some time examining the figurine and walked past me.  I asked if she rubbed Mike’s balls.  “I licked them,” she said. O.K.

The table was 10 handed and originally I sat down in seat  9.  To my immediate left was none other than Adolf himself.

There was a floor person playing when I got there, actually higher than a floor person but not the poker room manager.  The dealer was Ginger, who clearly couldn’t wait to take an “early out” and start playing herself. This higher-than-a-floor-person told Ginger, as she was about to deal a hand, “Give me a hand please.  I want a hand.  I said give me a hand, not a hand-job.”

Ginger just laughed but thinking back to when I was in the corporate world, I couldn’t help thinking this was pretty blatant sexual harassment!  He could definitely have gotten into trouble for that comment if Ginger so desired.  It’s also possible that Ginger was relieved that he was demanding that she not give him a hand-job.

A few minutes after I got settled in, Prudence and Tom showed up.  Prudence took the last seat, on the other side of the table from me, and Tom helped open the second table.  Before long, they had actually had three tables going with a waitlist.  It was the third and final table that was the table that was considered “the fun table.”  It had the most drinking and the most wild, crazy players, led by Ginger.  Every time I looked over there, she was standing up and practically dancing at the table (tho she didn’t give anyone a lap dance that I saw). No more than 45 seconds ever went by without hearing raucous laughter from over there.  I suspect that if I had been playing at that table, this would be a much longer blog post.

My night started out dreadful, pokerwise.  I couldn’t win a hand at either game.  Seriously, I think I went about 2 hours before winning a pot.  Even at 2/4 that adds up.  It was almost that long before I even had a chance of winning.  I was usually out of the hand at the flop if I even got to it.  But against Mike, I flopped a gut-shot straight flush draw.  Mike bet out and I just called the flop and the turn, but on the river I hit my flush.  It was a low flush, but it was the first made hand I’d had all night so I bet out.  That put Mike in a quandary but he eventually called.  He had the flush too but his was 10-high and mine was 7-high (he also had the 6 I need for the straight flush)

By this time Mike was well beyond drunk and he was actually mad at me for betting out!  He was mad at me even tho he won the pot!  That was more than a little bewildering since I hadn’t won a pot yet and that looked like a good chance for one.  He was giving me a hard time, “You scared me, betting out there, and it was you…..”  By that he meant he knew I was a tight player and wasn’t likely to be betting there without a good hand, probably better than his 10-high flush.

At one point soon after the hand, he shouted to me, “I hate you Robert!”

This was the kind of game where you expect to take verbal abuse when you win a pot, that’s part of the deal.  But you aren’t really expecting to get shit thrown at you when you lose a hand, especially since it would have been the first hand I’d won since I sat down.

Finally, playing Omaha, I had Q-5-2-2.  I’ve still haven’t read “Omaha for Dummies” but I’m thinking that’s not a great starting hand.  However, I had been so card dead that I decided to play it anyway and see if I could hit a deuce (which probably wouldn’t have been good enough, I know—I was really hoping to flop quads).  The flop came Q-Q-5.  Not what I was going for but I’ll take it.  I knew there was a good chance that a boat wouldn’t hold up in this nutty game but at least I had a shot.  The only caller I got was Adolf, and I fully expected him to suck out me as he did in the post where he earned his pseudonym.  But the turn was the last Queen.  Now I had quad Queens and felt pretty good.  He called my turn bet and it didn’t matter what the river card was.

Adolf had his $4 in his hand waiting to call my river bet.  I faked putting it out a few times, and then finally bet.  As he called, I said,, “What, you don’t want to raise?”  No, he didn’t want to raise.  I showed my queen and he showed 2 Aces, so he did have the second nuts.  Since I now knew the point of this game was to give people shit for losing a hand, I started bitching about him not raising there.  He took exception to that, saying I should be grateful that he paid me off for my quads.

Then I realized that this was the first hand I’d won all night, and I said so.  “Finally won my first hand and it took quads to do it.”  No one gave me any sympathy.

I was already mad at Adolf because he had been straddling my big blind all nite.  At one point I said to him, “You keep straddling my big blind and you’re gonna be Adolf again.”  But that didn’t phase him, “Good, I want to be Adolf, again.”  Ya vol!

Then there was a hand of Crazy Pineapple that was quite annoying.  I had pocket 3’s and some other card so I called a preflop raise.  The flop missed me (10-6-x) so I should have been done with the hand.  But no one bet the flop, I got to see the turn card for free.  It was a 3.  Before I could bet it, Prudence bet.  I of course raised.  She was surprised but she called.  A 6 on the river paired the board and gave me a full house.  It was just the two of us now and Prudence checked, I bet, she called.

She flipped over 10-6 for 6’s full, a bigger boat than I had.  Damn, just the way my luck had been going that night.  But then I thought, “Some free card.  That free card cost me money!”

Then I thought some more.  Prudence had flopped two pair with her 10-6.  But the only reason I had turned the set was because no one bet the flop.  Why the hell didn’t she bet her two pair on the flop.  I yelled over to her, “Why the hell didn’t you bet the flop.  You had two pair.  You bet when you have nothing, but you don’t bet when you have two pair?”

She laughed and said, “Don’t give away my strategy!’  But she texted me to explain.  She was first to act, and she expected the preflop raiser, one of those wild, crazy dealers, to bet and she planned to check-raise.  But instead he checked and of course I checked with my underpair.  Grrr.

I should mention that Prudence has been staying on the wagon lately, and did so on this night.  Perhaps it was not a coincidence that she failed to mention any of her more intimate body parts or really say or do anything outrageous that I can report here.

One of the players at the “fun table” was a daytime cocktail waitress who works the poker room.  Now, only because it is actually relevant to the story will I point out that this waitress has large breasts.  A cocktail waitress with large breasts?  Who’d a thunk it?  Anyway, she was wearing a low cut top.  At one point she came over to our table to visit with Adolf.  I guess Adolf had just won a big pot and his chips were a mess, but he was now in another hand and so the waitress was leaning over behind him stacking his chips for him.

Did I mention she was leaning over?  Yeah.  Well it so happens that the guy who was in the hand with Adolf was right across from Adolf.  I believe he was getting quite the eyeful.  The waitress was not unaware of the view she was offering.  I heard her say, about Adolf’s opponent, “I’m distracting him with my breasts.”  I guess Adolf must be quite the tipper to get that kind of assist.

I finally got my revenge on Mike when I flopped a straight in Omaha and it held up against him.  A straight winning in Omaha?  OK, it was Broadway but even so, that’s a long shot.  Later, I saw Mike in the Men’s Room and he said, “I forgive you Robert.”  He was even drunker at that point than when he got mad at me for losing a hand to him.  It was pretty strange.

But not as strange as the comment he gave a male dealer who pushed him two or three big pots in a very short period of time.  Directly to the dealer, he yelled at the top of his lungs, “I want to butt-f*** you!”  The dealer said sure, he was good for that.  I think his response might have something to do with the size of the tips Mike was giving him.

No one came by to warn Mike about his language, although I’m pretty sure they could hear him at Paris.

I don’t mean the casino, Paris.  I mean the city in France.

Speaking of urination, which I wasn’t until now, one of the players, a regular player in the room, needed to go to the Men’s Room but was waiting for the button to come.  He was struggling waiting, however, and was pretty obstinate about waiting until the button was in the right position.  He was telling all of us just how badly he had to pee.  Just then, the waitress come by to take orders, which was pretty much the last thing he needed.  The player said to the waitress, who he knew well from playing in the room every night, “Can you pee for me?”

She thought about it a second and said, “Not standing up, I can’t.”

Heather, the star of this post here and many others, joined the table after we had been playing for a few hours.  She was drinking steadily and also mentioned that she need to pee.  She too did not want to leave the table, but in her case I think it was more do to her not wanting to miss any hand at all, not really worrying about where the button was.  At one point, as she was complaining about her situation—“I gotta pee so badly”—she took the half empty glass of whatever it was she was drinking and put it under the table, out of view, presumably between her legs.  I can report that she only had it down there a second or two, and there was not any more liquid in it than when she took it off the table.

At one point Heather warned Mike, who was saying the f-word as if he was getting paid to say it, to “Watch your f***ing language.”  And she wondered how Mike was going to be able to drive home.  Mike explained that he had gotten a room for the night.  His wife was already in the room, and in fact she had come down to say hello to us before Heather arrived.

Heather liked the idea that Mike’s wife was waiting in a hotel room for Mike.  “She’s waiting for you?  That’s nice.  Is she waiting there for you in lingerie—or maybe nothing?  And maybe some drinks?  Just two Jaeger bombs?  Jager bombs on her boobs? That’d be nice.”

It was getting late and I was getting tired of losing. And I had to work the next day, so I cashed out.  I think it was only then that I noticed that “Buzzedsaw” was at the other table (not the “fun table.”).  Buzzedsaw is an AVP’er and has the distinction of being the very first stranger to tell me he read my blog.  It actually happened the same night I met Prudence (see here).

This game took place right after the club I wrote about in my Slut Parade post (here) had opened.  There was some discussion on AVP about how the club had affected the MGM poker room (this was before they moved the poker room away from the club).  Buzzedsaw told a very interesting story, and thus I asked him if he could—you’ll pardon the expression—flesh out the details so I could include it in a future blog post. 

This appeared to be my chance so I hit him for details before I left.  It took place around 3:30 AM. The club had attracted a huge crowd (this was the first or second weekend it was open) and it was now breaking up. A guy came out of the club and there was this hot, sluttily dressed woman with him.  The guy sat at Buzzedsaw’s table to play some poker and the girl wanted to watch him play.  Instead of pulling up a seat behind him, she wanted to sit on his lap and the other players didn’t object.  And at some point, the guy gives the girl some kind of signal and she disappears to get more girls.  While she’s gone, another hot girl (also sluttily dressed—shocking, I know) shows up and she also sits on his lap for awhile.  But then she leaves too.

Soon thereafter the first girl comes back with five other girls.  They are of varying degrees of hotness (two were extremely hot, two were not really hot at all and one was smack-dab in the middle).  Somehow the girls were all “assigned” a player and each one of them stood behind one of the players at the game.  They were smiling at the guys and complimenting their muscles but they weren’t asking for anything.  Buzzedsaw didn’t think they were “pro’s”—just drunk.

The girl “assigned” to him was the one in the middle of the hotness scale.  After feeling his arms for awhile, she turned around and started massaging his shoulders with her ass.  Which was no doubt barely covered by an extremely short, extremely tight dress.  I’m pretty sure that the official massage girls that patrol the poker room don’t give massages like that.

I guess I need to start playing poker at 3 AM.

With that, another birthday with a wild poker game was over.