"Boobs is a Genre?"

This post has some poker and some sleaze.

Probably more sleaze than poker.

The sleaze involves men behaving badly.  Actually, there are also some women behaving badly.

We go back to the beginning of my birthday trip, a Saturday.  As usual, I played in the Saturday Deepstack at Binion’s.  It was an unusual tournament run.  I never had a lot of chips and struggled for hours to stay afloat.  Despite never having a decent stack, I managed to play over 7 hours and made it down to the final two tables.  I busted out around 18^th and they were only paying 11.  And until the last hand, I was never all-in with a risk of busting out.  Weird.

The dealer who busted me was the effervescent Denise (see here).  When she came to the table, it was the first time I’d seen her this day, and I was barely there for 5 minutes when she dealt me the busto hand.  I said to her, “You know, whenever you’re dealing, you bust me out.  Whenever you’re playing, I bust you out.”  She laughed and agreed that this was usually the case.

Before that, Joshua dealt me quads.  I had three-bet with pocket Queens.  The original raiser shoved, he was short stacked (so was I, but not as short as him).  I snap-called. He tabled Ace-8 suited.  There was a Queen in the window and by the turn, his chance of a flush was non-existent.  For good measure, the river was the case Queen.  Now the dealer, Joshua (who I don’t recall ever seeing before) had been at the table long enough to have seen me taking notes.  So he said, “Be sure to write down in your book that Joshua dealt you quads.”  He even grabbed his name tag and thrusted it forward so I could see it better.  And yes, Joshua was the actual name on his tag. 

When we got down to two tables, there was a guy with a huge stack who was playing very conservatively, not taking advantage of his ability to bully the table at all. A few of the other players were teasing him about his lack of aggression.  One player referred to him—in good cheer, it seemed—as a “pussy.”  Other players at this all male table would refer to other players—or even themselves—as pussies.  At one point, the guy throwing the p-word around said, “You should go to Target.  They’re having a sale on skirts.”

But somehow, for a time anyway, this gentle ribbing seemed to be bothering a couple of the boys.  To diffuse the situation the guy who had made the Target joke said, when he folded to a raise, “I guess I need to go to Target.  I’m a pussy.”  Then he added, “My wife always says, ‘you are what you eat.”

It turned out, this guy’s wife was nearby, observing.  Not sure if she had busted out of the tournament earlier or if she was there watching the whole day.  But she heard her husband “quote” her and came over to say, “Who’s your wife?”  The guy responded, “Is that like, ‘Who’s your Daddy?”  By the way, this couple was in their 50’s if not older.

The last hand, courtesy of Denise, was Ace-King of hearts.  I shoved and the big stack with pocket Queens called.  One queen and one heart hit the flop.  A second heart hit the turn.  A third heart did not hit the river, and I was done.

I headed over to MGM where I was sent to a table where Abe was playing and Mike was dealing.  Of course I had to say something about that.  “Geez, they put me with you guys?”

Well, this was a Slut Parade night and since it was late, the crowd was already starting to gather.  And the table they sent me to was right in the front, and the 1-Seat right next to the dealer was available.  This is the very best seat in the poker room if you wish to view the fine young ladies who are headed to the club.  By sheer coincidence, I frequently end up in this seat or a seat like it.  Mike always comments on this.  This time he saw I had no choice but to take the proper seat.  “How do you always end up in the right seat?  You don’t even try!”

Mike was voted “Dealer most likely to deal Rob Pocket Kings” (and crack them), so on the second hand he dealt me, there they were.  I raised and no one called.  Before I returned the cards to him, I had to show them to Mike.  “And you didn’t crack ‘em, either.”  He was amazed and of course Abe said, “Well, now I know what you had!”

The next dealer was Brent and I’m afraid the level of maturity immediately dropped to Junior High School level.  As I explained in this post here, Abe favors one particular type of woman—those of Asian background. And Brent is always eager to tip Abe off whenever an attractive Asian woman passes by.  You may recall that, on that New Year’s Eve night, Brent had used the term “genre” instead of “ethnicity” to describe Abe’s preferred type.  Every since then, the word “genre” is all we ever use.  So whenever such a woman (or a group of women) is in sight, Brent or I will say to Abe, “Psst, your genre.”

When Brent saw Abe at the table, he said that he had been looking for him a little while ago.  He said there was a whole “gaggle” of his genre walking right past the poker room.  Abe was disappointed he missed them.

Abe had a bad seat, he was facing me and Brent, and thus had his back to the parade.  But Brent was of course good about informing him whenever representatives of his genre were coming into view.  It was a good night for genre-watching.  No, actually, it was a great night. 

Not only were there plenty of ladies in Abe’s preferred genre, there were plenty of really attractive girls of all types, all builds, all backgrounds.  The one thing they all had in common was that they were all wearing pretty much the minimal amount of clothing they could wear without getting arrested.

I guess another thing they all had in common was that they all had breasts—of varying sizes, of course.  Some of those breasts were quite generously exposed.  From where I was sitting, I could see a lot of semi-bare boobage. 

At one point, a woman with a rather spectacular figure walked by, with a particularly low-cut dress. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out “Holy shit!” loud enough for everyone at our table to hear.

Brent said, “Oh yeah….that’s your genre.”

To which Abe responded, “Boobs is a genre?”

And I replied, “Damn right it is.”

This went on pretty much for all of Brent’s down. Brent would dutifully inform either Abe or myself if our genre was passing by. I don’t remember if we actually played any poker.

But when Brent was pushed out, and while he was waiting to push into to his next table, which was right next to ours, a large group of girls walked by that caught the attention of all of us.

There were about 10 of them, all representing Abe’s genre quite well.  But there was also tons of extremely impressive cleavage on display too.  Brent had time to come back to our table and say, “Wow, that covered all the bases, didn’t it?”  We agreed.  It was the mother lode.

Troy (see here) came to the table to deal.  He promised to alert Abe whenever his genre passed by.

Somehow, despite all the distractions, I managed to get up over $80 at this point without any huge, blog-worthy hands.  Then Troy dealt me 10-9 offsuit on the button.  There were a couple of limpers.  I decided to raise, which is not something I’d normally with a hand like that.  I made it $12.  Only the guy to my left called. The flop was 10-10-x, the x being low.  There were two hearts, and as usual, I was heartless.  I bet $20.  The other guy made it $70, which was about half of his stack.

Hmm.  Did he have a bigger 10 than me?  Or did he have a pocket pair of whatever that “x” was and had thus flopped a boat?  Despite this guy’s ethnicity, which I’ll leave it to the reader to guess, he was not an aggro at all. Still, I didn’t really consider folding there.  My options were call or raise.  I took my time and couldn’t figure out any advantage in just calling, so I said, “all in.” 

I assumed he’d call, because with half of his stack already in, he was committed.  But no, he took a long time to decide.  Finally, after I was getting the idea that he would fold, he called.

There was another heart on the board by the time the river was out there, but when he saw my 10, the guy just said, “You’re good,” and mucked his cards.  So I don’t know what he had.  An overpair (that he didn’t re-raise with preflop)?  A worse 10 than me?  Whatever, it was a very nice pot to collect.

I whispered to Troy, “I don’t understand what took him so long to call, he’d already put in half his stack.”  And he said to me, “I don’t understand why it took you so long to shove.”  I explained I was deciding between calling and shoving.

Then I said to Troy, who always called me “The Rock” back in my 2/4 limit days, “Did you ever think you’d see me raise with 10-9 off?”  He nodded and then said, “And who was it who told you that you should switch from 2/4 to No Limit?”  I said, “Well a lot of people.  But you were definitely one of them.”

He said, “Aren’t you glad you switched?”  I said, “Well I am now.  But next time I get my Kings cracked, not so much.”

I left not long after that with over $200 more than I came in with. 

Of course, I spent some time “people watching.”  You can probably guess the nature of the people I was watching.  At one point I was sitting by a slot machine looking out at all the people coming and going.  I noticed a few girls who had stopped right in front of me.  One of the girls had some kind of issue with her shoes.  I see this a lot.  The girls have trouble with the extreme high heels on their shoes.  Considering how much trouble they seem to have walking in them (even when they’re sober), I can’t imagine how they’re able to dance in them, assuming they are.  You often see girls walking around barefoot, shoes in hand.  The later it gets, the higher the percentage of girls that can be seen using their shoes as gloves.

Anyway, this one girl was bent over fussing with her friend’s shoes.  At one point, the shoe came completely off, and then they were trying to get it back on.  Both of these girls had on extremely short dresses, of course.  So at one point, the girl who was trying to get her shoe back on fell backwards, landed flat on her butt, feet in the air.

Of course the girl’s ridiculously short dress rode up, and even though I didn’t want to, I couldn’t help notice something turquoise-colored was now exposed somewhat below the poor girl’s waist.  She appeared unhurt and was laughing at her fall.

But her friend, the one who had been bent over to help her with her shoes, had a different reaction.  She bent down to come to her friend’s aid.  And by that I mean she took one of her hands and moved it over her friend’s somewhat exposed crotch.  This struck me as somewhat unnecessary since the girl who fell was obviously wearing panties (or a thong, more likely)—unless she had dyed her pubic hair turquoise.  Nevertheless, the friend’s hand was now almost shoved up the dress of the girl who had fallen. 

I swear, from the angle I had, it looked like the girl was actually grabbing her friend’s hoo-ha right there in the middle of the casino.  For a few seconds, it more-or-less looked like a lesbian sex act was taking place right there on the casino floor, at least from the angle I had.  I was tempted to yell out, “Hey ladies, get a room!”  Of course, I did no such thing.

To make it funnier, the girl was alternately using her other hand to pull down her own dress, and also using it to pull down her friend’s dress.  Again, the entire time this was happening, the girl who fell appeared both unhurt and not at all bothered by the quick flash of her thong.

The two of them eventually were able to stand up, and wandered in the direction of the club.  But I noticed they had to stop again before too long to make another shoe adjustment.

This last anecdote took place days later, but I think it fits in here better than it will when I get around to reporting on that evening’s events.  Again, observing the folks waiting around to get into the club, I saw three girls together, appropriately (un)dressed.

Girl A was the one with the shoe issue.  Girl B was bent over, working on Girl A’s shoes, much like the crotch-grabber in the previous story had been doing.  Girl C was the interesting one.  She was thrusting back and forth behind Girl B, mimicking humping her friend from behind.  I’m not sure if Girl B was aware of what Girl C was doing behind her, but Girl A must have been. 

This was right out on the casino floor, in full view of anyone nearby.  It was highly amusing.

I guess I’ll point out that the dress that Girl C was wearing was more than tight enough to prove that she did not possess the proper equipment to actually perform the act she was pretending to.

Come to think of it, her dress was almost—almost—short enough to reveal that as well.  But not quite.

Girls will be girls, as the saying goes.  

((6/9/14 - Edited to add:  Ok, here's a bonus to all of you reading this post late, or reading it a second time.  It turns out that the pic I put in my very next post is of a Korean gal.  I found more pics of her.  She clearly fits in with this post's "genre" theme. Like the lady above, a woman who has appeal to both Abe and me.  So here's an animated gif of her in the same dress that she was wearing in the next post  The animation proves the lady is a natural))