It's a bit slow on RSB today, so I thought I'd try and spice it up a
bit with another story. I promise this one has no pun punch-line to
it...
The Way, The Truth... and the Wife
David E. Malone Feb 28, 2006
Me and my buddy, Harry Verderchi, are slimy, lowdown, pool hustlers...
at least that's what people tend to call us when they look back and
think about how their cash migrated itself into our pockets.
They don't realize that, in order for us to hustle them like that, they
had to have had a little larceny in their soul in the first place. If
they weren't greedy and thinking they were going to make a killing,
they wouldn't have gone for the hustle . So I figure we are really just
providing a public service to allow these sinners to have cause to
repent and learn a quick lesson in humility. Harry's a better player
than me, so he gets to hustle the big dogs... me, I take care of the
little ten bucks a game action and between us we've managed to survive
on the road for nigh on four years now. One of the big reasons for that
is 'Harvey', the RV which saves us mucho dinero in hotel and motel
rooms. Harry obtained it from his maiden aunt Agatha - who happened to
leave the keys in it one day. Harry used to work in a scrap yard and
has a collection of license plates from every state in the union. We
change the plates every couple of weeks to throw people off the trail -
seems to be working or maybe nobody cares. Harvey is over twenty years
old but still runs fine, gets us around, and has all the comforts of
home as long as we stay in the warmer climates.
Hustling's a dangerous game and over the years we've learned to be
cautious. We check all the exits, especially bathroom windows and back
doors, before setting something up in case we get in over our heads.
Occasionally, try as you will, the hustler gets hustled, and if we
don't have the jelly-beans to pay off the wager, there's trouble. I
think one or the other of us has been beaten up in every state of the
union. It gets harder to find a bar or a room where we haven't been
before and even then we sometimes get recognized by someone who just
happened to have been in an action room where we previously visited. As
the number of available rooms dwindles, we began to think about ways to
protect ourselves, and especially our bankroll, in those cases where it
became obvious we were going to lose our shirts.
I mean, we've tried simply hightailing' it, but inevitably there is
someone at the door whose job it is to make sure we didn't do that. And
Harry's a bit overweight and doesn't run that good anymore anyway. He
once suggested I get a six-shooter and wave it around - it was a pretty
good bet we'd be able to walk out if we had a gun, he said. But that's
more dangerous than it sounds - it's probably a good way to get shot to
death by some bartender with a shotgun under his bar and I didn't want
to risk it. What we needed was a sure-fire diversion that would take
everyone's attention away from the game and allow us to sneak quietly
away whilst everyone was distracted.
Finally, one day Harry had what he thought was a brilliant idea.
"Here's what we do...", he said. "You dress up like a woman and come
busting into the bar and pretend I'm your husband..."
"Why me...? I said.
"I'm the one who plays for the big bucks. So I'm the one who needs to
get bailed out more often. Think about it...", he said.
I thought about it.
"I'm not into that sort of thing, son...", I demurred. "I don't swing
that way."
"It's okay. You don't have to do anything kinky...", he said.
"You mean dressing up as a woman doesn't strike you as even slightly
kinky?", I said, heatedly.
"Hear me out," said Harry earnestly. He was agog with excitement. "You
come busting into the bar and scream at me... something like... you
miserable, lying son of a *****... you told me you was going to church
and here you are gambling again..."
"Um...?" I said doubtfully.
"Then you grab me and drag me out of the bar..." he said. "It's
perfect. There isn't a man alive whose gonna get involved in a man
having a fight with his wife. In fact, there isn't a scarier thing on
this earth than an angry woman. We've all been conditioned to stay as
far away from one as possible... don't matter how big and tough you
are, you ain't gonna tangle with an angry woman. Am I right?"
"That's true," I said, thinking of my wife I'd left to go on the road.
"If Amy ever finds me she'll string me up by the nuts... I wouldn't
want to be in my shoes if she ever turns up."
"Right..." he said. "Hell hath no fury like a woman's corns... or
something like that."
Now this was something I really didn't want to do. I'm a man's man - I
don't look like a woman, I don't talk like a woman, I don't walk like a
woman, and I especially don't smell like a woman. Plus, if the dupes
ever found out, they'd be madder than hell and I'd be lucky to only end
up in the hospital with the family jewels cut off, instead of the
cemetery. But eventually Harry talked me into trying it - he called in
every favor he had coming and reminded me of the time he'd saved my
life when that big lug had me by the throat and was squeezing the life
out of me. He'd come up behind him and hit him with a chair just as I
started to lose consciousness. I reluctantly agreed to give it a try.
After all, he had saved my life and I owed him big time.
We went down to the local St. Vincent De Paul Society store and found a
blonde wig and an oversize chintz dress with buttons down the front. I
hadn't seen myself as a blonde, but Harry said I'd have more fun that
way. Quite the effing humorist is our Harry. They didn't have any
tights or pantyhose so we had to go to the local WalMart and get a
one-size-fits-all pair of stretch tights in a dark brown shade. Ecru, I
think it said on the package. I tried the outfit on in the RV and Harry
near busted a gut laughing. Seems I reminded him of a girl he went out
with in high school - musta been one butt-ugly cheer-leader. I had to
pad the chest a bit with a couple of old tee-shirts and Harry sat down
and sewed them right into the dress so I could get the outfit together
in a hurry. In a pinch, I figured I could lose the tights because they
took an extra five minutes in themselves to put on. My legs aren't that
hairy anyway and I figured I'd seen worse on some women in Europe.
Anyway, with a bit of pancake make-up, some red lipstick, and a pair of
sneakers, I made a passable broad... think Dolly Parton only ugly.
But, as you can imagine, I still had reservations.
"Harry," I mused. "What if I wanted to grow a mustache sometime in the
future?"
"No problem," he said. "Do you remember old Jamie's wife..? She had a
better mustache than he did and people still knew she was a damned ugly
woman instead of a man... It'd be better if you don't though. Just
don't grow a beard."
Weeks passed and fortunately Harry continued to come out on the right
end of his hustles, until one night when we were in Salem, Oregon and
he ran into a real player who managed to hide that fact until they got
into some substantial jelly-beans. I'd been dreading this but Harry
gave me the secret signal as arranged and I excused myself and
reluctantly slipped out to the RV to get changed. Five minutes and I
was ready to roll.
I threw open the door of the pool-room...
Continued in the next post as this is too long.....
bit with another story. I promise this one has no pun punch-line to
it...
The Way, The Truth... and the Wife
David E. Malone Feb 28, 2006
Me and my buddy, Harry Verderchi, are slimy, lowdown, pool hustlers...
at least that's what people tend to call us when they look back and
think about how their cash migrated itself into our pockets.
They don't realize that, in order for us to hustle them like that, they
had to have had a little larceny in their soul in the first place. If
they weren't greedy and thinking they were going to make a killing,
they wouldn't have gone for the hustle . So I figure we are really just
providing a public service to allow these sinners to have cause to
repent and learn a quick lesson in humility. Harry's a better player
than me, so he gets to hustle the big dogs... me, I take care of the
little ten bucks a game action and between us we've managed to survive
on the road for nigh on four years now. One of the big reasons for that
is 'Harvey', the RV which saves us mucho dinero in hotel and motel
rooms. Harry obtained it from his maiden aunt Agatha - who happened to
leave the keys in it one day. Harry used to work in a scrap yard and
has a collection of license plates from every state in the union. We
change the plates every couple of weeks to throw people off the trail -
seems to be working or maybe nobody cares. Harvey is over twenty years
old but still runs fine, gets us around, and has all the comforts of
home as long as we stay in the warmer climates.
Hustling's a dangerous game and over the years we've learned to be
cautious. We check all the exits, especially bathroom windows and back
doors, before setting something up in case we get in over our heads.
Occasionally, try as you will, the hustler gets hustled, and if we
don't have the jelly-beans to pay off the wager, there's trouble. I
think one or the other of us has been beaten up in every state of the
union. It gets harder to find a bar or a room where we haven't been
before and even then we sometimes get recognized by someone who just
happened to have been in an action room where we previously visited. As
the number of available rooms dwindles, we began to think about ways to
protect ourselves, and especially our bankroll, in those cases where it
became obvious we were going to lose our shirts.
I mean, we've tried simply hightailing' it, but inevitably there is
someone at the door whose job it is to make sure we didn't do that. And
Harry's a bit overweight and doesn't run that good anymore anyway. He
once suggested I get a six-shooter and wave it around - it was a pretty
good bet we'd be able to walk out if we had a gun, he said. But that's
more dangerous than it sounds - it's probably a good way to get shot to
death by some bartender with a shotgun under his bar and I didn't want
to risk it. What we needed was a sure-fire diversion that would take
everyone's attention away from the game and allow us to sneak quietly
away whilst everyone was distracted.
Finally, one day Harry had what he thought was a brilliant idea.
"Here's what we do...", he said. "You dress up like a woman and come
busting into the bar and pretend I'm your husband..."
"Why me...? I said.
"I'm the one who plays for the big bucks. So I'm the one who needs to
get bailed out more often. Think about it...", he said.
I thought about it.
"I'm not into that sort of thing, son...", I demurred. "I don't swing
that way."
"It's okay. You don't have to do anything kinky...", he said.
"You mean dressing up as a woman doesn't strike you as even slightly
kinky?", I said, heatedly.
"Hear me out," said Harry earnestly. He was agog with excitement. "You
come busting into the bar and scream at me... something like... you
miserable, lying son of a *****... you told me you was going to church
and here you are gambling again..."
"Um...?" I said doubtfully.
"Then you grab me and drag me out of the bar..." he said. "It's
perfect. There isn't a man alive whose gonna get involved in a man
having a fight with his wife. In fact, there isn't a scarier thing on
this earth than an angry woman. We've all been conditioned to stay as
far away from one as possible... don't matter how big and tough you
are, you ain't gonna tangle with an angry woman. Am I right?"
"That's true," I said, thinking of my wife I'd left to go on the road.
"If Amy ever finds me she'll string me up by the nuts... I wouldn't
want to be in my shoes if she ever turns up."
"Right..." he said. "Hell hath no fury like a woman's corns... or
something like that."
Now this was something I really didn't want to do. I'm a man's man - I
don't look like a woman, I don't talk like a woman, I don't walk like a
woman, and I especially don't smell like a woman. Plus, if the dupes
ever found out, they'd be madder than hell and I'd be lucky to only end
up in the hospital with the family jewels cut off, instead of the
cemetery. But eventually Harry talked me into trying it - he called in
every favor he had coming and reminded me of the time he'd saved my
life when that big lug had me by the throat and was squeezing the life
out of me. He'd come up behind him and hit him with a chair just as I
started to lose consciousness. I reluctantly agreed to give it a try.
After all, he had saved my life and I owed him big time.
We went down to the local St. Vincent De Paul Society store and found a
blonde wig and an oversize chintz dress with buttons down the front. I
hadn't seen myself as a blonde, but Harry said I'd have more fun that
way. Quite the effing humorist is our Harry. They didn't have any
tights or pantyhose so we had to go to the local WalMart and get a
one-size-fits-all pair of stretch tights in a dark brown shade. Ecru, I
think it said on the package. I tried the outfit on in the RV and Harry
near busted a gut laughing. Seems I reminded him of a girl he went out
with in high school - musta been one butt-ugly cheer-leader. I had to
pad the chest a bit with a couple of old tee-shirts and Harry sat down
and sewed them right into the dress so I could get the outfit together
in a hurry. In a pinch, I figured I could lose the tights because they
took an extra five minutes in themselves to put on. My legs aren't that
hairy anyway and I figured I'd seen worse on some women in Europe.
Anyway, with a bit of pancake make-up, some red lipstick, and a pair of
sneakers, I made a passable broad... think Dolly Parton only ugly.
But, as you can imagine, I still had reservations.
"Harry," I mused. "What if I wanted to grow a mustache sometime in the
future?"
"No problem," he said. "Do you remember old Jamie's wife..? She had a
better mustache than he did and people still knew she was a damned ugly
woman instead of a man... It'd be better if you don't though. Just
don't grow a beard."
Weeks passed and fortunately Harry continued to come out on the right
end of his hustles, until one night when we were in Salem, Oregon and
he ran into a real player who managed to hide that fact until they got
into some substantial jelly-beans. I'd been dreading this but Harry
gave me the secret signal as arranged and I excused myself and
reluctantly slipped out to the RV to get changed. Five minutes and I
was ready to roll.
I threw open the door of the pool-room...
Continued in the next post as this is too long.....