Splendiferous!

At the end of day six, I am at a total of 6488. So I am slightly under two days behind, but still doing well. This part finishes out day one of this writing debacle, and it really shows how horribly I write dialogue, especially between more than two characters at once. Ugh, man.


Fade in, Michael Roberts’ apartment. What a mess. He is not exactly the cleanest of house keepers. In fact, he is probably pretty close to the slovenly end of the scale. But hey, it is home. Or something.

He lives in a small apartment by himself. It has a kitchen that is absolutely disgusting. It is impossible to tell what color the cabinets and counters originally were. Ugh. He also has a living room that is surprisingly clean, compared to the rest of the place. He has an ugly striped couch that must have come from a thrift store, as it is older than he is, probably from the really early seventies. A television rests on a small bookcase that contains an old Atari 2600. Not books, as he really does not read all that much outside of magazines and the newspaper. The biggest thing in the living room though is the table. It is a large table with six sides, what is that called, sextagonal? with only five chairs that is, with the exception of the very occasional meal, exclusively used for the nightly poker game. Which is about to take place, but the rest of the apartment is waiting very eagerly to be described in fabulous enriching detail. Right. So the bedroom has been declared an official federal disaster area. It is just a total mess. Clothes are everywhere, the bed has not been made ever, and Michael probably would not know the color of the carpet in there if the living room did not have the exact same type. Its mess can not even begin to be described. Just a disaster. And the bathroom is getting totally passed by because of how horrible it is, and nothing else will be said about the matter. Moving on to the poker game. Oh, he also has a rarely used washer and dryer in a closet somewhere. Now, moving on to the poker game.

Michael and four of his buddies play poker every Thursday night. The buy in is twenty dollars, with dollar antes. Frequently someone will run out and then will buy in more, much to the delight of the other players. Frequently this is Michael, much to the delight of the other players. It is not that he is a bad poker player, because he really is half way decent. It is just that he never ever gets anything good, and on the incredibly rare occasion that he does get something good someone always has something better. There is just no luck for this guy. They play a variety of games, from Texas Hold ‘Em to Seven Card Stud.

Rick Harding is present, of course. He usually ends up breaking even, so he just comes for the fun and hanging out and drinking that occurs. The others are Steve Miller, no relation to the band, Jeremy Anderson, and Paul Hicks. Steve Miller fancies himself the ultimate poker player. He watches the World Championship of Poker on ESPN every year, and owns several poker books. He even watches all of the poker movies, like “Maverick” and “Rounders” and uses everything he hears in them at the table. He always talks about going to Las Vegas one day, but no one every seriously believes him. It would probably end up very badly for him, as he has an extremely bad gambling problem but is unable to admit it. Though he does win most of the time. He works at the bookstore, not because he really likes to read but so he can get the discount on all the poker books. Jeremy Anderson is a complete and total asshole. He was like that in high school, being one of the “popular crowd” and getting a lot of chicks that mostly ended up being too young or naïve to realize what they were getting into. The other guys only tolerated him because they had grown up with him, and because when he got drunk, which he frequently did, he became very, very bad at poker. He’s a manager at an office in the next town over, and uses his job to score with all the interns. Paul is pretty much the one in the group that gets constantly picked on and ragged on by everyone else. He thinks the guys are his friends, which they are in a sense, but they really only keep him around so as to have someone to pick on. He is self employed in some sort of internet business that no one actually knows what it does. These are Michael Roberts’ closest friends, as they are. Or something.

Each man sits at his own usual seat, ready to play. The chips are out, the beer is already flowing, and the first hand is being dealt. Steve starts out the dealing, playing five card draw as the first hand of the night.

“Okay fellas, cards are out, place your bets.”

“Shut up, Steve. I bet a dollar.”

“Big Rick bets a dollar, what about you, Jer?”

“Shut up, Steve. I see your dollar Ricky, and raise you another dollar.”

“Oooo, high stakes played by the master.”

“Seriously dude, quit the commentary. Now. I am not in the mood for it tonight. Are you going to fold or not Paul, come on?” Rick asked him, who was already halfway to folding, but taking his time about it.

“Rough day, Rick? I had a great day. New intern came in today. Hot little number, with nice legs. She does not know it yet, but we are going to start having daily meetings in my office next week to discuss her qualifications.” No need to say who said that, of course.

“You are such a dick. Nothing was particularly bad about today, but it just sucked ass for some reason.” Shaking his head, he added, “we really should fix that stupid air conditioning, Mike.”

“I fold.”

“About time, what are you going to do Mikey, fold fold fold as usual?”

Mike looked at his hand. He had a pair of twos, an ace and two throw aways. “What the hell, I had a good day, and I am feeling lucky. Or maybe just generous. Call.”

“Dealer calls.”

“I call. Why the hell did you have a good day Mike? Your day was just as boring and hot as mine. What did you do at that place in Maple Ridge?”

“Haha, Mikey got some from an old wrinkly chick! Yeah! Way to go!” Jeremy hooted from his seat.

“Man that is some nasty shit Mike. Why would you want some of that? Come on Rick, how many cards you want, it is not that hard.”

“I will take three, and stop being impatient, it is a delicate matter.”

“I did not bang anyone, least of all some ‘old wrinkly chick’. Ugh man, that is nasty.”

“Uh huh. Suuuuurrrrre. Big Poppa J will have one card, thank you very much.”

“So why are you feeling lucky? You know you do not have anything even remotely resembling luck. Not like Vegas here,” Rick pointed out as Mike threw in his two junk cards.

“It is not luck baby. It is all skill! Dealer will take two.”

“So was there a girl Michael?” enquired Paul, feeling excluded since he folded.

“Two dollars,” Rick bet, at the same time Michael responded with a “yeah, you could say that.”

“Ho ho ho ho! The truth comes out! In honor of Mikey’s butt ugly wrinkled lover, I raise to five!”

“Pfffft. Whatever man, you should have seen her.” Michael looked down at his cards, and was fortunate that the others were speculating as to how many chins she had, because he had drawn another pair of twos and his face showed it. Four twos. He never got anything this good. “In honor of the extremely unbelievably amazingly hot female I met today I will raise you, Jeremy, by another two.”

“Well well well. Not only does Mikey have a hot chick, it also seems she gave him the cards he never has. More likely she gave him the balls to try bluffing. I will raise your ass to ten!”

“Damn Mike, I should have taken that call. Me and my monster hand will call.” It should be noted that Rick has been speaking a lot more than he normally does. That is because he is well on his way to approaching drunk, as he did have a bad day. Though what he does not realize is that he does have a very good reason for this (aside from his missing out on the call from Gloria), it is just that he does not remember it.

“None of you have anything. Raise another dollar. So what is her name big boy?”

“Her name is Gloria, and none of you have anything, so I raise to thirteen.”

“I am so glad I got out of this pot early. Jesus, you guys are crazy.”

“Gloria, eh? That is a bit of a presumptuous name, don’t you think? I still say I have it, so I raise another two. Fifteen baby, fifteen.”

“Damn. Nice pot you guys are giving me, I will call.”

“Yeah, I want to leave enough money for you guys to lose to me later on tonight. We do not want to end the night early, eh? Yeah, Gloria sounds like an ultra Christian name, so she is probably a big prude. Though I did know this one girl who seemed really innocent, but she had a tongue that could…”

“Oh speaking of names, do any of you know anything about Elizabethan plays? Something having to do with a muffy full of stuff, or something?” Mike knew that he definitely had this pot, but he did not want to push it. Besides, the night was still young, as far as Thursday night poker games go. So he called.

“Muffy? No idea, man. You know how good I was in English. It is not like I turned down a position as Poet Laureate to be an air conditioning repair man. What do you have Vegas? Anything?”

“Vegas has aces and kings. Hell yeah. And I have no idea what you are talking about, man. Did she try and invite you to the old folk’s production of Hamlet or something?”

“Sucks for you Steve. Trip bitches beat the two pair. Awwww, yeah!” Steve swore.

“Man, you guys both fail to my glorious straight to the ten! Send those chips my way, as we know Mike never has shit.” “God dammit this day sucks even more!” Rick added as he went in search of more beer. “Speaking of shit, I banged a girl who was in to plays and shit,” Jeremy thoughtfully added. “Can you elaborate on this girl’s muff?”

“Her cat was named muffy something. Or maybe it was meffy? Oh, and don’t you want to at least see what I have before you take your chips?”

“Meffy? No idea man. And what could your pair possibly turn into, anyway?”

“Do you mean Mephistopheles?” interjected Paul.

“That is it! Damn, Paul. How do you know that shit?” Mike exclaimed, dully impressed, as was the rest of the table.

“I actually paid attention in school. Mephistopheles was the devil that Doctor Faustus dealt with in Marlowe’s ‘Doctor Faustus’. And I want to see Mike’s cards.”

“Well that helps out a lot! Thanks Paul. Oh, and Jeremy?”

“Yeah?” Jeremy did not like the sound of Mike’s voice.

“Thank you for stacking my chips so nicely for me.” He laid down his hand.

The table was totally silent. For about two seconds.

“Hey hey, Mike! Yeah! A chick and the best hand you ever got!” Rick cheered.

“There is easily over sixty in there,” said Steve wonderingly. Man, these adverbs are getting out of control. But hey, writing dialogue and responses and crap is hard.

“Four twos??? I got beat by four fucking twos??? I got beat by Mike?? And his four douches!” Jeremy said as Paul replied to Steve with a count of “Seventy Three,” not that anyone was listening. Nor were they listening when he repeated his comment of “I am so glad I got out of this pot early.”

Michael Roberts was basking in his friends’ praise. Maybe his luck really was turning around. And he could not wait until they saw Gloria. Day-um!



Rick Harding stumbled home. The poker game was just a hazy drunken memory. He fumbled for his keys and tried to fit them in the door extremely unsuccessfully. After about five or six minutes he was able to unlock his door, shamble in and collapse on his bed. He tossed and turned the whole night as he was chased in his dreams by horrors unimaginable by any mortal. He awoke for one brief moment of lucidity to whisper, “my God, why have you forsaken me?” The moment passed, and the only sounds that followed were those of a broken tortured shell of a man.