Alright goddammit. Here.
Um.... Read another uncompleted story. OOOOOH! Better yet, cause I'm not sure how I want to end it, tell me how you think it should end.
Swear to God, Man
By Dod Raibeid
Swear to God, man. So Im out with Steve, Grant, and Shawn having a few drinks, and we decide to shoot a game of pool. Theres only like two pool tables at this bar, both taken, but we werent like exploding to play pool or anything. We put some quarters on the rail of one of the tables and wait our turn. Now, Steve and Grant are really good, they both played in leagues a few years ago, had a few trophies, not world champs or anything, but pretty good nonetheless. Shawn and I, were not so good. Were not horrible, like we can make all of the really easy shots and a few not so easy ones when we get lucky. We never really plan for a ball to bounce off of anything else and go in the hole, if you catch my drift. But that doesnt mean it wont happen on occasion.
So the two guys before us finish up and we walk up to the table to put our quarters in. It was going to be me and Steve against Shawn and Grant. I stoop to pay for the balls, and one of the guys says Whos playing?
I look up at the guy; hes about five-seven, with short, spiky black hair. Hes wearing one of those tight things that cant decide whether its a shirt or a sweater. Hes got one of those real short goatees that looks like hes just growing one, but something about him told me that it looks like that all the time. Huh? I said.
Whos playing? he repeated.
Um, we are. I said.
I was a little confused, because when four people approach a pool table, and one of them stoops to put quarters in, Id make the assumption that they would be the ones playing. Unless of course theres some new phenomena that I havent heard about of people walking around bars putting quarters in pool tables and walking away, that is. Yeah, I can see that. Which ones? Theres four of you. You have to win this table. Two of you have to beat us for it.
The four of us looked at each other. This didnt sound right. We werent in a seedy pool hall, we were in a bar. Bullshit. said Shawn. Didnt you go to kindergarten? Take turns or go to a pool hall.
Steve started racking the balls. This guy didnt look happy. His friend, a typical frat boy down to his grey Greek t- shirt and backwards hat, tried a different approach. Look, man, we were here first. I know its not a house rule or anything, but thats the way the regulars do it here.
Were not regulars. Shawn shot back.
Shawns not normally like that. I mean, hes a cranky motherfucker, but hes not usually hostile without reason. But there was something about these two that I didnt like, and I guess Shawn picked up on it too. I had just chalked it up to the fact that I didnt like frat boys. Steve and Grant were stone faced. They werent even smirking. That was weird. I mean, Grants not exactly the most expressive fellow in the world, but Steve breeds confrontation and dissention wherever he can. Hes the type of guy to get on a crowded subway and scream Abortion is murder! and run off. This was not typical behavior from him. I asked him if he was okay, and he just nodded. Hey, man, said the frat boy, are we going to have a problem here?
This is generally Steves cue to say something like, Do you want one? but there was nothing. Shawn picked it right up, though. I guess that depends on you. Ill tell you, though; I really dont think a problem would be good for you right now. Theres four of us, and two of you. Simple math doesnt lean in your favor.
That was enough confrontation for one night. I stepped in. Guys, look. I said, Were just going to play one game. Were not going to highjack your table for the rest of the night, dont worry. So why dont you go to the bar, have a drink, chill for a little bit, and if we finish before you get back, well hold it for you.
No good, said the shirt/sweater wearer, play us for it, or back away.
I was afraid of that. Shawn had threatened their manhood, now their heels were dug in. We were going to have to fight them or play them, neither sounded like any fun. Shawn started taking off his rings, and I sighed, and took off my glasses. Grant spoke up, finally. Guys, lets just play them for the table. I dont want to have a fight.
Shawn and I just stared at him. I should explain that Grant was the closest thing we had in our company to a brawler. None of us ever went out looking for a fight, but Grant was the only one whod jump at the chance to have one, if offered. So suffice it to say we were pretty surprised to hear him say something so how to be diplomatic about this pacifistic.
We shifted our gaze to Steve, who was still doing his Roy Orbison impression. Steve? I said. You wanna play these guys?
Steve nodded once. I was confused, but I was also getting fed up with everybody acting weird. I wanted to find out what the hell was going on. Fine. Play pool. When your game is over, well be at the bar. Come on, Shawn.
When I reached the bar I ordered a Murphys Stout and a double shot of Jamison for the wait. When the beer reached me I knocked back the whiskey and took a long, slow pull at the stout. I looked at Shawn. What the hell was that back there? I demanded. How come you were picking a fight and Grant is all of a sudden wearing panties? And since when is Steve the quiet type?
I dont know whats up with Grant and Steve, but those guys are hustlers. I was hanging out at Bank Shots one night last year, getting pissed and playing pool with Tony. Those two guys walk up to us stinking drunk and ask if we want to play doubles. They can barely talk; much less shoot pool, so Tony gets the bright idea of playing them for the next round. They agree, we play them and we win. The one with the beard went to get our drinks, and the frat boy says something like, Fifty bucks says you cant do that again.
We were half drunk at that point, so of course we agreed. We played them again, and won. We bought the four of us a round with their money and start shooting the shit when out of nowhere goatee guy gets all indignant and starts saying that hed play a lot better with the right motivation, and throws three hundred dollars on the table. I said that it was cool; we werent looking to take all of their money. I told him to put his money away and Id set him up with another drink. The guy was drinking bud, it wasnt like it was gonna break my bank or anything. Then the guy calls me an arrogant prick and starts screaming about his pride and how I owe him after a remark like that and everything. I wasnt trying to be a dick, but the dude was sloshed. All I meant was that he wasnt exactly in the shape to be placing three hundred dollar bets based on pride and spurious theories about the right motivation. But he was insistent.
So Tony and I walk over to the ATM, get three hundred dollars, and throw it on the table. Goatee Guy racked them and Tony broke. Got nothing. Then Frat Boy slides off his stool and stumbles up to the table. Once he gets there, though, the guy stands straight up take a hard look at the table. Swear to god, man, he hits the cue ball one time and sinks three stripes, right off the bat. He knocks in another one on his next shot, and a stripe and a solid on his third. I know immediately whats happened, and Frat Boy knows I know it. The smug piece of shit was grinning from ear to ear. I walked up and took my shot, praying that something would go in. I should have been more specific, because the cue ball went right into the pocket.
Goatee Guy walked up to the table, placed the cue ball, and took two shots, sinking the last two stripes. Then he called the eight, shot, and just like that, I was a hundred and fifty dollars poorer. There wasnt any shit talk, no fighting, no yelling, they just picked up their money and left.
When he was done, I looked at my empty pint glass, and ordered another double whiskey and a stout.
Okay, so what happens?
Um.... Read another uncompleted story. OOOOOH! Better yet, cause I'm not sure how I want to end it, tell me how you think it should end.
Swear to God, Man
By Dod Raibeid
Swear to God, man. So Im out with Steve, Grant, and Shawn having a few drinks, and we decide to shoot a game of pool. Theres only like two pool tables at this bar, both taken, but we werent like exploding to play pool or anything. We put some quarters on the rail of one of the tables and wait our turn. Now, Steve and Grant are really good, they both played in leagues a few years ago, had a few trophies, not world champs or anything, but pretty good nonetheless. Shawn and I, were not so good. Were not horrible, like we can make all of the really easy shots and a few not so easy ones when we get lucky. We never really plan for a ball to bounce off of anything else and go in the hole, if you catch my drift. But that doesnt mean it wont happen on occasion.
So the two guys before us finish up and we walk up to the table to put our quarters in. It was going to be me and Steve against Shawn and Grant. I stoop to pay for the balls, and one of the guys says Whos playing?
I look up at the guy; hes about five-seven, with short, spiky black hair. Hes wearing one of those tight things that cant decide whether its a shirt or a sweater. Hes got one of those real short goatees that looks like hes just growing one, but something about him told me that it looks like that all the time. Huh? I said.
Whos playing? he repeated.
Um, we are. I said.
I was a little confused, because when four people approach a pool table, and one of them stoops to put quarters in, Id make the assumption that they would be the ones playing. Unless of course theres some new phenomena that I havent heard about of people walking around bars putting quarters in pool tables and walking away, that is. Yeah, I can see that. Which ones? Theres four of you. You have to win this table. Two of you have to beat us for it.
The four of us looked at each other. This didnt sound right. We werent in a seedy pool hall, we were in a bar. Bullshit. said Shawn. Didnt you go to kindergarten? Take turns or go to a pool hall.
Steve started racking the balls. This guy didnt look happy. His friend, a typical frat boy down to his grey Greek t- shirt and backwards hat, tried a different approach. Look, man, we were here first. I know its not a house rule or anything, but thats the way the regulars do it here.
Were not regulars. Shawn shot back.
Shawns not normally like that. I mean, hes a cranky motherfucker, but hes not usually hostile without reason. But there was something about these two that I didnt like, and I guess Shawn picked up on it too. I had just chalked it up to the fact that I didnt like frat boys. Steve and Grant were stone faced. They werent even smirking. That was weird. I mean, Grants not exactly the most expressive fellow in the world, but Steve breeds confrontation and dissention wherever he can. Hes the type of guy to get on a crowded subway and scream Abortion is murder! and run off. This was not typical behavior from him. I asked him if he was okay, and he just nodded. Hey, man, said the frat boy, are we going to have a problem here?
This is generally Steves cue to say something like, Do you want one? but there was nothing. Shawn picked it right up, though. I guess that depends on you. Ill tell you, though; I really dont think a problem would be good for you right now. Theres four of us, and two of you. Simple math doesnt lean in your favor.
That was enough confrontation for one night. I stepped in. Guys, look. I said, Were just going to play one game. Were not going to highjack your table for the rest of the night, dont worry. So why dont you go to the bar, have a drink, chill for a little bit, and if we finish before you get back, well hold it for you.
No good, said the shirt/sweater wearer, play us for it, or back away.
I was afraid of that. Shawn had threatened their manhood, now their heels were dug in. We were going to have to fight them or play them, neither sounded like any fun. Shawn started taking off his rings, and I sighed, and took off my glasses. Grant spoke up, finally. Guys, lets just play them for the table. I dont want to have a fight.
Shawn and I just stared at him. I should explain that Grant was the closest thing we had in our company to a brawler. None of us ever went out looking for a fight, but Grant was the only one whod jump at the chance to have one, if offered. So suffice it to say we were pretty surprised to hear him say something so how to be diplomatic about this pacifistic.
We shifted our gaze to Steve, who was still doing his Roy Orbison impression. Steve? I said. You wanna play these guys?
Steve nodded once. I was confused, but I was also getting fed up with everybody acting weird. I wanted to find out what the hell was going on. Fine. Play pool. When your game is over, well be at the bar. Come on, Shawn.
When I reached the bar I ordered a Murphys Stout and a double shot of Jamison for the wait. When the beer reached me I knocked back the whiskey and took a long, slow pull at the stout. I looked at Shawn. What the hell was that back there? I demanded. How come you were picking a fight and Grant is all of a sudden wearing panties? And since when is Steve the quiet type?
I dont know whats up with Grant and Steve, but those guys are hustlers. I was hanging out at Bank Shots one night last year, getting pissed and playing pool with Tony. Those two guys walk up to us stinking drunk and ask if we want to play doubles. They can barely talk; much less shoot pool, so Tony gets the bright idea of playing them for the next round. They agree, we play them and we win. The one with the beard went to get our drinks, and the frat boy says something like, Fifty bucks says you cant do that again.
We were half drunk at that point, so of course we agreed. We played them again, and won. We bought the four of us a round with their money and start shooting the shit when out of nowhere goatee guy gets all indignant and starts saying that hed play a lot better with the right motivation, and throws three hundred dollars on the table. I said that it was cool; we werent looking to take all of their money. I told him to put his money away and Id set him up with another drink. The guy was drinking bud, it wasnt like it was gonna break my bank or anything. Then the guy calls me an arrogant prick and starts screaming about his pride and how I owe him after a remark like that and everything. I wasnt trying to be a dick, but the dude was sloshed. All I meant was that he wasnt exactly in the shape to be placing three hundred dollar bets based on pride and spurious theories about the right motivation. But he was insistent.
So Tony and I walk over to the ATM, get three hundred dollars, and throw it on the table. Goatee Guy racked them and Tony broke. Got nothing. Then Frat Boy slides off his stool and stumbles up to the table. Once he gets there, though, the guy stands straight up take a hard look at the table. Swear to god, man, he hits the cue ball one time and sinks three stripes, right off the bat. He knocks in another one on his next shot, and a stripe and a solid on his third. I know immediately whats happened, and Frat Boy knows I know it. The smug piece of shit was grinning from ear to ear. I walked up and took my shot, praying that something would go in. I should have been more specific, because the cue ball went right into the pocket.
Goatee Guy walked up to the table, placed the cue ball, and took two shots, sinking the last two stripes. Then he called the eight, shot, and just like that, I was a hundred and fifty dollars poorer. There wasnt any shit talk, no fighting, no yelling, they just picked up their money and left.
When he was done, I looked at my empty pint glass, and ordered another double whiskey and a stout.
Okay, so what happens?
thegooddan:
You and your boys feign getting drunk, or, jsut as good actually get drunk. Then when they least expect it (during your shot) trip over both their sticks simultaneously - shattering them into little tiny pieces. Pick up a suitable sized piece, casually remove that buildup from between your molars and ask "who's shot it is and what color am I". This will pring about inclusion of the local bouncers. The drunks that are breaking stuff will probably asked to leave. So then leave, and go to a bar that does not have hustlers around.