"I've got the biggest dick in the world. Twelve inches of thick black cock."
6:20am and this is the first thing I hear when I walk out of my apartment. My immediate thought is, "Dad? Is that you?" But alas, it's not my long lost father. It's some dude who looks like he could be normal, ranting at no one in particular.
I'm in front of him, walking the same direction as he is, and we pass a woman loading luggage into a town car, like she's going to the airport. Johnny BigDick leers at her "Oh yeah Sistah - work that trunk," and I can hardly contain my laughter.
Unfortunately the next words out of his mouth, I fear, are directed at me: "I love sucking white boys' cocks." Normally this may be a good thing to hear, but in my neighborhood, and this time, it is usually not music to my ears. The chances of these words coming from neighbors Liv Tyler, Famke Jansen or Gisele are somewhere between slim and none (akin to catching perfect-perfect to scoop a pot - only much much worse), while the chances of them coming from a 5 foot 6 inch gay black man are pretty fuckin' good (like having a super wrap straight draw + flush draw with overcards in an Omaha pot that makes you a big favorite).
I make it to work, and in the afternoon I fire off an email to Chris asking him if he's played at our club lately. He replies that not only is the club still going, but he played last night, and there were at least four BIG TIME action players splashing around, issuing brutal beats. I quickly shoot off another email to The Vortex, imploring him "You have to go play live - I hear the game is sick. I can't play because I have to take care of Oscar after work."
6:20am and this is the first thing I hear when I walk out of my apartment. My immediate thought is, "Dad? Is that you?" But alas, it's not my long lost father. It's some dude who looks like he could be normal, ranting at no one in particular.
I'm in front of him, walking the same direction as he is, and we pass a woman loading luggage into a town car, like she's going to the airport. Johnny BigDick leers at her "Oh yeah Sistah - work that trunk," and I can hardly contain my laughter.
Unfortunately the next words out of his mouth, I fear, are directed at me: "I love sucking white boys' cocks." Normally this may be a good thing to hear, but in my neighborhood, and this time, it is usually not music to my ears. The chances of these words coming from neighbors Liv Tyler, Famke Jansen or Gisele are somewhere between slim and none (akin to catching perfect-perfect to scoop a pot - only much much worse), while the chances of them coming from a 5 foot 6 inch gay black man are pretty fuckin' good (like having a super wrap straight draw + flush draw with overcards in an Omaha pot that makes you a big favorite).
I make it to work, and in the afternoon I fire off an email to Chris asking him if he's played at our club lately. He replies that not only is the club still going, but he played last night, and there were at least four BIG TIME action players splashing around, issuing brutal beats. I quickly shoot off another email to The Vortex, imploring him "You have to go play live - I hear the game is sick. I can't play because I have to take care of Oscar after work."
Vortex quickly replies that he was actually IN this game, and that it was sweeter than I could imagine, giving me a few brief details. I'm now on serious TILT, as I'm aching to play live poker, but have other obligations, mainly, my boy - Oscar. Instead of living vicariously through Vortex, I want a piece of the action myself...
oh well. another day, another dollar.
-KD
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