Post by Awesome Stick Labor on Nov 23, 2014 14:17:56 GMT
November 22, 2014 – 2:30 PM (PST)
THE ORLEANS HOTEL & CASINO (Room #474) – LAS VEGAS, NV
I love playin' a good hand of Texas hold 'em or two.
Then again, there's nothin'--
We find ourselves tucked away at the Orleans Hotel and Casino, just a stone's throw away from the famous Las Vegas strip. In one of only a few parts of the country that are currently dealing with sunny and pleasant weather conditions, we find Jack Gaither sitting in front of his Macbook Pro as he goes over his latest video log entry before posting it online, but all he sees on the screen is spinning “rainbow wheel of death.”
Jack Gaither: C'mon god dammit, don't do this...
Jack quits Final Cut Pro, only to open the program once more and replay his newest project.
I love playin' a good hand of poker or--
Before it goes any further, the video freezes again. Jack throws his hands up in the air and grits his teeth, quitting the program and shuts the Apple product down.
Jack: Sigh...oh, fuck this piece of shazzbot...
Sporting an Elvis Presley-inspired shirt and dark blue jeans, the ex-Cougar stands up and heads directly to the hotel room's mini-fridge, where several cans of Pepsi—made with real sugar—are his for the taking. He grabs one of the four blue soda cans and opens it up, taking a hearty gulp as the room's door swings open.
Hiroko Sawada: Come on, lazy boy! The cards are getting warm down at the casino, and you're not there with me so we both can get lucky!
Stepping into the New Orleans-themed suite which features paintings of Mardi Gras participants from years past, the Nagaran steps into the picture. Wearing a red “Viva Las Vegas” shirt and black jeans, Hiroko places a green beaded necklace around her hubby's neck while showing off hers.
Hiroko: These are supposed to bring you good luck.
Jack looks at the mirror above the room's mahogany desk and shakes his head.
Jack: I don't believe in luck.
Hiroko: Come on, now...you've been on that computer ever since we first woke up.
Jack: Yeah...I gotta get this stuff online at a decent time.
Hiroko slams the Macbook shut.
Hiroko: If we don't get downstairs at a decent time, we will miss out on the Saturday poker tournament.
The Texan's eyes light up.
Jack: Poker tournament?!
Hiroko: Yes...I believe they're playing Texas Hold 'Em. I have purchased our seats
After guzzling down the rest of his favorite drink of choice and chucking it into the pink recycling can, Jack plops down at the foot of the queen size bed.
Jack: You cannot be SERIOUS?!
Hiroko: I thought we could, you know, get lucky and win the $100,000 grand prize.
Hiroko heads toward the mini-fridge and grabs a can of Dr. Pepper, her favorite soda of choice.
Jack: Hiroko...there's more to Texas Hold 'Em than simply getting lucky out there. We've only been playin' the game for a couple of years, but the people we'll be goin' up against are MUCH more experienced than we are. They will wipe the floor with our asses if we ain't careful.
The Chiba Prefecture native slowly opens up her soda can and takes a small sip.
Jack: Look...have ya ever heard of this song before: “you gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em; know when to walk away, and know when to run.”
Hiroko: Hehehe...”The Gambler,” Kenny Rogers.
Jack ekes out a sly grin and chuckles to himself.
Jack: Tell me...how did ya know that?
Hiroko: Before leaving the house, I sat down and listened to your entire music library. I wanted to hear songs that told stories about gambling in Las Vegas and getting lucky. That song...well, it popped into my head.
Hiroko gives her man a playful poke on the shoulder as she slowly continues to drink her Dr. Pepper.
Hiroko: Besides, it was rather catchy. Come now, we've got money to win.
Hiroko yanks Jack off the bed by the scruff of his neck; the ex-QB realizes that he's not gonna win this little “argument” of sorts and proceeds to follow her out of the room, but not before grabbing a second Pepsi from the mini-fridge.
Jack: If ya REALLY know everything about my musical tastes...then how come ya STILL don't know “Bohemmian Rhapsody?”
Hiroko: Well...I hate that song.
Ahh yes, Mr. Warren Kidd. You're the guy who got your happy ass brainwashed and turned into a cultist, but judging from the charts and where you're standin' now, you're only a stone's throw away from taking your place at the big boys' table with all the other dudes out there. Yet I've been hearin' some rather cool things about you, like how you can switch your gameplans around at the tip of a hat or how awesomely durable you are. It seems as if...well, it seems to me that, just maybe, you might try as hard as you can to become my equal—my doppelganger, so to speak. Look at it like this, bud: I'm like you too. I can slow or quicken a match's pace in an instant, and I—like you—have the desire, heart and will to win a match even if the deck of playin' cards winds up stacked against me. I, too, was trained by an international legend, a Hall of Famer who plied his craft all over the world. Yet while I sit there and flap my gums about how you and I are alike, there's just one “minor” problem:
I'm more experienced in this business than you.
For seven years—seven long and torturous years' worth of pain, anguish, and sweat—I've busted my ass in several different organizations, puttin' butts in seats and survivin' all sorts of great battles. While you were learnin' the difference between a hammerlock and a d'arce choke, I was workin' sixty minute wars against men like Tristan “Nighthawk” McDaniel. While you were learnin' how to properly swing a folding chair, I was getting' my ass killed in “Butch” Matches by the likes of Jason Sandman and several other free-thinkin' sumbitches. While you were bein' taught the very facets of wrasslin' psychology, I was drinkin' shit loads of Pepsi and pissin' people like the aforementioned Nighthawk off for whatever damn reason I can find. I want you to imagine yourself sittin' at a Texas hold 'em table as I sit across from you. I've got a full house sittin' pretty in my hand, but do ya REALLY have a better hand than mine?
Here's some friendly advice from a long-time veteran: Fold—NOW—before you go out there and embarrass yourself in front of a packed house at MSG and millions of folks around the planet. Take the remainder of your well-earned poker chips and cash 'em out; otherwise, you are GOING to lose—and lose royally. Yet if it's your forte, go ahead and go “all-in,” but you're gonna wind up dead broke before you can even react. Ywhile I've toured places like Madison Square Garden or CenturyLink Field, you haven't been in the big-time long enough to understand that I—regardless of standing—AM and ALWAYS will be the “go-to” guy in this business. You are simply too naïve to think that you can survive TEN MINUTES in a wrasslin' ring against a more well-rounded machine such as myself, and it's gonna cost you more than your stack of chips. I may be an overconfident l'il bastard at times, but I ain't stupid enough to allow myself to lose a bet with a dude named Judas and submit my entire life to him.
That's how I see it.
THE ORLEANS HOTEL & CASINO (Room #474) – LAS VEGAS, NV
I love playin' a good hand of Texas hold 'em or two.
Then again, there's nothin'--
We find ourselves tucked away at the Orleans Hotel and Casino, just a stone's throw away from the famous Las Vegas strip. In one of only a few parts of the country that are currently dealing with sunny and pleasant weather conditions, we find Jack Gaither sitting in front of his Macbook Pro as he goes over his latest video log entry before posting it online, but all he sees on the screen is spinning “rainbow wheel of death.”
Jack Gaither: C'mon god dammit, don't do this...
Jack quits Final Cut Pro, only to open the program once more and replay his newest project.
I love playin' a good hand of poker or--
Before it goes any further, the video freezes again. Jack throws his hands up in the air and grits his teeth, quitting the program and shuts the Apple product down.
Jack: Sigh...oh, fuck this piece of shazzbot...
Sporting an Elvis Presley-inspired shirt and dark blue jeans, the ex-Cougar stands up and heads directly to the hotel room's mini-fridge, where several cans of Pepsi—made with real sugar—are his for the taking. He grabs one of the four blue soda cans and opens it up, taking a hearty gulp as the room's door swings open.
Hiroko Sawada: Come on, lazy boy! The cards are getting warm down at the casino, and you're not there with me so we both can get lucky!
Stepping into the New Orleans-themed suite which features paintings of Mardi Gras participants from years past, the Nagaran steps into the picture. Wearing a red “Viva Las Vegas” shirt and black jeans, Hiroko places a green beaded necklace around her hubby's neck while showing off hers.
Hiroko: These are supposed to bring you good luck.
Jack looks at the mirror above the room's mahogany desk and shakes his head.
Jack: I don't believe in luck.
Hiroko: Come on, now...you've been on that computer ever since we first woke up.
Jack: Yeah...I gotta get this stuff online at a decent time.
Hiroko slams the Macbook shut.
Hiroko: If we don't get downstairs at a decent time, we will miss out on the Saturday poker tournament.
The Texan's eyes light up.
Jack: Poker tournament?!
Hiroko: Yes...I believe they're playing Texas Hold 'Em. I have purchased our seats
After guzzling down the rest of his favorite drink of choice and chucking it into the pink recycling can, Jack plops down at the foot of the queen size bed.
Jack: You cannot be SERIOUS?!
Hiroko: I thought we could, you know, get lucky and win the $100,000 grand prize.
Hiroko heads toward the mini-fridge and grabs a can of Dr. Pepper, her favorite soda of choice.
Jack: Hiroko...there's more to Texas Hold 'Em than simply getting lucky out there. We've only been playin' the game for a couple of years, but the people we'll be goin' up against are MUCH more experienced than we are. They will wipe the floor with our asses if we ain't careful.
The Chiba Prefecture native slowly opens up her soda can and takes a small sip.
Jack: Look...have ya ever heard of this song before: “you gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em; know when to walk away, and know when to run.”
Hiroko: Hehehe...”The Gambler,” Kenny Rogers.
Jack ekes out a sly grin and chuckles to himself.
Jack: Tell me...how did ya know that?
Hiroko: Before leaving the house, I sat down and listened to your entire music library. I wanted to hear songs that told stories about gambling in Las Vegas and getting lucky. That song...well, it popped into my head.
Hiroko gives her man a playful poke on the shoulder as she slowly continues to drink her Dr. Pepper.
Hiroko: Besides, it was rather catchy. Come now, we've got money to win.
Hiroko yanks Jack off the bed by the scruff of his neck; the ex-QB realizes that he's not gonna win this little “argument” of sorts and proceeds to follow her out of the room, but not before grabbing a second Pepsi from the mini-fridge.
Jack: If ya REALLY know everything about my musical tastes...then how come ya STILL don't know “Bohemmian Rhapsody?”
Hiroko: Well...I hate that song.
Ahh yes, Mr. Warren Kidd. You're the guy who got your happy ass brainwashed and turned into a cultist, but judging from the charts and where you're standin' now, you're only a stone's throw away from taking your place at the big boys' table with all the other dudes out there. Yet I've been hearin' some rather cool things about you, like how you can switch your gameplans around at the tip of a hat or how awesomely durable you are. It seems as if...well, it seems to me that, just maybe, you might try as hard as you can to become my equal—my doppelganger, so to speak. Look at it like this, bud: I'm like you too. I can slow or quicken a match's pace in an instant, and I—like you—have the desire, heart and will to win a match even if the deck of playin' cards winds up stacked against me. I, too, was trained by an international legend, a Hall of Famer who plied his craft all over the world. Yet while I sit there and flap my gums about how you and I are alike, there's just one “minor” problem:
I'm more experienced in this business than you.
For seven years—seven long and torturous years' worth of pain, anguish, and sweat—I've busted my ass in several different organizations, puttin' butts in seats and survivin' all sorts of great battles. While you were learnin' the difference between a hammerlock and a d'arce choke, I was workin' sixty minute wars against men like Tristan “Nighthawk” McDaniel. While you were learnin' how to properly swing a folding chair, I was getting' my ass killed in “Butch” Matches by the likes of Jason Sandman and several other free-thinkin' sumbitches. While you were bein' taught the very facets of wrasslin' psychology, I was drinkin' shit loads of Pepsi and pissin' people like the aforementioned Nighthawk off for whatever damn reason I can find. I want you to imagine yourself sittin' at a Texas hold 'em table as I sit across from you. I've got a full house sittin' pretty in my hand, but do ya REALLY have a better hand than mine?
Here's some friendly advice from a long-time veteran: Fold—NOW—before you go out there and embarrass yourself in front of a packed house at MSG and millions of folks around the planet. Take the remainder of your well-earned poker chips and cash 'em out; otherwise, you are GOING to lose—and lose royally. Yet if it's your forte, go ahead and go “all-in,” but you're gonna wind up dead broke before you can even react. Ywhile I've toured places like Madison Square Garden or CenturyLink Field, you haven't been in the big-time long enough to understand that I—regardless of standing—AM and ALWAYS will be the “go-to” guy in this business. You are simply too naïve to think that you can survive TEN MINUTES in a wrasslin' ring against a more well-rounded machine such as myself, and it's gonna cost you more than your stack of chips. I may be an overconfident l'il bastard at times, but I ain't stupid enough to allow myself to lose a bet with a dude named Judas and submit my entire life to him.
That's how I see it.
Well howdy there pardner.