When the Bough Breaks; or, This Ain’t No Motherfucking Plane!

Monday, July 24th, 2006, 3:06 pm

After some early-morning running-around and an early exit from a SNG (I’ll spare you the ghastly bad beat story) I decided to lay out in the hammock for a bit. It’s a beautiful day, and how many more chances will I get to enjoy lying in my back yard? In 18 days, it won’t be my back yard.

So I’m lying out there in shorts and sunglasses, re-reading Kitchen Confidential for the 50th time. I mentioned the other day I saw a groundhog prowling around the backyard, but no sign of him today. I lay out there, soaking up the sun, watching the omnipresent hawks soar overhead…when I heard rustling from the other side of the fence.

Rustling. No big deal–there are bunnies and squirrels around, they don’t bother me. And there’s a neighborhood cat who stops by every so often. No biggie. Even the groundhog wouldn’t faze me. I’m bigger than he is.

The rustling got louder, and I turned to see what it was. I was lying just ten feet away, and the noise was loud enough to get my attention. I saw that a tree branch was leaning way over, almost to the ground. I looked up the branch, to see what it was that was making it bend, but there wasn’t anything there.

And then the branch fell to the ground. And in that split-second I figured out what was making the branch bend.

The branch bent itself.

Because it wasn’t a branch.

It was a snake.

It was the Biggest Goddam Snake I’ve Ever Seen That Wasn’t On Goddam Animal Planet. It wasn’t as thick around as my thumb–it was as thick around as my wrist. I heard it slither a bit through the underbrush, at which point I exited, stage left. I’m no Jeff Corwin–I don’t get a woodie fucking with the slimier of God’s creatures. I figured it was a good time to go back inside. I need to complete my unemployment filing online. Later I have to trim the hedges and destroy the yellow jacket hive in my front yard. I’ll be outside plenty later on. When the snake’s gone.

I’m sorry, I have to get this off my chest–I’m playing in a SNG, about the fifth hand in I’m dealt QJ and with four limpers I decide to call. The blinds call too and the flop comes J-J-6. Good flop. The small blind checks, and the big blind goes all-in–he bets T1200 into a pot holding T120. Well, I gotta call, so I do. I can’t imagine he has AJ or KJ, nor pocket sixes. I gotta be good here. And, in truth, I am–he turns over pocket fives. For the life of me, I cannot see the logic in this. You’re risking all your chips in the hopes that none of the other five people at the table have a jack. If one of them does, you’re down to a two-outer for your entire stack. If no one does, all you pick up is T120. It’s about the worst play imaginable.

Of course he rivered the five and I was down to T200. I doubled up with AK, doubled up again with AK, and after that hand won the blinds with AQ and aces. The very next hand I’m dealt pocket nines and I raise the fourth hand in a row. The big blind calls and the flop comes jack-high. I should’ve just gone all-in, as my pot-sized bet left me committed anyway. He re-raises me all-in and I call. I figure him for jacks, or AJ at least. No, he has A-9. He had to know I’d call. What could he possibly beat? I couldn’t believe it. Nor could I believe it when he went runner-runner to make a higher flush than me and put me out. I love poker. Nearly as much as I love snakes.

UPDATE: I said I had to trim the bushes and destroy a yellow jacket nest. I did them in the wrong order. To be fair, I didn’t know there was a nest in the one railroad tie that helps form the wall along my driveway. Two stings later, I know. Got nailed twice on the ankle, and it hurt like a bastard. Felt the first sting, that hurt, but the second one was really a bitch, and the damned wasp was still attached to my ankle, struggling to pump the poison in as it’s wings fluttered and it’s guts poured out all over the place. Awesome. So now I have ice on my ankle and murder on my mind. I have a full can of Raid at my side, Wasp/Hornet formula. Gonna get medieval on their asses…if there was advanced chemical warfare back then.

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4 Responses to “When the Bough Breaks; or, This Ain’t No Motherfucking Plane!”

  1. TripJax Says:

    All your snakes are belong to us.

  2. donkeypuncher Says:

    Snakes on a Hammock is actually the title for the sequel to SOAP. I think.

  3. Drizztdj Says:

    Send in Samuel L!!!!

  4. StB Says:

    But hosing down wasps/yellowjackets with the can of Raid is so much fun! Especially after having a couple of beers.

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