A Christmas Greeting

I hate you all. Sorry, but after spending Christmas Eve with such a collection of failed birth control, any appreciation I had for humanity is gone. Are you a member of the human race? You're on the list.

Actually, I'm just being pissy about having to work the holiday.

Still. Christmas Eve at the casino was a lesson in patience and the fact that I didn't end up in jail or fired has to be chalked up to my general good nature. What a group of ass-stain. It goes without saying that if you're playing three-card poker on Christmas morning, there's something clearly askew in your pathetic little life. But I'm not sure I was prepared for this.

A chronological account of jack-assery:

The first table I dealt (four-card poker) to was light, just two players. The first was a jolly fat man with a dirty beard wearing holey sweatpants, a Skoal t-short with a coffee (or gravy) stain on the left tit. He would not shut the fuck up. Hey, asshole? The reason you haven't seen a straight flush in six hours? BECAUSE THEY'RE PRETTY GODDAMNED HARD TO GET. We don't pay 40-1 odds on a hand because they drop out of the sky like babies from Angelina Jolie. The other degenerate flesh waste at the table was an 80 year-old lady who kept complaining about how uncomfortable the stools were. Oh, I'm sorry, you chain-smoking, menthol-oozing cancer-ridden stick bag. Perhaps you'd be more comfortable AT HOME on Christmas Eve with all your cracker family. Pull up a bean bag chair and dig into your Stove Top next to your third husband. Soylent Green.

Of course, Sasquatch in Sweatpants was there. I think I've mentioned her before. Over six-foot. Oxygen tank. Haircut stolen from Braveheart. Sweatpants. Limp. Surprise, nothing to do on Christmas Eve.

On a side note: We don't employ a security guard who could stop Larry Flint from making off with the vault. What a collection of sausage and limpers they are.

My last table, all Vietnamese (or Korean. I know they weren't japanese because they were all stupid and I know they weren't Chinese because I still have some human rights) playing Ultimate Texas Hold 'Em, our most complicated game. Of course two of them didn't know how to play, and I couldn't explain to them what they were doing wrong because I don't talk like the guy who sold Gizmo to Billy's dad. Lots of pointing and head shaking and futilely trying to explain why my 9 kicker beats their 2. Then there was the guy who just kept killing it, flopping flushes and straights and constantly standing up so fast his chair tipped over and yellling "I ruv you deerer!" in a rasyp, high-pitched voice. I'm telling you, this guy couldn't have been more excited if he's just gutted Hawyeye Pierce. Next to him was a couple who took forever to make decisions, which wouldn't be a big deal if A) the decisions weren't F'n obvious (10-2 offsuit? Don't bet.) and B) if the last chick at the table wasn't constantly yelling, "C'mon dealer. Fasterfasterfaster. I gotta get home to open presents!" Seriously. This is at 9:30 in the morning, and this bitch is getting upset at ME because her kids are waiting at home for Asian Santa Claus? Eat rice and die, Far Eastern Heathen. At least she was hot for a mid-40's noncasian.

Also: When not playing blackjack, it's not funny to yell "Dubber Down!" Just because I dealt you a 9-2.

Another side note: I'm not actually racist, but last night brought out the best.

I leave for work in 5 hours for a night that's sure to be twice as busy as last night. Be sure to check the Minnesota police blotter. It'll surely be listed as a hate crime, but not THAT kind of hate crime.

Seriously. Merry Christmas everyone. I mean it. However, you can take your 45+ degrees and suck it.