When we got to Los Angeles the welcoming party was comprised of my friend's sister's friends, some of who my friend already knew, most were men, former New Yorkers who switched coasts for the show biz jobs and full-time sun and fun. Poker was their favorite pastime. They played it every free minute they had. I never played before. They would convince me and my friend to sit down and play Texas Hold 'Em one night. The game lasted until dawn. I won.
Now, I need to preface this by saying, I do think people have psychic tendencies. I have personally experienced freaky shit I cannot explain without the distinct possibility of supernatural forces, or at least telepathy, so when me and my friend, who never played poker before started to destroy these veteran players I was wondering why kicking their ass was so easy.
Just then a friend of the New York boys arrived. His face was bashed almost beyond recognition. He'd been closing up their production office in a seedy side of West Hollywood when he was robbed and beaten. That was the story, but their production office had been robbed of a massive 50 inch TV that had been bolted to the wall and other hard-to-steal shit went along with it. The New York boys suspected that their buddy was in deep debt with bookies and gave the bookies access to the office where they collected their goods, as partial payment of his debts, and he collected a beat down to cover the balance he still owed them. Whatever happened this Bashed up mutherfucker arrived at the party looking very newly savaged and sipping a giant 'Big Gulp' sized jug of some pink medicine that had a giant prescription label on the side, whispering through swollen lips, "I want to play poker."
His ass belonged on a table in a morgue. But the game beckoned him from death.
As we played the Bashed Boy looked at me and my friend as we continued to dominate the game. Then my friend dropped out and I continued to beat the New York boys badly. They were getting more and more upset about being beaten by a girl and a girl that never played before. The Beaten Boy's face was a mess but suddenly I saw a look in his eye, a look that I read in a flash, and you could barely see this poor bastard's eyes, they were practically swollen shut, but I saw the gleam, it shot straight out of from between his crusty, bloody, bruised, eyelids, Bashed Boy liked me. He liked me because he was considering using me as a white-man-can't-jump type decoy in a high stakes game! It was obvious. I saw the look. And then I realized how I was winning. I was like Neo in the Matrix. I could see all of their tells as clear as day. I kept having to re-ask the rules almost every hand because I could not remember the fucking rules, but I still won every hand because I was reading their body language and analyzing the tones of their voices and I just played my hands accordingly.
Last night during the Dem Debate I found myself having an unusual reaction to Hillary Clinton's voice. I found it unbelievably physically painful when she would start yelling. As a loud woman myself I cringed because I found it hard to believe the woman running for President is more annoying than me, surely this voice of hers will launch a war if we let her into the White House. I want to push the button right now to stop her from using that tone of voice. Someone! Please stop her!
Why did Hillary's voice hurt me physically? It hurt me because I was really listening to her with my whole heart open trying to give her a chance to convince me that she was telling me the truth. I was listening so closely for the truth and instead I was getting hit at full volume with a lie-filled frequency that was totally clashing and causing tremendously cacophonous spiritual feedback and sending pure audio-torture into both my ears and straight into my soul via my finely-tuned, truth-seeking antenna.
And then I remembered the all-night poker game in L.A. and I realized that is why so many people like me found Hillary's tone disturbing last night. Her tone is Hillary's tell. We can all tell she is losing the poker game but she acts like she's winning and keeps reaching for the pot and it disturbs us deep in our justice seeking core. And some of us are sexists who just hate annoying women. That could be it too.
After last night I totally understand why I, personally, can't listen to a read-by-Hillary-Clinton Audio book without laughing like Robert DeNiro in Cape Fear the whole way through. She is such a calculated con-woman, a politically programmed robot that I can always tell when she is lying and I can tell when she is nervous, and I can tell when she is confident that she is getting away with her lies, and I can tell when she is relieved that she is getting away with her lies. And I can tell when she is telling the truth and it is very rare but I know when it happens because that is the only time I enjoy the sound of her voice. I can tell what a skunk she is just by listening to her, and I can hear her switching gears in her mind because her big fat mouth is like a rusty clutch and I laugh and I laugh and I laugh because it is so obvious that she is a dangerous sociopath who will say anything for power and I can't believe that she is still on the campaign trail after all these years and not in jail for disturbing the peace.
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