Someday before I die, I hope to find Big Denny in a jovial or even mildly agreeable mood. I had no such luck on my latest visit to the Barstow Card Casino.
"Ya done it ta me again, Maxey," he growled.
"What did I do now?" I protested. "I haven't even written about you recently."
"No, but ya wrote about Aunt Sophie in dat story about Ralph da Rattler."
"Aunt Sophie? What did I write about her?"
"Ya said she had drooping boobs."
"Well, she does."
"Not no more, Maxey. She got so insulted when she read yer stupid column dat she went out and got herself a boob job. Now da old broad looks like a broomstick wit' two watamellons, an' instead of a cocktail waitress, she t'inks she's Jayne Mansfield."
"Well, any change would be an improvement," I shrugged.
"Oh, yeah? She's scarin' off all my customers even more den usual, struttin' around wit' hardly no clothes on an' waggin' dem t'ings. Ya gotta help me get her outta here, Maxey. Any ideas?"
"Well, since she thinks she is so gorgeous, and since her nephew Michael Wiesenberg taught her poker, maybe we could get her on that ladies poker show. Then she'd be famous and get all kinds of job offers."
"Which show is dat, Maxey?"
"It's called
The Hotties of Poker, an all-female TV poker show. They get the sexiest women they can find. Some of them even know how to play a little."
Big Denny shook his head in disbelief. "Is ya kiddin' me, Maxey? Nobody in dere right mind would call that dame sexy. If it was a dog show, maybe …"
"I happen to know the producer of the show, Roger Codger. He loves my column and sometimes has me come up with funny lines for the poker ladies to ad lib. Let me talk to him."
I called Roger, told him I had a sensational idea for his show, and the next day we had a meeting. "Here's your next hottie," I said, handing him a photo of Aunt Sophie.
As expected, Roger gagged and spit out his mouthful of coffee. "Are you crazy?" he sputtered. "I let that creature on my show, it gets cancelled in five minutes."
"Look," I explained. "Your ratings have been dropping because the show is so dull. All of your lady poker players say the same boring things over and over. Aunt Sophie is a kick. She's personable and funny," I pressed on, struggling to keep a straight face. "Believe me, she'll add life to your show."
Roger was dubious but finally agreed, and two weeks later Aunt Sophie was seated at a poker table on a soundstage as I watched from the control booth alongside the nervous producer. Aunt Sophie's five lady opponents included three hottie "pros" whose looks far exceeded their poker credentials, the unavoidable Windy Waggy, who wasn't even a luke-warmie, much less a hottie, but as usual had managed to talk her way in, and one "celebrity" player: Paris Hilton.
Aunt Sophie was wearing a low-cut outfit exposing far more of her hideous new boobs than anyone cared to look at. She, on the other hand, kept staring at the odd-looking striped top that Hilton was sporting. "So tell me, dollink," she finally asked, "from where did you get that shmatte you have on?"
"This is from my new line of couture prison clothing," Hilton replied. "Very au courant. Certainly not suitable for the likes of you."
"Not unless in a chain gang they put me," Aunt Sophie shot back. "Now, some poker can we start playing?"
"Yes, let's," cried out Windy Waggy, anxious to start talking about herself. "I'm so happy to be on this wonderful show. I'm sorry it took so long, but I've been so insanely busy with all my projects and …"
"Another country heard from," Aunt Sophie sneered. "To schmooze or to play poker did we come here for?"
"To play poker," called out a familiar-looking young man as he walked up to the table. "Hi, everyone.
I'm the host of this show, Phil Hellmuth, holder of 11 World Series of Poker bracelets and beyond doubt the greatest poker player who ever lived."
"And the most humble," Aunt Sophie muttered.
Hellmuth ignored her. "Tonight, ladies, we will be playing no-limit Texas hold'em."
"Hold'em?" Aunt Sophie complained. "So how come lowball it isn't what we are playing?"
"Lowball?" Hellmuth repeated incredulously. "That game went out with the dinosaurs."
"Don't you dare a dinosaur call me, you shmegegge," Aunt Sophie screamed.
Roger shot me a dirty look. "Yeah, she's real personable, Max; about as personable as an alligator with a toothache."
The cards were dealt for the button, and Paris Hilton started as the big blind. She sat there in confusion, unsure of what to do.
"So post your chips already," Aunt Sophie berated her.
"Post? You mean mail them?"
I turned to Roger and grinned. "Don't blame
that on me," I said.
Hellmuth whispered some instructions in Hilton's ear. She nodded uncertainly, and the game began. On the first hand, Hilton moved in with 3-6 and was knocked out. When interviewing her, Hellmuth asked why she made such a play.
"Well, 36 is my bra size and it seemed like a fun thing to do," she answered vapidly.
The game continued … so to speak. The hotties made a few bland poker comments, but mostly admired each other's lipstick and talked about the parties they had been to lately. Windy Waggy mugged and yakked, mainly about herself, straining to be the center of attention. Aunt Sophie just complained and made snide remarks about the other players as if she were playing pan instead of poker.
Finally, Windy Waggy lost a big pot when she limped in with A-8 suited, then chased and missed a flush draw. Aunt Sophie couldn't resist taunting her.
"So, dollink, before the show started, lessons you were giving us and you said never an ace with a small suited card to play. So how come you just did?"
"Well, granny, that advice was designed for novices like you. An expert such as I is allowed more flexibility."
"Expert?" Aunt Sophie laughed. "Expert maybe in your mouth shooting off."
"That does it!" Windy Waggy yelled. "I've had as much of you as I can take, you old yenta!"
"Me you are calling a yenta, you old bag of wind?" With that, Aunt Sophie swung her handbag at Windy Waggy, missed, and sent chips flying in all directions. As the two rolled on the floor, spitting, biting, and pulling each other's hair, Hellmuth fainted, alarms went off, and security guards came flying in from all directions. The three hotties, meanwhile, just sat there filing their fingernails, looking bored to tears. After all, they got to see much better fights at the parties they went to every night.
Needless to say, Roger had Aunt Sophie thrown off the set. She's gone back to annoying customers at the Barstow Card Casino, and I've promised Wiesenberg, who sent me a death threat, not to come up with any more brilliant ideas for his aunt. Meanwhile, Roger could use a couple more poker hotties for his show. No experience necessary.
Max Shapiro, a lifelong poker player and former newspaper reporter with several writing awards to his credit, has been writing a humor column for Card Player ever since it was launched 20 years ago. His early columns were collected in his book, Read 'em and Laugh.
