“For East Egg!” I bellowed, my homeland’s battle cry echoing off the walls of the dank and dusty back alley where I was engaged in a game of dice with three rather disreputable-looking gentlemen. I threw with gusto and rolled my tenth consecutive six, guaranteeing another influx of cash for myself and the other two players who were shrewd enough to ride my luck, Gummo and Little D.
“Hot damn!” Little D cried, clapping his hands with glee. “This dude’s like a busted ATM, just pouring cash all over the place!”
“Yeah yeah yeah, son! Keep that train a’rollin’!” Gummo concurred. “Don’t stop till the bass drop, whaaaaat!”
Before continuing, perhaps I should explain how I found myself in this situation. It all stems from yesterday’s events, in which I was unable to gain entry to CPAC and was subsequently attacked and mugged by three vicious women at a Howard Johnson’s. All because I tried to buy them drinks.
Well, no good deed goes unpunished and all that, but with just a few hundred dollars that I’d sensibly hidden in my luggage prior to that inauspicious encounter, I was in dire need of more capital. Fortunately, I was able to find this illicit gathering not far from my hotel, and up to this point it appeared my luck was finally turning around. But enough of the past, let’s get back to the present.
“I have no idea what that means,” I said to Gummo while happily divvying up the cash lost by the third player, Snake, “but I’ll do my best to comply. Any requests?”
“Yeah, I got one,” Snake said.
“Oh?” I said.
“Yeah.” Leaning in close, he whispered, “Throw a seven.”
“Ha!” I said, smiling broadly. “Why on earth would I want to throw a seven?”
“Because,” he said. “Ain’t no man ever been gutted like a fish with a seven.”
“Gutted like a—?”
I heard a faint metallic click and felt something sharp and cold pressing against my stomach. Looking down, I noted that Snake had produced a switchblade, the business end of which was providing the sharp, cold feeling that I was quickly growing none too fond of.
“Hrm,” I said. “I, uh, see your point. No pun intended.”
“Get on with it then,” he said.
“Um, yeah. OK,” I said, once more taking up the dice. I then realized two things: Gummo and Little D had vacated the area, and it was a very long way from my current position back to the more crowded main street. “Hey, Snake.”
“Yeah?” he said.
“Can I call you Snake?”
Snake nodded. “Sure.”
“Listen, I was thinking about it, and how about we just cut out — ah, that is, eliminate — no, I mean forget about the middle man, and I just give you what I have?”
Snake stroked his chin thoughtfully, his eyes all but invisible behind thick, black sunglasses. I held out my wad of bills hopefully.
“Tell you what,” he said, taking the money. “I’m gonna go ahead and take that now—”
“—but you still roll the dice.”
“Wait, what?” I said.
“You heard me.”
“Goddamnit. OK. And what happens after I roll the dice?”
“Well,” he said, “if you roll a seven, we both go home and laugh about this with our wives. But if you don’t…”
“Oh come on.”
“Alright,” he said, shrugging. “We can forget about that middle man too and I’ll just cut you right now.”
Long story short, I threw the dice and literally shat myself when they came up six again. Thankfully, Snake must have been pulling my leg toward the end there because the knife to the gut I was expecting never landed. By the time I turned around he was long gone.
Anyhow, screw CPAC, screw National Harbor, screw HoJo’s FemiNazis, and screw Snake — I’ve had it with all of them. Good thing my old friend Mitt Romney is in town today; hopefully I can hit him up for a loan to see me through until my flight leaves tomorrow. Wish me luck. By which I mean good luck, as I’ve now had plenty of the other variety. Until next time, au revoir.