Never draw to an inside straight...
Damn all math using, odds calculating, green drink drinking engineers striaght to hell.
Looks like i was wrong about Cmdr Scott, not only did he enjoy a good drink now and then...and by 'now' i mean he seems to have bottles of booze hidden all over his body, and by 'then' i mean 'then he has more hidden in his clothes'.
we hadnt played one hand completely when he asked if we had any scotch... and not just scotch, but 400 year old scotch from some obscure township in Scottland that probably couldnt be found within 50 lightyears of here. Well we didnt have any of that, but luckily Chekov stopped by early and dropped of Russia's answer to water... vodka, and lots of it.
so there i was going shot for shot with Cmdr Scott and Ensign Chekov. Well shot for shot, until shot number 25, when i went 'shot for sick to my stomach'. Because shot number 25 was some Scottish Hell Drink that didnt even have a damn name.... Scott just called it "green". how sick is that?? There is no telling what was in that thing. I hope McCoy gets to SickBay early tomorrow, i'll probably be lying down in front of the hatch trying to make the ship stop spinning.
That green crap was sooo bad, that the next hand I went All In with a fabulous little straight.... well almost a straight... all i needed was a 9. just one teny tiny itsy bitsy little 9.... DAMN ALL 7 of clubs!!! I had a 7 already.... I needed a 9.
After Mr Scott raked in all HIS chips, he kindly informed me of the odds of getting said 9. And if i wasnt lying on my face in front of SickBay waiting for Dr. ColdFinger to bring me back to life I would have popped Scotty right in the face...
Looks like i was wrong about Cmdr Scott, not only did he enjoy a good drink now and then...and by 'now' i mean he seems to have bottles of booze hidden all over his body, and by 'then' i mean 'then he has more hidden in his clothes'.
we hadnt played one hand completely when he asked if we had any scotch... and not just scotch, but 400 year old scotch from some obscure township in Scottland that probably couldnt be found within 50 lightyears of here. Well we didnt have any of that, but luckily Chekov stopped by early and dropped of Russia's answer to water... vodka, and lots of it.
so there i was going shot for shot with Cmdr Scott and Ensign Chekov. Well shot for shot, until shot number 25, when i went 'shot for sick to my stomach'. Because shot number 25 was some Scottish Hell Drink that didnt even have a damn name.... Scott just called it "green". how sick is that?? There is no telling what was in that thing. I hope McCoy gets to SickBay early tomorrow, i'll probably be lying down in front of the hatch trying to make the ship stop spinning.
That green crap was sooo bad, that the next hand I went All In with a fabulous little straight.... well almost a straight... all i needed was a 9. just one teny tiny itsy bitsy little 9.... DAMN ALL 7 of clubs!!! I had a 7 already.... I needed a 9.
After Mr Scott raked in all HIS chips, he kindly informed me of the odds of getting said 9. And if i wasnt lying on my face in front of SickBay waiting for Dr. ColdFinger to bring me back to life I would have popped Scotty right in the face...
posted by Chief Powers at 04:34
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