poker night

by Marty Shambles

It was Mark’s bet and he said, “The sun-dappled orchards of my youth were marred by stories told of the times when tornados came to our town, often many times per year. They say daddy died wrangling all the bottles in the sky. We could only find his hat and gave it a proper burial. Everybody in town came out to say goodbye to the ol’ drunk: the butcher, the baker; the sluts, geekoids, dweebos, and jocks. They all thought he was a righteous dude. I’ll never forget how the tornado whipped through the funeral, sending us all into the graves and mausoleums for cover. And as we huddled together in the death structure of a very important dude, when he was alive, I looked my mother dead in the eye and asked her if we were going to be okay, and she said yes, looking exactly the way you look now.

She was then sucked up into the sky, but I was fine. So maybe I should call your bet. But, then again, there was this time I was a barker working for the circus. Come one, come all, to see the magnificent, blue-bellied man; the penis-swallowing woman; the geekoids; and the dweebos! I fell in love with the penis swallower. Her name was Elvira, and she could swallow 20 dicks on an empty stomach. She swore up and down that she wouldn’t swallow my dick, and gave me the look you’re giving me now, Donny. But she gulped it down whole, like a Vienna sausage. I had to dig through all her defecations to find my shitty dick and get it reattached. So, maybe I’ll raise you, so I can get some dick pills with my winnings.”

Donny said, “We’ve got to get a timer for bets. This is ridiculous.”

BIO: Marty Shambles is a Pushcart nominated author. Poet laureate of railroad tracks and greasy spoons. He’s been published in a lot of places you’ve never heard of. He lives in Texas and has a GED.