Bring on 8 ball

A familiar turn of events. Liz plays & wins a close one. Dog plays & loses by 3. Matt finds himself in a huge hole @ 6-0, Steve is notching racks up @ a fast pace but the numbers don't look good when suddenly Matt wins 5 racks in a row. There is hope. But his opponent shits in the 9 ball to win the match & hope is snuffed out, like a flame on Survivor. And we lose. Yet again.

I think Slipper touched an a great word in the comments on the previous week's post.


And the evenings events can be best summed up by his beautiful poetry on the morning after.



What is thee,
I see
in the morning?
Is that You,
O Great Stinking?
You have kept me warm all night
in your huddled embrace
Of Stinking.
We are two lost souls,
passing each other like boats
on a stormy night.
I try to grab hold,
clutching desperately,
But how does one catch
Stinking?
Impossible.
Stinking catches thee.
Stinking.
Stinking.
Slowly,
Stinking.


'Nuff said.

Where's the wild card?