Do card-counters have a sense of humor?

[glenwiggy]

In ten years of card-counting, I've had the privilege of sitting among many other counters. Most are methodical and serious. Does anyone have a sense of humor? Do you? Please let me know if you think the following story is funny:

~ The Genius ~
During a drive from Omaha to Oklahoma City to visit my parents, I stopped at a roadside casino in some no-name Kansas town. I wanted to play a few hands to break the monotony of driving. I sat at a blackjack table which had no posted rules. Since the dealer had been in the middle of a chip exchange with the pit boss and security staff, I asked the only player at the table a couple questions. The man was diminutive, probably weighing less than 100 pounds, and wore thick, black-framed glasses.
"What are the double-down rules? Do they offer surrender?"
Without looking in my direction, the wee man said, "Some dogs are named Talmadge."
I responded inquisitively, "Pardon."‖
The man repeated with a ton of attitude, "SOME DOGS ARE NAMED TALMADGE!"
I stood up and slowly walked from the table saying, ―Oooookay then.‖ The guy might have been mentally challenged. Some dogs are named Talmadge? Or maybe he was intoxicated or under the influence of something stronger than alcohol. Either way, I had determined he should remain in solitude. I found another table where I played head's up with the dealer. A half hour later, a loud, obnoxious woman approached the game. She started blabbering even before taking a seat, and did not stop talking when the cards were dealt.
"We have been on the road all day in that blasted sun—Cousin Mary is driving me crazy in the RV—If we don't get to Yellowstone soon, I'm gonna bust—Where is the potty in this place?"‖
She wouldn't stop yammering. Eventually, she turned my way.
"Hi, my name's Shelly, I'm from Rolla, Missouri—What's your name?"
I had looked straight ahead, thought a moment, and responded, "Some dogs are named Talmadge."
"Dogs are whaaaaat?"‖Shelly responded with a puzzled look on her face.
I shouted, "SOME DOGS ARE NAMED TALMADGE!"‖
The woman quit talking for the first time and gently pulled herself away from the table, all the while giving me a strange look. The dealer, pit boss and security staff gave me puzzled looks as well, but continued their business. At that moment, I had realized that the little guy with the thick, black-framed glasses was a genius.

[Anton Chigurh]

I got a call a while back, from some AP buddies who were dumping mercury in the desert about 30 miles outside Tonopah, in connection with some unrelated work for the local chamber of commerce.

"You gotta get out here: you won't believe this! We got a whole nest of 'em!"

"I only have enough ammo for a small coven, Wackford. I can hit the road in a couple of hours."

"Don't worry about supplies. We have beer, shotguns, barbecue, night-vision goggles, and floodlights. Nick's heading up from Beatty with a few drums of nitric acid. You should hustle - you're gonna love this."

I got there that same evening, just as the last rays of sun were bathing the landscape of mine tailings and body dumps. From atop a small knoll, the view required no explanation: a vast pit of embryonic critters. A landscape of translucent pods, with the larvae visible inside, ID badges and all.

And a sussurus of syllables in a seemingly alien language, repeated from pod to pod, sometimes in unison, but sometimes in waves:

"Wudzhaliekaplayerscardsir ... wudzhaliekaplayerscardsir ... dyahavuplayerscard ... wudzhaliekaplayerscardsir ... wudzhaliekaplayerscardsir ... dyahavuplayerscard ... dyahavuplayerscard ... chekchangethreehunnud ... dyahavuplayerscard ..."


I dropped my shotgun and captive bolt pistol to the desert floor, and just stood there, in silence, next to a shuffle tracker clutching his flame thrower and muttering: "They're oviparous! There goes my theory about spores."

"We figure a queen laid them here and lit out. Extraterrestrials, maybe - it's 6:5, whatever the origin" replied Wackford. "Good thing we found them before they hatched."

The shuffle tracker cleaved one of the pods in two with a machete. The two halves regenerated themselves into identical tiny pit critters, with no trace of their single-egg origin. The tracker winked back at us: "Heh. So much for no double after split."

We donned full-body suits, dammed up the back end of the pit with sand bags and even-money match plays, kicked over the drums of acid, and polished off the beers and tri-tip with only the occasional squeal of "thankyouforplayingsir ... thankyouforplayingsir ... sixhunnudout ..." emanating from a dying critter in the background.

I have never laughed harder than I did that night.

[jaygruden]

Some time ago I was sitting at a Vegas 6D BJ game counting cards with a fellow AP, named “Tim”. Our act dictated that we were co-workers and buddies in town for a convention of advertising executives. We even had authentic looking name badges from the convention hall. All was going well and we were making a killing at the tables until we got the tap from the casino shift manager (SM). He was flanked on both sides by two behemoth security guards and had the director of security behind him glaring over his shoulder. He asked us to come with him to a room where we could speak in private. Being young and fairly new to AP, Tim and I unwisely obliged.

Once in the back room the inquisition began as to what we were doing in Vegas, at his casino and specifically at his BJ tables. Tim and I stuck with our story that we were everyday ad execs in town for the convention and that we were simply having some fun gambling between seminars. Our massive winnings were sheer luck and we protested at his accusations that we were anything other than what we had presented.

The SM was not buying our story and he asked us if we could prove that we were ad execs as we portrayed. “What proof do you need?” Tim asked. “Well if you are, in fact, ad executives then I would think you would be effective at coming up with slogans and rhyming jingles fairly quickly.” The SM continued, “You do these things daily, do you not?”

I was trying not to commit ourselves to anything so as not to be found out to be fakes but before I could protest Tim jumped in with…..”Of course we do. What do you have in mind?” The SM said he would give us each a chance to create a rhyme using a word that he provided and if we pulled it off he would believe our story and let us go. I was really not comfortable with this arrangement but Tim quickly agreed and before I knew it we were committed to the test.

The SM immediately told us….”You must create a rhyme using the word ‘Timbuktu.” The SM went on to say, “Since you are both highly successful ad executives you should have no problem with such a challenging word to use in the rhyme; but if you cannot do it, you are most certainly frauds.”
Tim stood up rather quickly and said, “I’ll go first.” Staying true to our act he added, “This is fairly easy for me, since I write copy all day long in my job at the firm. Here is my rhyme.”

“As I walked across the desert sand, I saw a camel caravan;
As they traveled two by two, on their way to Timbuktu.”

The SM seemed impressed enough and then looked at me. “Well? You’re turn sir.” I could feel the sweat dripping off my brow and the dryness in my parched throat as I sat under that hot overhead light swinging from the ceiling. But I felt confident enough with this one so I rose to my feet and quickly blurted out:

“Tim and I a camping went. Three young ladies passed by our tent.
As they were three and we were two; I bucked one and Tim bucked too!”

Before I knew it, we were promptly tossed out the front door onto the strip and not even allowed to cash in our chips. I guess he didn't like “camping” rhymes.

[yesiamred]

some time ago i was sitting at a vegas 6d bj game counting cards with a fellow ap, named “tim”. Our act dictated that we were co-workers and buddies in town for a convention of advertising executives. We even had authentic looking name badges from the convention hall. All was going well and we were making a killing at the tables until we got the tap from the casino shift manager (sm). He was flanked on both sides by two behemoth security guards and had the director of security behind him glaring over his shoulder. He asked us to come with him to a room where we could speak in private. Being young and fairly new to ap, tim and i unwisely obliged.

Once in the back room the inquisition began as to what we were doing in vegas, at his casino and specifically at his bj tables. Tim and i stuck with our story that we were everyday ad execs in town for the convention and that we were simply having some fun gambling between seminars. Our massive winnings were sheer luck and we protested at his accusations that we were anything other than what we had presented.

The sm was not buying our story and he asked us if we could prove that we were ad execs as we portrayed. “what proof do you need?” tim asked. “well if you are, in fact, ad executives then i would think you would be effective at coming up with slogans and rhyming jingles fairly quickly.” the sm continued, “you do these things daily, do you not?”

i was trying not to commit ourselves to anything so as not to be found out to be fakes but before i could protest tim jumped in with…..”of course we do. What do you have in mind?” the sm said he would give us each a chance to create a rhyme using a word that he provided and if we pulled it off he would believe our story and let us go. I was really not comfortable with this arrangement but tim quickly agreed and before i knew it we were committed to the test.

The sm immediately told us….”you must create a rhyme using the word ‘timbuktu.” the sm went on to say, “since you are both highly successful ad executives you should have no problem with such a challenging word to use in the rhyme; but if you cannot do it, you are most certainly frauds.”
tim stood up rather quickly and said, “i’ll go first.” staying true to our act he added, “this is fairly easy for me, since i write copy all day long in my job at the firm. Here is my rhyme.”

“as i walked across the desert sand, i saw a camel caravan;
as they traveled two by two, on their way to timbuktu.”

the sm seemed impressed enough and then looked at me. “well? You’re turn sir.” i could feel the sweat dripping off my brow and the dryness in my parched throat as i sat under that hot overhead light swinging from the ceiling. But i felt confident enough with this one so i rose to my feet and quickly blurted out:

“tim and i a camping went. Three young ladies passed by our tent.
As they were three and we were two; i bucked one and tim bucked too!”

before i knew it, we were promptly tossed out the front door onto the strip and not even allowed to cash in our chips. I guess he didn't like “camping” rhymes.

lmfao

[jaygruden]

lmfao

Knowing you are one of the few females on this board, I'm glad you were not offended.

[alwayssplitaces]

When I play at the sweaty Spaniard, I waste my first $100 to act like an idiot. I split tens, hit a soft 21, double down a 12, split fives. The pit boss(es) think I'm an idiot. After that $100 goes south, I play seriously. Because they have the first impression that I'm an idiot, I'm allowed to play all night spreading 5-100 and I rathole a lot so that I look like I'm consistently re-buying in.

[bigplayer]

ever watch a standard "good customer" high roller play. They aren't very gregarious either for the most part when serious money is at stake. Regardless of your skill level everyone wants to win.

[Anton Chigurh]

ever watch a standard "good customer" high roller play. They aren't very gregarious either ...

My casual attitude drew dealer remarks a couple of times recently.

I was trying to look like someone who was just there to have a little fun, but a stack of black is still a stack of black, and a couple of dealers said I seemed quite relaxed for someone doing this. Uh-oh.

I couldn't say "Uhh, in the past few days I have made so many bets that I've lost the ability to care."

[PonyPrincess]

My casual attitude drew dealer remarks a couple of times recently.

I was trying to look like someone who was just there to have a little fun, but a stack of black is still a stack of black, and a couple of dealers said I seemed quite relaxed for someone doing this. Uh-oh.

I couldn't say "Uhh, in the past few days I have made so many bets that I've lost the ability to care."

On the flip-side the 1-2 times I've run into someone who was obviously trying to count freaked out and got super angry if they lost while in a good shoe. I don't really think it's a tell either way.

[doubledownfacedown]

My casual attitude drew dealer remarks a couple of times recently.

I was trying to look like someone who was just there to have a little fun, but a stack of black is still a stack of black, and a couple of dealers said I seemed quite relaxed for someone doing this. Uh-oh.

I couldn't say "Uhh, in the past few days I have made so many bets that I've lost the ability to care."

"It's just money -- it will come and it will go. I'll pay for the good entertainment and the chance to win some money too!"

[lurppis]

hit a soft 21

I'm always interested to hear about blackjack rules variants - in what regions are you allowed to hit a soft 21? In Australia, a 21 is a 21, and you can't hit it even if you want to.

[AussiePlayer]

I'm always interested to hear about blackjack rules variants - in what regions are you allowed to hit a soft 21? In Australia, a 21 is a 21, and you can't hit it even if you want to.

What about receiving an A on split ten's? The only reasons I can imagine doing this would involve having 'extra info' that is extremely hard to get in a NHC shoe game!

[Norm]

I got a call a while back, from some AP buddies who were dumping mercury in the desert about 30 miles outside Tonopah, in connection with some unrelated work for the local chamber of commerce....

I only have two questions.

• Where was the mercury dumped? About 50 bucks a kilo now.
• Did you ever stay in room 850 at The Mint?