Posts Tagged ‘nuclear explosion

03
Oct
11

Slicky-T Plays Strip Poker With The Devil

By SlickTiger 1 Comment
Categories: Being Slick and Good Times
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

sexy devil“Ok, wait. So how many pieces of clothing do you have on, it looks like a lot,” I said, eyeing J-Rab sceptically.

“Six in total,” she replied after doing a quick inventory of everything she had on.

“Crap, I got seven if I’m allowed to count my socks individually.”

“Ok. Pass me the devil horns from the cupboard behind you, then that will put me up to seven too.”

“Done deal,” I said, and that was when things started to go very, very badly for your pal Slicky-T.

This was Friday night and J-Rab and I had nothing better to do than drink red wine and play strip poker, something we always talk about doing but never get around to. And yes, it was just the two of us playing.

“You are SO fucked,” I taunted J-Rab, “I’m gonna take you to the CLEANERS! Before you know what the fuck’s just hit you you’re gonna be naked as the day you were born and I’m going to be wearing your undies on MY HEAD! Like a fucking TROPHY!”

 

 

At which point the screen does one of those neat flip transitions that sitcoms use to show time passing in the blink of an eye and I don’t have a stitch on.

“Fuck,” I remember mumbling, resentfully. “That went well.”

“Sure did! Hahahaha!”

“Yeah but it’s total bullshit! I can’t fucking PLAY against you! There was no skill involved in any of that, we just called each other’s every raise and every time your fucking cards came out better than mine! I can’t beat that, what the fuck?!”

“Well you don’t have to be such a dick about it!”

“I’m not being a dick about it! I’m just stating a fucking fact! Your cards are freakishly good tonight – I didn’t make one fucking hand in that game!”

“Care to play again?”

“Yes!” I said, snatching my undies from the pile of clothes in front of her and getting dressed indignantly, “And this time I’m not going so easy on you!”

At which point the screen flips again and I’m wearing one sock Red Hot Chilli Pepper’s style and chasing a straight for every damn thing it’s worth.

 

 

I’ve got a 5 and an 8 in hand and 2, 6, 9 and Jack are on the table. She’s definitely made Jacks, possibly another pair too because she’s throwing clothes into the pot like it’s a Salvation Army bin.

I just need a fucking 7 to land on the river and I’m back in the game.

“What’s it gonna be, Slick?” she says, so sexy in her little devil horns it hurts.

“Check,” I say, playing it safe in case my 7 doesn’t land.

“Check,” she says, and leans forward to turn the last card and all I’m thinking is if I lose this hand I am going to run outside naked and throw myself under a moving bus.

Because I really, really, really hate losing.

It’s like a pathological disorder I have. In the movie of my life, at this point it would cut to a montage of me flipping everything from Monopoly boards to chess boards to 30 Seconds boards as I throw shit, swear at people, accuse them of cheating, accuse them of lying, bite them, pull their hair (the girls), kick them in the shin and storm out the room vowing never to play “this stupid fucking game ever again!”

 

 

It’s one of the only times the only child in me really comes to the fore and it ain’t pretty. I wish I could control it, I really do. But fuck me I hate losing. Always have, always will.

Flip back to the game and I’m focussing my entire being on J-Rab as she starts flipping the last card. I have to win. It has to be a 7, there is just no fucking way it can’t be.

And it is.

“All in,” I say, confidently stripping butt naked for the second time and getting ready to rake in my riches.

“Ok, what did you make?” she asks, totally unfased.

“Straight! Five, six, seven, eight, nine! What did you make?”

“I also got a straight!” she says, practically bouncing on the bed with joy. “Six, seven, eight, nine, ten!”

 

 

I don’t remember much of what happened after that except for one particularly poignant moment when, half-way through trying to smother myself with my own pillow, I rolled over, completely naked, and told J-Rab that this was a new low for me.

Never play strip poker with the devil kids. It won’t end well.

Except if you make it best of three, man the fuck up and actually start playing like a human instead of a goddamn chimpanzee which, needless to say, I did.

It was a long, gruelling battle but sometime around 2 in the morning I did eventually win the horns off her head, they were the last thing she gave up, but I let her put them back on for what followed Winking smile

-ST

02
Apr
10

Tell The Tiger (Episode 1)

By SlickTiger 2 Comments
Categories: Tell The Tiger
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Hi Folks, and welcome to the first episode of ‘Tell The Tiger’ with me, your humble host, SlickTiger.

I was completely overwhelmed by all your emails, who knew you guys were so fucked up? Thank you for sharing though, with my help we can overcome the hardships of existence and blossom as incredible and unique homosapiens.

 

 

So let’s jump in there shall we?

 

Hi Slick,

I have recently been experiencing a problem involving pets in the complex.

Problem 1. There is this huge fucking fluffy ginger cat that looks like Garfield that takes the liberty of pissing on my front door almost everyday, leaving this welcoming sickly sweet ammonia stench to infiltrate my nostrils every time I enter or exit my flat. And its not just a little spray, that fucking cat wrings its kidneys completely, leaving a fairly large puddle, one that you would certainly not think came from one little cat!!! I bought a water pistol and a cap gun, but have yet to catch the ginger red handed as it were, but I have seen him scurrying down the stairs a few times when I am parking my car, so I know it’s him. So I haven’t managed to use my arsenal on him yet, something that keeps me up at night from sadistic excitement at the thought of capping him. If I catch him I even thought of putting the mother fucker in my toilet, flushing it, and then letting the sorry son of bitch loose, hopefully to never see him, or smell him again!

Problem 2. Next door, not in my complex, but in one of the surrounding house, there lives 3 Scottish terriers or corgis, like the Queen has, I’m not sure, cause I have only seen them from a distance. And seriously, when I say they bark non-stop, all fucking day and night, I’m not kidding. It drives me fucking insane with rage. I have contemplated shooting the dogs with a pellet gun, throwing firecrackers over. I tried to get hold of the owner, but he won’t answer his phone, (his neighbour gave me his number), and he never seems to be home.

Please, slick, what should I do?

Regards,

Anonymous P

Fuck, too hectic! Anonymous P, your life sounds like a hellish ordeal, between the cat soiling your front door and the Queen’s dogs never shutting the fuck up I’m surprised you even found the time to write this email.

Good news is I got a solution for you my good man. Two, to be precise.

First off, know this – that cat fucking hates you. It is deliberately pissing all over your front door because it has singled you out as an ‘easy target’ and will continue to do so, unabated, unless you take DRASTIC action.

 

 

The waterpistol / cap gun idea, while novel, is not going to solve your problem. What you need to do is the following:

Step 1

Watch a lot of Dexter. Take special note of the way he prepares his ‘kill sites’. See how he covers every available surface with plastic before he kills his victims? I want you to do exactly the same thing in the entire area around your front door.

Step 2

Buy a bucket of bright orange paint and some string. They want a cat that looks like Garfield? Fine. Give em a cat that looks like Garfield. Leave the front door slightly ajar and get a buddy to prop the open bucket of paint on the top of the door.

Then tie some string to the door handle and unravel enough of it so that you can find a comfortable position to watch the front door from and still be able to shut the door with a quick tug.

Step 3

Wait. Waiting takes awhile, so be patient and let your murderous rage for Garfield fuel your vigilance. Once you see that evil fucker come sniffing around, let him get nice and comfy and right as he’s mid-pee, give the string a quick tug.

Step 4

Laugh in that little fucker’s fucking FACE as he screeches in surprise and flees the scene of the crime, trailing orange paint all over the fucking complex. You won’t have to worry about any of that shit though. Thanks to the plastic sheeting, there won’t be one drop of orange paint, or cat piss anywhere near your front door EVER.

Ka-pow! Problem solved!

As for the dogs that never shut the fuck up, the answer here is simple. The owners need to buy bark collars for their dogs. Bark collars administer a small electric shock every time the dog barks, which will only be six or seven times before the dog gets the message.

Convince the owner to buy bark collars by using simple intimidation tactics and then escalating things until he or she gets the message.

 

 

Start by buying a few magazines, some glue, some scissors and a notepad and cutting out letters and gluing them to the page, like a ransom note.

The first note should be fairly simple and should read as follows:

Your dogs never stop barking. It is driving me insane. Please buy bark collars for them when you’re not home or I’ll get angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.

That last sentence is from The Hulk. That’s how they’ll know you aren’t fucking around.

If the dogs still don’t shut the fuck up after that, wait for the early hours of the morning, then sneak over to their car port and pour a 1kg bag of sugar into the guy’s petrol tank.

Leave a second ransom note on the guy’s windshield that reads:

If you like driving as much as I like living in a quiet and peaceful complex, you’ll buy bark collars for your dogs

They’ll get the message after that. If not, leave a third note that reads:

You don’t seem to be getting the message. Maybe you need some prison-time to have a good hard think about how we’re going to solve this whole dogs-never-shutting-the-fuck-up problem.

Then phone the police and tell them dog-guy is a known sex offender and you’ve seen him hanging around kid’s playgrounds in and around your area with a pair of binoculars and a camera with a massive zoom lens.

 

 

Ka-pow! Problem solved!

See folks, the lesson here is not to let the pets of others fuck with your life.

Anonymous P, I hope this advice helps you out dude, let me know how it all goes and good luck!

Tune in next week for letters from people that have awkward and embarrassing sex-problems!

-ST