No Angry Darts
by Adam "Rev" Hulnick
This is one of the few things I've ever written while under the influence of alcohol. With any luck that fact won't be too blaringly obvious.
Okay, I've had a couple of vodka tonics, so apologies
if this is not up to my usual standard...
Tonight me and my buddy Schaff went down to the pub to
play some darts. I'm not very good at the game, but I
guess I'm into it enough to have my own set of darts.
I named them "los bumblebees." Another night I was
drinking.
So we get there and this one regular customer is
playing a game with a couple of girls. The regular, a
guy named Mike, is angry competitive guy. We all call
him "Angry Mike." He can't stand me, partly I'm sure
because I don't play very well, but largely I'm
betting because he thinks I'm an idiot. The fact that
he doesn't get that I act like a super-idiot around
him because I know it pisses him off makes it just so
much sweeter. For me, anyway. I don't think it
enhances his evening at all.
So anyway, he's working on this little chick, arm
around her, showing her where to throw the darts.
Schaff and I put our names on the board to play him
next. At first we're just throwing the darts as usual,
but after a time an idea hits me: if we start to beat
him he'll transform into angry competitive guy and
ruin his chances with this little chick.
And not that I can will myself to throw better or
anything, but I think the spirit of mischief rose in
me and guided los bumblebees to the target. As we
started winning, like clockwork he started to get
angry. I racked up some points and really steamed him.
When we actually won, he wouldn't even shake my hand.
The little chick came up to me, still holding out my
hand in Angry's direction, and said "he's pretty
competitive, huh?" I told her what we called him and
she almost fell over laughing.
We played another game and he was now so absorbed in
the game that he was ignoring the girl who had gone to
talk to some other people. When we won the second
game, fun had left the building for Angry. Losing to
me must kind of suck because I'm not very good and I
don't care that I'm not very good. Losing to me is
kind of like a professional racecar driver losing to a
guy in a Mazda Miata who had kind of wandered onto the
racetrack.
The little chick left some time during the third game.
Angry won the third game and wanted to play another,
"it's one each, let's play a third." Schaff reminded
him that we had actually won two games. Though I have
to say that by my reckoning, I was the big winner
tonight. Well, me and that little chick who didn't
have sex with Angry.
Viva Los Bumblebees!
More good stuff at AtomicLunch.com