Omaha Poker!

With the lack of short stories submitted lately and the sparse columns posted on TheWeirdcrap.com “The Boss” decided he needed to talk to me and Stephen…in person!

This is a big deal because Stephen lives somewhere in one of those big-time city-slickin’ East coast cities and I have to be flown in from good ol’ slack-jawed Tallahassee, Florida.


The last time I saw “The Boss” was when he brought Stephen and Me down to Omaha discuss the purchase of what was at that time, OUR website. One sip of wine later and Stephen was making mud pies in the un-paved Old Dodge Street, a popular hang-out for the thousands of pre-school drop-outs that litter the Omaha landscape.

An hour passed by, and the Boss and me had finished our meal. I looked out the window of the Omaha Saloon, only to see Stephen licking his freshly prepared mud-pie.

“What’s yer poison?” the tycoon asked.

“Burbon” I replied. I did my homework, the second most popular thing in Omaha is drinkin whiskey. The first…droppin’ out of school.

The third?

Poker.

I took my first shot, when I heard a chant in the distance…

“Husker-hee, husker-doo!

Husker-me, husker-you!”

It got louder.

“HUSKER-HEE, HUSKER-DOO!
HUSKER-ME, HUSKER-YOU!”

“You better get yur friend. If he goes showin’ off with readin’ and writin’ and countin’…who knows what they might do to them.”

I ran outside and lured Stephen in with a piece of beef jerky.

It got louder as they got closer!

“HUSKER-HEE, HUSKER-DOO!
HUSKER-ME, HUSKER-YOU!”

The bartender locked the door and everyone ducked under their tables.

I heard crashing, women screaming…men screaming…the shadow of fire dancing through the closed windows…

“HUSKER-HEE, HUSKER-DOO! HUSKER-ME, HUSKER-YOU!”

The horror.

“What the hell does that mean, anyway?” I asked our patron.

“Nobody really knows.” Our patron answered, “I think it’s the only thing the locals are capable of remembering.”

Soon, it was all over.

With the passing of the Husker Horde chant, I heard the faint approach of police and fire sirens. Stephen was still chewing on the beef jerky when our future boss asked the question, “You play poker?”

“S.s.s.sure, doesn’t everybody?” I nervously replied. I was lying.

“Next thing I knew, cards were being dealt, hands were being called, bets were being made…it was all very confusing.” Eight minutes later, I was signing over ownership of TheWeirdcrap.com and MyStrangeStories.com to settle my poker debt to the man we now call “The Boss”.


Now he has called us across the USA, to discuss our poor readership.


This time I came prepared, and decided to research and practice my poker. I went to the poker school and learned all about “Omaha Poker.” Then I practiced for one straight week while sipping on sparkling grape soda…with my pinky-up the whole time.

Once “The Boss” was done telling us how worthless and weak we are, he then concluded that he had no choice but to let the both of us go and hire professional writers.

“You don’t know how hard this is form me to do?” He explained while looking toward his feet.

“But, but, you don’t pay us anything!” I pleaded.

“That’s why its so hard.” He said sadly.

“How about a round of “Omaha Poker.” I said firmly.

“Winner takes all!” he confirmed.

All that practice paid off and I won our jobs back, likity-split, just like that!

“Two out of three.” He said excitedly!

“Sure,” I replied, “I win, you pay for our tickets back home!”

Next thing you know, we were both on the next bus home…FIRST CLASS!!

The End


COMING NEXT on “Ask Bob”: The amazing sell – out!!!

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