i'm not a pickup artist. maybe i was a natural as a youngin'. perhaps i learned from all my single mum's boyfriends. but that doesn't matter now. this story may belong in 'field reports.'

once upon a time, me, my gal (i'll call her 5), my beta buddy, & his gal 7, went to the bar to shoot some pool. this bar was a hole-in-wall with an older crowd. 7 is loud & flirtatious, but i'm not walkin' out without drinkin' a pint & shootin' some pool.

comical accident, beta, omega, 5 & 7 play alpha tonight. so naturally, it's more fun for 7 to find some obnoxious techno-rap (old people can't figger out how to take those darn hippityhop records out of a digital jukebox?) on the jukebox & shake her ass.

i had a couple quarters (50c pool XD) but go to the change machine for a few more. i hand 'em to 5, tell her to put some country or sinatra or somethin' on.

tragic accident, two huge alpha meatheads find the wrong bar too. at least 7 is done wearing out our welcome.

beta & 7 are on opposite sides of the table. amog & isolate takes less than 1 minute. faster than beta racks balls.

down the pint. & 5s. i challenge them to a game of pool. gentlemen's bet. he who wins, wins. i'm not good, so you get the break.

A1, b, A2, o RLY?

omega sinks the 8. aw, nuts. well, good game guys. i left 50c on the table.

YOU CANT DO THAT!

you lost the game.

i tell beta to pick up the check, take 5 & 7 as proper arm candy, & walk out.

true story, bros. (the game & "search engines" led me to game, incidentally.)

edit:
post script:

on the patio at the next joint, while the girls wash their noses or whatever, i try to 'splain a little game to beta. later that night, beta & 7 fight, 7 wins. omega fucks 5 raw.