An account of Jeeves' trip to Las Vegas latterly in the service of Mr tikay.

[tikay]

Brilliant!

And Jeeves has a most adaptable writing-style, almost as if he's two different people. Remarkable.

[NoflopsHomer]

Jeeves is getting his wages cut to six and ninepence when I get back...

[Jeeves]

Saturday.

It was a difficult conversation early this morning. Master had suffered another long and taxing day the wrong side of the rope and was clearly frustrated with developments. I gathered from his friend Roderick that Master was disappointed that his new friends at Ultimate Bet had chosen to sponsor Rizen. His first comment to me as he entered the room was

"Rizen? Who's he? Did he ever win the turbo hundo on Tilt for $6.5k? No!" and with that he slammed his bloggers notebook down on the floor scattering his etchings of Kathy Liebert on the floor.

As I bent to retrieve them Master Floppy nervously cleared his throat...

"Jeeves" said he, "I need to speak with you. I am not happy with your performance on this trip. Unless things improve I will be forced to reduce your pay and possibly find a new manservant"

I was taken aback. Thirty four years loyal service in the family and was it to come to this?

I enquired what the problem was, upper lip stiff, back ram-rod straight but inwardly in turmoil.

"Well Jeeves, I hear you are writing an unauthorised and unexpurgated diary of my trip on the internet. I have spoken to father and he says this was not contained as a clause in your manservant's contract in 1974. There was no mention of the internet in it at all. As such I forbid you to spill the beans on my phobia of flappy ears, and any other faults I may have"

I was quiet for a moment, from outside we heard the far off drone of a small light aircraft trailing a banner across the sky. We turned and saw the banner which read "I'm Mr Chip Tricks, and yes I am a cock".

I decided to take my medicine "I am sorry Master, I have watched you post on the internet for a number of years and admired it from afar. Not many gentlemen of my era embrace new technologies, except of course that man who keeps wittering on about Concrete Posts and bridges, but I thought I would show willing and attempt to integrate into that important area of your personal and professional life. If you wish me to desist, I will"

"Jeeves,it must stop. I have a lot on my plate in Vegas. Why only yesterday I was only able to eat half of my 20oz T-Bone at  the All-U-Can-Eat Diner because of the stress this has caused me. No more"

So, ladies and gentlemen, this has to be the last entry. Master Floppy informs me that following his shibbbbbbbbbb the turbo hundo for $6.5k he is now to actually play a World Series of Poker Bracelet event and this gives me, as someone who has known him since he was accepting orange and mango puree in his highchair, immense pride. If he could, ahem, shibbbbb one time it would be the culmination of many years of devotion.

So, for the time being, it is temporarily goodbye from me and Good luck to Master floppy in the $1,500 PLO event on Tuesday. 

[boldie]

massive amounts of good luck to Floppy in the 1500 PLO..I know you have the game for this one (not for a HE event though )

I will miss this diary the most if indeed Floppy no longer permits Jeeves to write a regular update.

[mondatoo]

Best of luck in the event floppy

[Jeeves]

Friday


Firstly I must thank my noble and honourable Master for allowing me once again to digest for public consumption his travails here in Las Vegas, Nevada.

I last spoke to you nearly a week ago. It has been hectic since, with Master Floppy showing a rather colt-ish temperament for one so well-bred. However the opportunity to play in one's first Bracelet event is of course a once in a lifetime experience so one can allow him the odd foible or two during his moments of peak stress.

Tuesday, the big day, dawned hot and humid. I had discussed thoroughly with young Master his requirements for the event. The list went as follows

1. Brown brogues.
2. Freshly pressed Hackett Chinos.
3. Clean Poker Listings shirt with velcro'd sponsors logo.
4. Visor.
5. Sunglasses.
6. IPod, charged and on Playlist 63 (the one with Whitney Houston and Diana Ross)
7. Oversized headphones.
8. Fresh blogger's notebook.
9. Sharpened pencil.
10. Fresh Kumquat.

On going down the list I was in my element, nothing better than ticking off a list of tasks and reaching a satisfactory conclusion to a deadline. There I was, approaching midnight when I reached Item 10. "Fresh Kumquat". I must admit I took several looks at this item and wondered what on earth Master wanted a fresh piece of exotic fruit for.

At 3am I had returned from Spanish Joe's all night convenience store with the said item, just as Master was making his way to bed after another long blog. I enquired of him the Kumquat reasoning. His reply perhaps confirmed a thought that
had been developing in my mind for some time:

"Jeeves, I want to be a star. We've seen Oranges and Bananas, apples too. All used by players as lucky charms in big events. Well this is my stage. My big chance. I need to make a stateemnt. What better statement than saying - Look at me, Look at My kumquat- to the assembled throng"

and with that he went off to bed, before I had even had a chance to put his toothpaste on his toothbrush and lay out his cotton pyjamas which were nestling snugly under his pillow.

Yes, Master had indeed finally succumbed to the desire to wannabe, on the biggest poker stage of them all, the $1,500 PLO Event.

The next morning I bade farewell to the plucky master, remembering fondly that day long ago when I waved him goodbye on his first day as St John's Prep school in Datchet. I promised him, with nary a quivering bottom lip, that I would be on hand at the first break to attend to his needs, offer him a moist towelette and if necessary attend to Kumquat remedial work.

The first break came, and Master bounded over gambolling like a spring lamb

"Jeeves, Jeeves, they're all crap"

"Good sir" said I

"No Jeeves, I can't get anything through, they all call anything"

"Quite sir" I said, able now quite easily to attempt the relevant vernacular "all you need to do is find a hand, jam, and see it hold up"

"Yes, Jeeves, Yes!" he cried, so loudly that a nearby Kristy Gazes spilt her Americano with whipped cream down her top.

I resolved to stay on hand, a sixth sense telling me that my services would be required forthwith.

Eschewing the attentions of two nearby young ladies pressing flyers for a nearby establishment into player's hands, I watched Floppy go to work.

Soon the hand came about. Floppy limped, and saw a call-fest behind. To the inevitable late postion raise, Floppy did indeed jam but his sprits must have fallen when he saw not one, not two but three callers to his textbook move.

I craned my neck amongst the hordes of young bloggers  to see the cards go on their back. One unkempt young man from a Colombian poker publication dictated into a machine..

"and Kumquat boy is all in for his tournament life with 230 players left . Can he survive?"

I made out the cards. Noble, plucky, brave young Master showed AQJ9. Clearly a hand with potential. His foes, beastly the lot of them, showed assorted hands...AQ53...T998...AKQ5

I decided not to look at the Community cards but instead concentrated on the young fresh face of the Master, his brow furrowed in concentration.

The flop brought some "oooohs", the turn some "aaaahs" and on the fateful river Master Floppy showed that despite his time spent in uncouth America his breeding had not deserted him. Congratulating his conqueror on his exit, he picked up his Kumquat, folded his enormous ear-phones away and departed, back stiff, chin jutting out whistling "Jerusalem".

That evening, as he reposed in reflection on his fine performance Master Floppy said to me, a propos of nothing

"You know Jeeves, I could get a taste for this. I intend to play more events in the future"

and with that he went back to fondling his kumquat as I pressed his pyjamas for the night ahead.

[boldie]

with Master Floppy showing a rather colt-ish temperament for one so well-bred.

.

Top class stuff!, Welcome back Jeeves!

[NoflopsHomer]

I love the name 'Kumquat Boy'

[The_nun]

 

[mondatoo]

with Master Floppy showing a rather colt-ish temperament for one so well-bred.

.

Top class stuff!, Welcome back Jeeves!

[booder]

 

[Jeeves]

Monday

Then it happened. I heard the noise from down the hotel corridor well before I caught sight of Master and his cohorts.

"Who the **** is Hiddink, who the **** is Guusy Hiddink, who the **** is Hiddink, and the Oranges go marching on and on. Thanks Gary. Over to you Motty"

and then they emerged, faces painted in the national colours of the Netherlands, Orange flags draped around their shoulders and huge court jester hats carried at a jaunty angle on their heads. Master Floppy, his friends Gussie Fink-Nottle and Tamara Hamburger-Bunn and Johannes Van der Cruyff-Smythe had arrived back home.

I must admit I was rather taken aback. Master Floppy had long been indoctrinated in the family passion for the Oval ball and the Croquet Lawn and here he was, in a far off land, preparing to beseech Association footballers from a European, yes European, country to win a match.

I enquired of him the reason for his new found passion for the game of the Oiks.

His answer was a microcosm of the problems we face in Britain today maintaining the standard of our Youth in the face of media sensationalism of lower class sports:

"It's top hole Jeeves. Johannes said I had to check it out and support the Dutch against the Commies. It's football Jeeves, 100% total football. All the time 100% total football. Just seeing those close-ups of Rafael Van Der Vaart's rippling thighs makes Tamara go quite weak and I am thrilled at watching Wesley Schjneider caress the ball as if it is attached to his leg with a piece of string. Over to you Gary. Thanks Motty"

I immediately assessed the situation and resolved that on our return to blighty I would take Master on our annual trip to the Lords Test Match, have luncheon on the Nursery ground with the Farqhuarson's and relax in the sumptuous atmosphere of leather on Willow. At the cricket, not in the dungeon afterwards with the Amazonian Dark Goddess Candice.

I took Master to one side and gave him his bi-annual lecture on the dangers of supporting Association football but I could see his eyes glazing over. He could not, temporarily, be saved from his ardour. He did though confide in me that there was a justifcation for his horribly surburban behaviour

"It's that TightEnd again Jeeves, he keeps emailing me asking me to do things. Organise this, organise that, have you done this, have you done that? Does he not know that I am very busy here in Vegas? Why only yesterday I was re-counting Rob Hollink's stack on the final table after fetching him his sixth Grand Americano with Walnuts from the Starbucks in the Rio and resolved that enough was enough. TightEnd could wait, I would support Johannes and his Dutch in their noble quest and preparing the live update schedule for August 2011 could wait. Thanks Alan, over to you for the second half Motty"

So there we had it, Master Floppy had succumbed to another malaise of modern life. Displacement behaviour borne of excessive stress. All caused by people such as TightEnd simply not understanding the fragile temperament of the Floppy's, first noticed in Lord Hubert Floppy his great-great-grandfather in the Mafeking uprising over a century ago who near the end of the battle had resorted to sticking a banana in both ear and hollering "Floppy, floppy, floppy, I am the noble Floppy"   to the local savages.

Master was simply incapable of doing anything but reverting to the norm of society behaviour and ending every sentence in football presenter cliche.

I left Floppy and his sensitive pals to adjourn to the Sports Lounge and settled back in my quarters to darn and label ("Please return to Floppy Towers if lost, reward if found") his sixth pair of socks.

Hours later, I barely noticed it but the door to the room gently opened. In creeped the Master, looking dejected.

"Master, why so sad?" i said gently

"The Commies outclassed us Jeeves. Engelaar got nowhere near Arshavin before he was substituted and we struggled to cope with their pace and invention all game. It's all over Jeeves. We're out, our dreams are dashed. It's back to supporting Twente Enschede in thier quest for Champions League Qualification, and with that it's back to Clive Tyldesley in the commentary box"

"but sir" I said "hasn't Steven McClaren been appointed their new manager? Wouldn't it be better to support Manchester United like most other clueless glory hunters who can afford corporate boxes?"

"Yes Jeeves" said Floppy. "In fact thinking about it I will return once more to Rugby"

and with that he sloped off, no doubt reminding himself of the intoxicating smell of a Prop Forward's jockstrap from long, long ago....................


to be continued.



 

 

[boldie]

lol...I love this diary.

[Claw75]

great stuff as usual Jeeves!

[LLevan]

Must be added to Best Of Blonde after this year's World Series.