Claypole does a GILF @ Luton (available online @ RedTube)
Having ‘got through’ to Day 2 of the ‘LooTown Kwissie Quacker’, Loofah almost managed the motorway legal speed limit in the Postman Patmobile, and even hit fifth gear on the downhill section of the M1 approaching Redbourn.
A thoroughly miserable day 1 had only produced a 10k increase in chipstackage after 39 hours of play.
The day had been only saved by the re-appearance of ‘The Blast from the Past’ ….. none other than 1973 GUKPT Blackpool Chump, David ‘Jonnyplums’ Johnson!
Resplendent in moth eaten cardigan, same old Primark combats, and frayed Oxfam footwear, Dave had finally been released from the sex offenders’ wing of HMP Parkhurst.
“Good afternoon tramp, how’s your boyfriend?”, Loofah greeted his late arrival. Dave smiled graciously, as he told your author his parole officer had already found him gainful employment ……. as Widow Twanky, in the forthcoming star studded Pantomime @ Kettering Town Hall.
At the end of Day 1, on a table more passive than a Greenpeace bayonet charge, Loofah had made ‘all the running’ …. and GayLord got all the chips – standard!
Day 2 déjà vu, D J was again on my table …. or not, as it happens.
His splendid stack was there – but where was D J?
By the time Julian Clarey dropped him off, he moaned that he was 21k lighter ….. demonstrating that Dave’s musical lesson – on a pink oboe, apparently - with ‘Uncle JC’ could be expensively painful.
‘Sexual confusion’ also troubled yet another player at the table, Mr Short Cunnilingus.
Claypole (luckily for him D J didn’t know his Blonde nom de plume!) decided to ‘pick on’ some octogenarian sitting quietly in seat 5, as he raised 128% of hands played.
The ‘poor old love’ pondered and protecting the BB, the ‘poor old dear’ pondered, and called his bet on a QQ8 flop (Loofah smirked). Awwww blesseth - the ‘poor old darling’ pondered, and called the 35k bet on a 2 turn (Loofah fought back a giggling fit). Shaun ‘value bet’ the 7 on the river and ……… ‘bless them cotton socks’ pondered longer, and called off the remaining paltry pile, as Loofah fell off the chair backwards - gasping for oxygen, as the curtain fell Carry on Poker.
Shaun insta-mucked in total shellshock, before ‘The Old Dear’ ponderously revealed the ‘Claypole Cruncher’ ………. A 10 off, obviously – Loofah almost pissed his pants laughing.
Joining a Stunned Shaun for a commiseration anti-rail cigarette, he groaned that “he felt awful, really, picking on that poor old lady”.
Loofah’s laughter reached a new crescendo as - fighting back the tears - he disclosed that ‘she’ was usually called ……………….. Norman (the Calling Station)!
After 5 minutes of convincing Claypole that ‘she’ was really a he, Loofah concluded that Dave Johnson’s perfume had overpowered Mr Conning’s normally sharp observational abilities.
Chompy couldn’t get the remaining 64 players to chop, quickly phoning ‘Cash Converters Kendall’ managing to sell shares in some sort of Poker Ponzi Scheme.
As soon as the Sting was completed Chompy exited, and breathlessly sprinted to the desk clutching fifty five Hendon Mob Flag Seeking Vouchers (elbowing pensioners out the way), in his haste to late register for the afternoon Semaphore Seekers fifty pounder.
Loofah’s KK v JJ all in pre for a 200k pot – the Bobbies never get beat at Looton (as decreed by Grand Masters, Chandra & Lally) – meant our hero could mischievously mount Operation Fen Flag Denial - an hour later.
Chompy was in his element, romping away to an impressive stack as he outplayed The Deadpool Table – revelling that he’d found his level, at last (his opponents were mainly ‘stars’ from the afternoon Pub League ‘Championship’) – who looked on in wonderment, as 24 Flags Wheldon scythed through them with Messi-like skillz.
Mission Commander Raj sanctioned a Black Ops insertion as Operation Fen Flag Denial faltered. The Chinook got Loofah to the LZ before the Iceni could react … we were in!
Chompy’s chiselled jaw dropped as the Royal Anglian rearguard was reduced to a shambolic rabble. The chipleader desperately flailed as he bled from a slow painful Death of a Thousand Cuts.
“See ya Chomps”, shouted Your Audacious Scribe as the Fenland Flouncer departed …. the only flag being waved was white!
Loofah bubbled – trying to win a 400k pot, which would have been quite handy on an FT with 1.4 mill in play (Wheldon winces with the ridiculousness of Loofah’s disdain for flag worship) – and it was off to watch Shaun play heads up in a ‘proper tournament’.
Claypole was up against Goatee Phil and, although consistently getting it in good, lost an enthralling clash, and the crowd approved.
Loofah concluded there was only one person to blame for Conning’s demise ….. Dave Bloody Johnson!
Now if you donned Goatee Phil in tight leather trousers, black capped sleeve T-shirt, and dumped a latex fetish hat on his bonce – he’d look remarkably like the lead singer of the Village People!
Loofah mused that D J had obviously infected Shaun with those wafts of Chanel No: 5 earlier, and had so confused his sexual orientation that he dared not send the Ultimate Gay Icon to the rail!
UL Shaun.
Author