Paddle Switch
"You know--one of those air hockey paddles is bigger than the other one."
Latigo Flint's voice was low and cold. It cut the boisterous ambiance of the local strip mall pizzeria like rebar through pudding. The slouchy kid in the hooded sweatshirt had been shaking his head ruefully at the light bulb scoreboard and starting to remove his wallet from his pocket when Latigo Flint spoke.
"Go ahead fella, buy the next round of root beers as per the terms of your gentleman's wager if you like, but that game was crooked." Latigo Flint shifted his squinty-eyed gaze to the shaggy haired kid who stood with a frozen grin on the opposite side of the air hockey table. "Crooked" Latigo Flint repeated, "Crooked like a bendy straw."
The slouchy kid in the hooded sweatshirt slowly swiveled his head to stare at his shaggy haired companion, the disbelief in his eyes giving way to rage. The shaggy haired kid opened and closed his mouth several times. "W-what are you t-talking about man?" He should have waited longer, composed himself a bit more, his words were still much too high pitched and trembley.
Latigo Flint sneered at him and then turned back to face the slouchy kid in the hooded sweatshirt. "Fella, advice is like the little bottle of shampoo in the hotel bathroom - you can take it or leave it and at the end of the day no one really gives a damn. But if I were you I'd replay that air hockey game... with a paddle switch."
The slouchy kid in the hooded sweatshirt gave Latigo Flint a resolute nod and pointed an accusatory finger at the shaggy haired kid. "Hell yeah! I call Paddle Switch you cheating fucker. Slide that bitch over."
When the shaggy haired kid immediately jumped out to a 4-0 lead even despite the paddle switch, Latigo Flint quickly downed the rest of his beer with a sheepish wince and snuck off to the other side of the room near the foosball tables.
"You know--that green goalie is just a little bit taller than that orange goalie."
Latigo Flint's voice was low and cold...
posted by Latigo Flint @ 11:24 PM
11 comments
11 Comments:
If you were playing darts, things may have gotten ugly.
Did you go to the shuffleboard table after that?
You know -- Them red weights look heavier than them blue ones...
And then there's the pool table with its uneven cues....
But oh, for the old West, where a man could expose a card sharp or bust up the crooked roulette wheel and send lead flying through the air, enduring the cold whizz of bullets with just the right blend of concentration, indifference, and pure machismo.
Sadly, there is little true machismo in the modern pizzeria--the Clearasil tends to act as a suppressant--unless Latigo Flint pays a visit!
you sneaky bastard. rabble rousing.
Thank you Latigo, I now know how Wally Schneider, my high school nemesis, beat me at checkers. His pieces were slightly larger than mine.
justice rears its ugly head once again.
I got nothing. I am laughing out loud here....
i would've thought that a great gunslinger like you would know that it's neither the size of the gun nor bullets that matter, but in fact how straight you shoot. or in this case, how many times you can accurately carom your shot off the walls into your opponent's goal while preventing him from doing the same.
Latigo, what you lack in skills you make up for in badassedness.
Fortunately Steve I wasn't, so they didn't.
My local pizzeria doesn't feature a shuffleboard table Ghost Dog, just a curling rink... (And believe it or not, the red weights were actually a bit heavier than them there blue ones.)
You get me Slarrow, you really get me. "...the right blend of concentration, indifference, and pure machismo." Good Lord, I may have to kill you so you don't ever dispute it when I claim that sentence as my very own.
Yes, well... you get me too, don't you Ho?
Dave, that's easily the funniest thing I read all week... not to mention the truest! Most people would claim larger checker pieces offer zero advantage, but you and I know better, don't we?
Yes Tabitha Jane... Justice is really starting to piss me off in that way.
Yet strangely I don't mind Old Hoss, don't mind one bit.
All I know Lester T. is that if you shoot your opponent in the shoulder with a Colt .45, he has difficultly spinning the handles on his side of the foosball table.
Wait a dern minute TrevorR... I don't want for any skills!
But you are absolutely right about my badassedness. My badassedness is an unparalleled badassedness, and it is without care or compunction that I do badassedly approach each and every day with a measure of badassed--- You know, actually I just like saying the word "badassedness". You have brought a fine thing into this world. Goodnight.
I learnt a new word: rebar. Now I'll just wanna point and yell every time I pass near a construction site, "Hey! Careful with that rebar!"
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