It was all fun and games at the Old Moose Lodge’s poker night until Merrill dug himself a hole big enough to cradle Roger’s 18-wheeler, got a hand he called personal salvation, wagered his firstborn child as bet collateral only to turn over a low straight that looked paltry compared to Cliff’s full house, shoved up from the table waving a pistol he pulled from devil-knows-where, shot a few rounds into the rafters to let stray tufts of taxidermy moose fall on our heads, and stormed out before Cliff could say a thing, to which we all solemnly agreed: typical Merrill.
What a sentence!
Brilliant!
LOL! Reminded me of my uncle Randy! Loved the way the tension escalated and then it turned out to be just some every day thing.
Wonderful! That sentence went on and on….and I didn’t want it to end.
Fun story!
Fully enjoyed!
Very clever structure!
Wonderful!