A Game for Adults

It was an adults-only kind of game we played.
You had to 21 years-old just to enter the garish
play palace. For we were all at risk to be exposed
naked and helpless before the snickering crowd.

Some call it a War, not a game.

Baggy shorts, pot belly, cheap bling, ballcap
on backwards. The new breed of donkey who
learned the game from Espn.

They try to stay in packs so they don't get their
asses kicked. There were two at my table.

There are rules to the game.

When you fold out of a hand, you can't reveal
what your cards were while the others are still
playing.  One of the wiggers broke that rule.
Twice.

I said nothing. And waited.

They, of course, steadily lost their chips because,
after all, they were dumber than dirt.

Then he went ALL IN. It would require over half my
stack of chips to call. And I called. And he won the hand.
Caught a flush on the river to my 3 Queens.

So, I called the Tournament Official to the table and told
him how the wigger had broken the rules. The dealer confirmed it.
The other non-wigger players confirmed it.

So, he was disqualified and evicted.

Am I a heartless bitch?