CARDRUNNERS

What's Your Edge

Daut44's Poker Blog

January 30, 2009

brystmar seems to love it so heres the conclusion for him

Friday 13th - VH Day +3

Room 67, Medical Stalingrad. 0200 hours.

I have not slept since my arrival. The lights are out. A nurse patrols the hallways. The sound of her footsteps is distinct. She is the night shift. She works alone.

The situation is dire, but I am optimistic. God has failed yet again, and I have made progress on two fronts.

First, my bone marrow finally woke the fluff up and made some platelets so I didn’t bleed to death. Good game bone marrow. Second, the main forces of the hospital are unaware of my re-incarceration. The only staff to have seen me is the receptionist, and the night shift nurse. They smiled when they talked. No offers of penicillin were made. This can mean only one thing.

They have no idea who I am.

My friend is coming to see me in the morning. He will bring supplies. I will need them. I do not know what will happen when psycho nurse sees me. Her shift starts at 8am. The doctor will not come until tonight. By then, it may be too late. Every organ wants inside the bomb shelter that is my ribcage. My brain is trying to abseil down my spinal cord to dig a foxhole in my lung. My displaced kidney is trying to donkey-punch my bowel. I do not blame them. For only one thing is certain.

Shit’s going to hit the fan. Again.

I wake up. It is morning. I am hungry. I am edgy. It is past eight o’clock. My friend is late. Despite this, I have hope. Hope for success.

Folly.

Medical Stalingrad knows not of hope.

I hear her voice before I see her face. Her greeting is the usual - served cold with a hint of F*uck You.

"Wake up, breakf-"

Psycho nurse is a few feet inside the room when our eyes meet. She is carrying a broom and a jelly cup. Probably the same broom she uses to clean her jelly cup cave. Silence passes between us. It is Chernobyl waiting to happen. The USSR about to collapse. I am prepared to say whatever is necessary to keep her calm. I cannot; will not; give her a reason to go apeshit. I cannot afford another setback on the day of my offensive.

For the record, I so very much wanted this to end well.

So very, very much.

“Here’s breakfast.”

My friend walks through the door and throws a McDonald’s bag on my bed.

“I didn’t get you much. By the way you bled on my passenger seat. Who the fluff do you think you are?”

I look at my friend. Psycho nurse looks at my friend. My friend looks at me. I look at psycho nurse. My friend looks at psycho nurse. Psycho nurse looks at me.

Apocashit, initiate. All fans; GO for spin.

“And why didn’t you tell me about the staff parking pay-box. You put two bucks in and you park for as long as you want without paying extra. Your ex’s mom told me. She’s pretty hot you know.”

I look at my friend. I plead with my eyes for him to be quiet. I switch into overdrive. Damage control is in effect. I am still calm. The fans are still spinning. And while the fans are still spinning, there is still hope.

“You going to eat it or what?”

It is now that psycho nurse plays her hand. She points at my friend. The fans are struggling to cope. They sense the shit about to come. I am desperate to defuse the situation. I consider over-over drive for a third time. My displaced kidney has no exit strategy. My brain is in my lung. My lung. There is nothing I can do.

The following statement - reproduced word for word; profanity included - marks the moment in time the fans stopped spinning.

“You; get out. You’re in my fluffing hospital and you do what I say. This is plain madness.”

I look at my friend. I know what is coming. From beyond the grave, Miss Portman bows her head. I will need her strength.

“MADNESS?.”

My friend tilts his head towards psycho nurse. His voice is bellowing. It echoes out into the hallway. If God didn’t know I was here before, he does now.

"NO."

Psycho nurse is taken aback. Fleeting silence fills the room.

“THIS. IS. SPARTAAA!”

Psycho nurse looks to him, and then to me. Her mouth is open. There is outrage and confusion in her eyes. I think I want to die.

My friend laughs and walks out the door.

“Don’t go flying away on that thing yeah?”

Psycho nurse looks at the broom in her hands as my friend disappears around the corner. My McDonalds bag falls on the floor.

Room 67, Medical Stalingrad. 2100 hours.

Doctor can’t see me until tomorrow. My friend has been barred from the hospital. Psycho nurse gave me another painful-as-shit heparin injection. My bone marrow is threatening to stop platelet production unless working conditions are improved. My displaced kidney is lost and disorientated. The better part of my brain is still in my lung.

My offensive; the counter offensive; has failed. My only chance to halt what has now become the inevitable, has come and gone. Tomorrow, I make my last stand against God’s Red Army with what little I have left. I will be ready. I will stand before the castle. I will herald the dawn.

A man once said Medical Stalingrad knows not of hope.

But none the matter.

Medical Stalingrad knows not of me.

Saturday 14th - End of Days

It is morning. I have eaten soup. I sit alone in a bunker, watching an empty beach. I am tense. I am nervous. For 10 long days, God's Red Army has been on the war path. His cunning has been nothing short of genius. His resolve nothing short of steel. God has fluffed'ed my shit up. Epically fluffed'ed my shit up. Millions of fans have been destroyed. Good fans. Heroes to the last blade.

Today is His last chance for vengeance. I have no equipment. No master plan. No ally. I have showered, but Rheem will not answer my calls. It dawns on me that Room 67 holds no promise for my survival. I will need help. Expert help. And thus, my mission becomes clear.

Contact the Resistance. Defeat psycho nurse. Kill God.

Easier said than done.

I get up and walk out into the hallway with mild pain. I take my friend's drivers license with me. It must have fallen out of his wallet during his battle with psycho. I will protect it from her.

Walking North I reach the Patient Lounge. Switzerland. Home of the Resistance. I walk in. The Medical SS have been here. There are no Woman's Day's on the table. New Idea spies have replaced them. I must tread carefully.

A familiar face greets me as I sit down. It is the man in the wheelchair who witnessed my failed breakout from Medical Stalingrad. He is smiling. He seems surprised to see me.

"I thought they let you out. What'd you do this time?"

I cut to the chase.

"Pissed off God."

He laughs. I cut to a better chase.

"Was in a bus crash. Just waiting for doctor to give me the OK."

"Damn, that sucks mate."

I talk to the man in the wheelchair for an hour. He is in his sixties and has been here for 2 months. He's divorced and has kids, but they don't visit very often. I feel sorry for him. He jokingly refers to himself as "Wheelchair," since he's been in one for so long. I like this name. I take him under my wing. Sitting next to Wheelchair is an older man. His eyes never move from the floor. A cane rests in his lap. I can tell the two are good friends. They both smile and laugh.

I bring up the topic of psycho nurse. Instantly, the two men know who I am talking about. They recount similar horror stories. One thing becomes painfully clear - she is insatiable, and will stop at nothing.

A few hours later we three meet Wheelchair in his room. They laugh at my story.

“Shit guys, 6 o’clock,” says Wheelchair.

Heparin needle time, courtesy of psycho nurse. She is rostered on tonight. A fact we are all well aware of.

“We could make a break for it. Get outside before anyone sees us.”

I look at Wheelchair. He is grinning like a crazycake. From this point onwards, I want one thing made clear.

I love this man.

We begin. Wheelchair rolls himself out first. The guy with the cane walks out second. I walk out behind them. The hallway is deserted. We begin our trek to the set of elevators. It takes forever. Wheelchair moves slow. I glance my watch. We are behind schedule Dangerously behind schedule.

We get halfway before the doors open. Halfway before She exits into the hallway. Psycho nurse. Hospital detective. Hot on our trail. She sees me. There is rage in her eyes. I am afraid. She yells for us to stop. She is pissed. Beyond pissed. I am convinced I am going to die.

“Back up.”

It’s Wheelchair. He turns to look at me.

“BACK THE fluff UP.”

Psycho nurse begins to shout. She starts to stride. The gap between us is closing. Fast. I am transfixed on her approach. She is the jelly incarnate. Her movements are fluid. Natural Selection has granted her inhuman speed. She is more sugar than man.

“Push me.”

I look at Wheelchair. He wheels himself around in the opposite direction.

“PUSH ME IF YOU WANT TO LIVE.”

I take hold of the wheelchair from behind. Wheelchair grips the rims. He tells his friend with the cane to turn around and find another way out. His friend says he knows a way. Psycho nurse is cantering. Hard. There are mere seconds between us. This is my last chance for survival. There will not be another attempt. The forces of evil pursue us into the night. Darkness be my friend.

I slip into over-over drive. The gear stick breaks off. The revs are high. There is no going back.

Go-time baby.

We begin tearing down the hallway away from psycho nurse. She charges. In slow motion, Wheelchair outstretches his hand in front of us. He raises his head to one side. His voice is deafening.

“TO FREEDOM!”

Pushing a grown man in a wheelchair, even with his help, is fluffing hard. I am exhausting myself. But by God are we flying. We approach an intersection. Wheelchair’s friend is running - cane in hand - in front of us.

“Left!”

The corner is 90 degrees. We are coming in fast. Wheelchair leans just enough to raise the right wheel. We whip around the corner like a skater on black ice. He has earned his title. One day I hope he will teach me.

Down the end of this new hallway I see another threat. The ward head. She is careening towards us. Wheelchair and I stop. I yell out to his friend, only a few paces in front of us and still running.

“Turn around! What are you blind?!”

Every now and then, we experience a moment that totally floors us. This is one of those moments.

“YES.”

He doubles back and runs past us. Wheelchair and I race to catch up. I am in disbelief. Here I am, madly pushing a 60 year old guy in a wheelchair; a jellywoman trying to absorb us into her jellystomach, following a blind-man trying to coordinate an escape from Medical Stalingrad.

“He knows this hospital better than you or I do. Trust him.”

I give a weak smile. I will have faith.

“ROOM NUMBERS,” says blind-man.

I begin yelling them out as we pass them. Psycho nurse and the ward head are right behind us. Another nurse has joined the pursuit.

“74! 72! 70!”

“LEFT.”

We round another corner. I recognise the hallway. Room 67 is towards the end. Racing down the carpet, I see my friend standing in the doorway looking into my room. He is here to collect his drivers license. He turns and sees me.

“Hey dude I think I left my what the fluff is going on here.”

There is no time to slow down. I tear past him.

“Escape. Angry nurse. Sweet mother. Jesus.”

My friend knows better than to get involved. He does not follow. I hear him call out after me.

“fluff that. Your funeral you idiot.”

Then, a voice.

“Hey you, you’re not supposed to be here! STOP!”

My friend looks at psycho nurse. Psycho nurse looks at my friend. She is running fast.

Ten seconds later, I look to my right. It is my friend

“HEY GUYS! Room for one more?!”

F*uck’er.

“LEFT”

My friend sees the problem first.

“What left?! There is no left! Are you blind?!”

Silence. Running continues. My friend sees our leader’s cane. It bashes into the floor and the walls around us. My friend turns his head to face me.

“Holy shit dude I think this guy is actually blind!”

Wheelchair and I speak in unison.

“WE KNOW.”

My friend’s eyes go wide with fear. He thinks he is going to die.

***** I think I’m going to die.

We continue straight ahead. I am still yelling out room numbers. Wheelchair has turned his head to face our pursuers. He yells as I yell.

“36! 34! 32!”

“AIE YE DEMONS, I DELIVER THEE UNTO HELL!”

“28! 26! 24!”

“…BURN IN ETERNAL DAMNATION!”

Wheelchair whips his head back and explodes into maniacal laughter. It is absolute insanity. My friend turns to face me. I have never, ever, seen him more genuinely afraid.

“SHIT DUDE ARE WE GONNA DIE.”

“LEFT.”

All four of us round the corner at high speed.

Sure enough, two elevators lie at the end of the hallway. The doors on both are closed. I look at my friend.

“GO.”

He charges ahead to the elevator and calls it to our level. Meanwhile, Wheelchair is slowing down. I am exhausted. My arms are useless. They have no more give. Psycho nurse and her entourage round the corner. They charge towards the elevators. My friend desperately pushes the button. The doors open. It is empty. If I can just reach it…

I give one last burst of energy. I push hard. Wheelchair pushes hard. Blind-man hauls his blind-ass. My friend is terrified. His finger is on the close door button.

“COME ON.”

We crash into the elevator and Wheelchair hits the back wall side on. My friend slams the button. The doors close with time to spare. I hit the button for ground level. I begin to think, just for a moment, that we have won. That we have escaped.

This, boys and girls, is called complacency. One day, I will learn.

My friend is excited. He jumps in the elevator. fluffing idiot. Never jump in an elevator kids. They will break. It’s just what happens.

The elevator stops moving. The doors open to reveal a brick façade. We are in between floors. Wheelchair’s friend, somehow, looks in the direction of my friend.

“I’m blind and even I can see you’re an idiot.”

I laugh. Wheelchair laughs.

We quiet down. After ten minutes the lift is reset and begins moving again. Wheelchair turns to face me. His face is still flush.

“Hey.”

I face him.

“Whatever happens. Thanks.”

I understand where he’s coming from. Two months without a significant other, a son, a daughter, a sister, a brother, a mother, a father or simple friend come to see you. It would depress me too.

But God has one final, ultimate hand to play. His last chance to kill me. To kill a local man.

The lift doors open to reveal the nurses. They are more subdued now. There is an empty bed being rolled by a little ways in front of the lift doors. I move to exit out the elevator. I don’t notice that the floor of the elevator is slightly below the floor of the hospital ward. My foot catches on the lip and I fall forward.

I remember the steel bars at the base of the bed getting closer and closer. I remember hearing a few gasps as I fell; drawn out in slow-motion. I remember a dull sense of pressure all over my head.

Then nothing.

I would not regain consciousness until late Sunday evening. I would later be told my three friends staged a bedside vigil for me throughout Saturday night. I was, and still am, touched to think about their efforts. I was checked for head injuries, and determined to be OK. I was however, being kept overnight for observation.

That same night I got permission to go outside. It is dark. Traffic flows in red and white lines in the distance. A cold wind filters through the car park. The occasional headlight strafes the hospital wall. My breath curls in tendrils towards the clouds. I sit on a bench. My friend joins me soon after. He’s late, as always. I am the first to speak.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You know they transferred psycho nurse? They received something like 30 complaints from patients.”

“Yeah I heard.”

Silence passes. It is a beautiful night. The kind you wish you could capture in a bottle and keep forever. The air seems almost electric. It is thrilling to just sit, and watch, and listen.

“Dude, I know I’m not real great with words and stuff…”

I watch my friend waffle on. He eventually gets to the crux of it.

“I just thought I’d let you know that I’m glad you’re still here.”

There is sincerity in his words and in his face. My friend is a true friend. I have no doubt about that. I could not have endured the last fortnight without him.

I look up at the sky. I had defied God’s Red Army and won victory over Medical Stalingrad. The end of a long and arduous campaign had come. I am smiling. I am happy. Soon, I can leave. My strength is returning. I feel better than I ever have in my entire life. I still return to the hospital every so often to visit my friends there. They are good people, just like Miss Portman and the population of Switzerland. One day, you might pay us a visit.

But I hope you don’t have too. Not for a very, very long time.

I am local man. God once wanted me dead.

And this has been my story.

________________________________________________________

and here is my preview of my preview of ufc 94: