Thread by @HoarseWisperer

I have an unexpected free night so now I really have no choice but to eat a metric ton of peanuts and drink a beer.

I don’t make the rules.

Stepped out to the bathroom and returned to find the unthinkable had happened.

A gentleman who I shall call Johnny Elbows had:

1) taken up residence in the stool next to mine

2) commandeered my peanut bucket; and

3) spread out all elbows akimbo like Charles G-Damn Barkley

I can only assume we are now going to have to engage in some kind of spirited joust or feat of strength to establish bar supremacy.

I’m limbering up. I’m agile. Feisty. If we’re talking heavy lifting, he can probably take me.

If it’s an obstacle course, I like my chances.

I think I have at least a few inches on him, so if we’re going to go with the giraffe-neck-battle, I think I am going to do pretty damn well here.

I’m watching. Waiting. I’m like a freaking lion in the long grass.

He has no idea what’s coming.

I know the bartenders here well enough to be on a first name basis.

It would be wrong of me to bust up the place over a few feet of bar real estate.

Or would it.

A peanut bucket has been taken.

Wars have been fought for less.

Note: I have never “busted up the place”

The closest I’ve come to a bar fight was when a rather drunk young lady threw a drink past me at someone and accidentally hit an NFL linebacker who thought it had been me

True story.

Okay, there has been a development.

Johnny Elbows used to work here and the bartenders seem delighted to see him.

They usually give me free bread - and it is really good bread - so the stakes are pretty high now.

Oh, now Elbows doesn’t even want the peanuts.

What does he do though?

Does he push the bucket back into the space between us as is required by international law?

No. Casually pushes them off into the empty space to his right.

This is an outrage.

How does a person even do that?

Oh, hey, I saw your beer on the bar and stole your peanuts anyway and now I’m going to horde them like a goddamn squirrel who doesn’t think about anybody but themselves.

This is why no one likes squirrels.

People don’t plan to fail; they fail to plan.

That’s why I have been patiently surveiling Elbows. Taking notes. Documenting weaknesses. Running scenarios. Simulations. Complex AI shit.

I’ve spotted his Achilles heel.

Elbows is drinking 24-ounce drafts to my 16-ounce pints.

According to my calculations, he is going to need to go to the bathroom 33% faster than me.

I can’t tell you how I did that math. It’s tradecraft. Privileged.

The man has a bathroom run coming.

And now I wait...

I am ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY SEVEN POUNDS of kinetic energy coiled up like a Burmese python.

I will encircle that peanut bucket. And once I do, it would take a hydraulic jack to pry me off it.

And to you people asking why I don’t just ask him for what we’ve already established was my rightful peanut bucket, ask yourself this, does a lion say to another lion “Oh, hey, I couldn’t help but notice you’re eating my gazelle carcass. Might you be so kind as to give it back?”

Focus people.

One. Hundred. Seventy. Seven. Pounds. Of. Kinetic. Energy.

Coiled.

“Oh, I’m a patient man. That’s what 13 months in a Vietnamese prison camp will do to you.”

Name that movie.

I AM THE KING OF ALL I SURVEY.

Were it not frowned upon, I would absolutely take these peanuts to a high vista overlooking the savannah and let this triumph be known.

The peanuts were mine. Then they weren’t. Then they were again.

You know what that is?

Having now re-established peanut supremacy, me and Elbows got to talking.

Nice guy. Works at a discount liquor store. Turned me on to a sweet deal on some Tito’s vodka.

I fear this silent peanut war has been unnecessary.

I will now slide the buckets back between us.

Elbows is a sports bettor. He bet the over in tonight’s game. He needs nine combined runs to win.

He was under the impression Justin Verlander pitched last night. He did not.

Nonetheless, this was a sound bet and I’m rooting for him.

True story: as someone with an unparalleled ability to lose at games of chance, I once learned the casino odds of every bet on every table and taught myself to count cards at blackjack.

I still lose relentlessly while the Elbows of the world win by betting on the wrong pitcher.

Thus, you can be absolutely certain tonight’s World Series game will be an offensive showcase.

If you have a bookie, lay some money on the over.

Okay, Elbows and I both settled up. I’m gonna go watch the World Series game at home.

The final score is going to be like 100-99 or something.

Take the over, people. This one is on Elbows.

Post-script:

8-1 in the seventh inning.

Elbows won his bet.