*SLAM* The door to the suite bursts open and 2 hired muscle rush in and corner me on the balcony. They rush me guns drawn,
"What the fuck!?" I blurt,
A drunken Donald appears from behind the goons,
"You fuuksin cheatin bashturd," he slurs,
He practically falls over as he saunters toward me.
"Wheres muh fucksin m*hiccup*-money," he demands waving a pistol in my face,
"Whoa, Whoa, I won fair and square." I say,
I didn't, but he couldn't know that so I'm gonna stick with that.
"Thers no *hiccup* way you bead me fail an square!" he sneers,
He booms at me with the pungent aroma of a distillery emanating from his mouth, like a hungover horse's asshole at two in the morning.
"Hey man, how do you think I cheated, counting cards? hidden aces? Do you think I would choose some back alley illegal casino to scam? Do you think I want the mafia to hunt me down?" I retort,
"Look, if you want your money back, how about we play another game, any game, you pick,"
He thinks about my offer for a minute and responds,
"Do you think I'm fuckin slow, man?!"
"I'm nod lettin you weasel your way outta givin me whats mine already!"
He finishes his tirade and winds his arm up and pistol whips me to the ground.
The cold concrete of the balcony becomes a pillow and I fall unconscious.