J.J. Krupert Top 13 Countdown - June '10 #10: "Tumbling Dice" by The Rolling Stones

The pentathlon of loungerism goes like this.
Number one, horseshoes, to 13, with 3-point ringers, two-point leaners, and one-point points, seven is a skunk. Perfect pentathlon of loungerism has four folks, probably dudes but maybe ol’ ladies too because some ol’ ladies still know how to get down, and you can do a double elimination of games. Best method is to have old 5-gallon buckets over the stobs that you can slide to the side for end tables by each pit, and then cover back up to keep people from busting they selves up in the dark.
Number two, and you need the four, is Spades, with partners. I used to be all about big and little joker style, fuck the two of spades ghetto version, but it’s hard to argue with a perfect deck of 52, and jokers convolute that perfection. Three games where every partnership is explored, and you learn who the good players are and who the gravy trainers are.
Number three conversational. You can’t really score this aspect, because it happens the whole time, and also because it just don’t work that way. But you can always tell the person sitting in the circle of thought streams who is biting his ears, holding onto the MOST AWESOME STORY he wants to share, and when he finally finds a spot to break into the conversation, his tale relates to something that happened three tales ago, not now. Conversation is freestyling in the sense it has to connect with what just happened, not what had happened a while ago. Anybody who says, “Going back to what you said about...” is speed bumping the now with his goddamned desires to be the shiniest star of the past, even if that past is just ten minutes ago. I have friends for years that I wrote off forever because of this personal disease. Ego is a too much thing. Go with the flow.
Number four, I don’t know, just fill in your own game. I’m down to play. I called it “pentathlon of loungerism” and at this point am just trying to get to number five. Good thing I didn’t call it a decathlon.
Number five is the dice. I learned it from my ex-girlfriend’s brother, and brought it to Richmond, and the Black Label drinking punk rockers called it Eyeballs even though the dude I learned it from called it Huvna, which I have no idea what the fuck that means. Some make it a gamble and others just do it to occupy the night. Nowadays in my life, me and the ol’ lady just call it playing dice. And it’s a perfect fucking game, and my laptop is resting in the dark on the same pick-a-nick table we play upon right now, screen drawing in bugs that got me paranoid they are termites because they look like flying ants and flying ants are termites usually. Fuck it, eat my house down to dust. I’m gonna sit right here until I die.
STEAL "Tumbling Dice"
NEXT UP: Wally, with flair.