[andyfox]

Shelly is never happy. When he wins, which isn't often, he's unhappy. WHen he breaks even, which isn't often, he's unhappy. When he loses, which is most of the time, he's unhappy. I don't quite know why he plays. He's the all-time champion moaner and groaner.

He's unintentionally funny. He strikes me as a difficult and cheap and petty and hardhearted man, and underneath that stone-cold exterior is an empty space where a heart ought to be.

Anyway, I'm in a not-so-good game and they offer me a move to Shelly's game. I take it. In the first half hour, he plays 7-6o from middle position, and splits the pot with the big blind, who also had 7-6, when the board ends up A-7-3--7-9; He gets pocket aces twice: once he raises and both blinds fold; another time he wins a fairly big pot; he wins another decent pot with K-Q despite an ace flopping; and he gets a free play in the big blind with 3-2o, makes a full house on the river, and gets to 3-bet a guy who had made a flush on the turn.

After all this, he has about a rack of chips, more or less what he had when I sat down. A couple of the other guys are giving him sh*t about his constant moaning and groaning. Finally, I say, "You know, Shelly, I've only been here a half an hour, and you've had pocket aces twice, you made trips with 7-6 offsuit, you made full house with 3-2, what are you complaining about?"

"Oh, yeah?" he says. "If things are so good, where the hell are my chips. Up my ass?"

My neighbor, who has said probably three words at the table in the six years I've played with him, says:

"You want to verify that, Andy?"