Luck of the Irish
Danny-Boy "Double-down" O'Leary, the product of a broken condom, took the sidebets while making sure that no one else could see his body hanging in the next room. These suckers had no idea he was dead, that he had hung himself over a girl of all godforsaken things, and that by taking their bets and playing their games he'd show them good! He'd win it all while hanging, something nobody had done in a long time, not since the sandy days of the Old West when his great-grandfather, Slippery Dog O'Leary, hung himself and then went out and beat Hickok at poker.
The wheel spun just as the dice flew across the table to hit the cards being dealt at the far end. The whore he'd hired for the occasion was the only one who knew he wasn't really there, that he had hung himself minutes before, and she winked at him and smiled. Her name was LuLu, and she lived up to every letter, and he'd have another go at her later. Now his only task was to win.
18! His number hit!!! Then an 8! Again, he hit his number!!! Then 21! The triple crown!!! Three wins within one second, beating his great-gramps record by at least a half-minute. "Take that old man", he thought, "and your son, and his son. All of you called me a blown down leaking all-over loser, huh???? You're all singing a different tune now, ain'tcya? Singing it off-key and in unison and clacking your bones against the side of your boxes, ain'tcya, old men!!!"
The game went on, with tennis interrupting every fourth hand as the house tried mixing in some noisemakers to distract him from his traction. But Danny just used the noise to his advantage and continued the rout. Luck was his now. He knew that when you're hanging like a bag of laundry within spitting distance of your game you are a flashing beam in the eye of the tiger and naked luck rides your back doing everything but burp you! Money comes with the wins, and he saw that even the snakes bellied up to the bar begin to take notice. They, too, could be heard singing a different tune.
In the next room Danny-Boy's body sagged a little more, and spent some gas as LuLu went through its pockets. She found a communion wafer, a ticket to this weekend's Carrot Top show, and a thing that looked like yesterday's vomit wrapped around lizard innards. She put the wafer back, and smiled at her own luck, the luck of the whore.
The dice and cards and putts came and went, and the winnings piled on the table took on a substantial weight. This has gone on long enough, said Danny-Boy "Double down" O'Leary to himself more than once. He heard his inner voice say in a foreign language "Cash out soon, me Danny ol' boy. Clobber over on limbless knees to collect ye money, and be surin' to tongue kiss the air in front of the handing-out-the-winnings girl". Danny then settled the sidebets, thus pocketing even more money. LuLu, sensing a change in the wind that only a sugary sensitive whore would know screamed out in triplicate "Times up lady", cuddled up a little closer, ran her hand along the side of his pocket, where the money was, and goddess danged if she didn't wink at him again. "Let's go to my room," she whispered.
In the next room Double down's body still twisted a little on the rope - from the momentum of it all - emitting a creaky sound just barely audible if you were near the ceiling or in the loop. He was so happy. He had won, he had a whore by his side and money in his pocket (or so he thought), and he'd shown his great-granddaddy and his whore which way is up. The luck of the Irish had held today, believe you in me, the end of the rainbow just within reach, rainbowly colours blending like lasers duelling and full to the brim with the bestest cannibals, jawfish, and clydsdales in the whole wide world!!!
Be forewarned that the luck of the Irish can backtrack on its owner if they gall to sell wisdom to the highest bidder at twice the price.