PDA

View Full Version : THE PoOl hAll ZoNe



rackmup
04-18-2002, 05:57 AM
<blockquote><font class="small">Quote:</font><hr>There is a sixth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as a snooker table and as timeless as Mosconi.

It is the middle ground between bar boxes and nine footers, between eight ball and one pocket, and it lies buried, in the pit of the pool player's mind, and the summit of his skills. This is the dimension of power breaks.

It is an area which we call... THE PoOl hAll ZoNe.<hr></blockquote>

There was a man, walking alone in his own self-imposed solitude, in the rain-darkened night. His large stature framed by the dim glow of a nearby street lamp. In his hands, he clutched an old leather case. In it...the contents too terrible to imagine, its uses, to macabre to fathom.

It was 1AM as the shadowy figure walked to a nearby pool hall. As he stood in the doorway, rain dripping from his soaked being onto the floor, he caught the eye of the few in the room.

"You lookin' for someone pal?" queried the old gentleman from behind the counter. The mysterious stranger stared silently ahead, as if the question fell on deaf ears. "Hey buddy!" shouted the old man. "I'm talking to you!" he sharply stated through the lungs suffering from years of heavy cigarette smoke.

The stranger looked directly at the old man with eyes as dark as death. They looked like black onyx stone, shoved into the skull of the man with the black case.

"I'm looking for a little action" whispered the man. "Can you steer me in the right direction?" he queried. "Sure, my cut is 30%. "See the guy on table 13? He's a gambler. Tell him "Sharky" sent you over."

The stranger walked over to table 13 and eagerly watched as the gentleman pocketed ball-after-ball. "Can I help you pal? My name is Louie. You looking for some action?" asked the gambler.

"You bet. What's the wager? How much is a set gonna cost me?" replied the man, his clothing still dripping from the rain.

"20 a set, race to three, 9-ball, no weight. Any problems with that?" asked Louie. "Nope. Sounds good. By the way, my name is John...my friends call me Johnnie. You can call me John."

"What you got in that case?" asked Louie. "I'll show you" John responded.

John opened the case and inside it, lay the most beautiful instrument. Black as ebony, silver accompaniments and a brand new reed. It was the simply the best looking clarinet any man had ever seen. "You gonna play nine ball with that?" quipped Louie. "What ya gonna do, serenade me into submission?" Louie further remarked as he laughed at John.

Then, John began playing Michael Bolton tunes loudly yet as precisely as they could be played. The high notes were so shrill, others in the room blacked out from the pitch.

As they fell to the ground in obvious agony with blood pouring from their ears, John walked deliberately from fallen player to the next, removing their wallets and pocketing their cash.

The last man to fall was Louie. "Who...who ARE you?" begged the stricken gambler. "I...must...know" Louie asked with his last breath.

"My real name is Manilow, Barry Manilow...AND DAMN IT, I write the songs that make the whole world sing. SO SING!"

The stranger, now known as Barry, with wads of cash in his pockets, pulled his collar up in anticipation of the weather that awaited him outside and slowly walked out of the room, humming..."do do doodoo do do doodoo."

Regards,

Ken (hey...blame Rod. He asked for it)

Doctor_D
04-18-2002, 06:03 AM
Good morning Ken:

Have you ever considered being a professional writer? You are so prolific with your posts, funny how your cards and letters for anniversaries and/or birthdays never had much content, that maybe the time has come for you to consider being compensated for your written words. Lord knows I could use more Alimony!!!

/ccboard/images/icons/smile.gif

Dr. D.

rackmup
04-18-2002, 01:29 PM
...and during those trying years that we were together, never had a compliment, such as the one just paid to my writings, EVER crossed your lips.

I find it quite strange that only now, perhaps in your new sober condition, you would suggest that I earn a wage from my imagination and muses, in an obvious attempt to bleed even more money from me.

But with that said, I will never forget that night in Monaco, or Monte Carlo...whatever city we were in, the way you made me feel. That night is the reason I cannot let thoughts of you, escape my mind.

If only we had tried harder.../ccboard/images/icons/tongue.gif

Regards,

Ken (thanks for the nice compliment Dr.D)

Rod
04-18-2002, 01:36 PM
Quote, Ken (hey...blame Rod. He asked for it) "
Look at this guy, Ken when you sign your name, your responsible!!! don't blame me.

Well ok you started out pretty good. NEVER put Barry Manilow in another episode of THE PoOl hAll ZoNe. I kind of hoped for an episode where the suspense builds near the end of a game. You know like a ball didn't drop( and no it can't get stuck in Martha's jam, strawberry jam that is).
Now don't feel rejected, blame it on writer's block!!

04-18-2002, 01:54 PM
Barry Manilow???????? Yuckkkkkkkkkkkkk!!!!!!!!!!!! It was good Ken, but not your best.
Ralph S.&gt;prefers Ozzy or Metallica or anything with an edge

SpiderMan
04-18-2002, 04:12 PM
<blockquote><font class="small">Quote: Rod:</font><hr> Quote, Ken (hey...blame Rod. He asked for it) "
Look at this guy, Ken when you sign your name, your responsible!!! don't blame me.

Well ok you started out pretty good. NEVER put Barry Manilow in another episode of THE PoOl hAll ZoNe. I kind of hoped for an episode where the suspense builds near the end of a game. You know like a ball didn't drop <hr></blockquote>

I suspect that neither of Barry's did.

SpiderMan

Chris Cass
04-19-2002, 03:50 AM
What thought's, what thought's?? Don't stop now. What happened Diana? Screw Barry, what happened?

C.C.~~can't wait