By 
I have been enjoying the Red Eye most morning now that I have an extended train commute. But sometimes an article or two does not live up to their usual standards.
Yesterday the second column in the paper was titled, “The Truth About Strip Poker.”
“What was strip poker trying to hide?” you might be asking yourself.
As it turns out, this columnist (who will remain nameless) wrote the article to express his shock and horror that most strip poker games never actually reach the point of nudity.
Much like the paper he writes for, a strip poker games promises you something really wonderful for free, but then cops out right before you get to anything of real value.
Mr. Columnist apparently didn’t catch on during his formative high school years while he sat in his best friend Derick’s basement, sipping Derick’s mom’s raspberry vodka and feeling like a badass.
Nor did he catch on when Sharon Olsen, his long time crush, explained that each sock, her watch, and her hemp anklet, all counted as separate articles of clothing.
Or when Sharon and her BFF Carle called off the game right before Carle had to take her undershirt off, leaving Derick and the six other guys sitting in their boxers questioning their sexuality.
Sharon laughed. “Oh my god Mr. Columnist, do you have an erection?”
Mr. Columnist, I’m sorry you had to go through that.
I’m sorry you still thought strip poker would be the fast track to Sexytown at the age of 35. I’m sorry all you would up seeing was your friends wrinkly balls because he neglected to wear boxers with a button fly. And I’m sorry you turned into the point man for my rant. All you ever wanted was to see some boobs.
