Well, Mr. Craig, you did it. You incapacitated me with your cowardice. Also, you blinded me (yes, that's me pictured at right) with science, but that’s not important right now. I came to you in good faith, offering you 3:1 money at micro stakes, and what do you do? What, I ask? What?
No seriously, what? It’s been nearly three weeks since I fell to the floor in shocked disbelief at your craven and scurrulous response. Let’s see, let’s see . . .
Oh. Right. That.
So, you don’t fancy actually playing for money, and think you can hide by claiming you don’t need my filthy lucre, eh, Mr. Craig? You’d rather have a YouTube vid or photograph of me eating something awful? And not only that, but you have to invent a female “assistant” to answer me. I call shenanigans on your so-called Gal Friday, sir. That’s right, I said it. Shenanigans!
Let’s face it, Mr. Craig, if you can’t afford my offer, you certainly can’t afford to pay the kind of money it would take to get one of the fairer sex to interact with you on a semi-regular basis, even over the Internet.
Furthermore, you couch your response in legal blather. Really sir? Legal talk? I thought we were poker players, not degenerates.
But very well, I am as flexible as I am magnanimous as I am good at poker stuff as I am at writerly sentences that are concise and easy to read without run-ons or dangling participles which I hate and besides I am also taller than you.
I will accept your terms, with the following provisos.
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