The music is dying down now and this kid's surely put up another sequential win. He's fleecing you out of knife and name. You'd be lucky to leave this party in a barrel held up by suspenders. You're fumbling around for a way to make a joke at his expense, hoping at least to claim the last laugh on your way out. Something about his little sailor boy outfit and the word "fleece"...
Nothing comes to you, except another stray L as you lay down this Murrit card and the game ends. You're tilted, and he knows it just as well as you. You can't say no to a money match though - after all, what if there's money in it?
You may seem old and washed up. Curmudgeonly, even. Despite your best protests... this is because you are. You are locked in your ways, Noir, and your ways are serving you avoidable loss after avoidable loss like you're a dude on butler island.
Remember when people used to say that? You used to love it when people were getting served like they were dudes on butler island.