How to Score a Hot Snooker Mama

I was nineteen years old the first time I saw a woman shooting pool. I was hanging with some guys in a dive bar in upstate New York, shooting stick and drinking beer. She just strolled inside and put quarters on the table.

Sitting at the bar, sipping on beer, I watched with amazement as she sank shot after shot, cleaning the table as efficiently as if on her knees scrubbing the toilet – which is where, I’m certain, everyone felt she belonged.

One by one, big men, strong men -- men’s men -- fell like babies. Some made lame excuses (“fractured my hand last week”). One guy packed his cue and left the bar in a gruff. Even my friend Ben Sidorski refused to shake her hand after she ran the table on him.

But what I remember best was how she bent over and into the pool table to line up her shots; thus presenting us all with an unobstructed view of her thick, magnificent, wagging buttocks -- which swayed ever-so slightly, like a pair of butternut squashes slow-dancing to “Smooth Operator.”

At one point, she measured a shot near my barstool, placing her bonny bottom only inches from my face. Yea Lord, how I tried not to stare.

But a rudder like that gets inside your head.

When an ass-wagger is wagging her ass in your face, everything else in the world disappears into the assmist of your desire until you become one with the divine rump.

Everything evaporates from my thoughts – this pool game, this bar, the Iran hostage crisis, the gasoline shortage, the Disco invasion – replaced by a single, striking vision of her spectacular asscraft, which descends upon me like an alien space ship hovering over my farm. Her massive, stern-side engines throbbing in neutral, as two bulb-headed aliens emerge and proclaim, “We are here to take you to Planet Posterius, where everything is peachy.”

I could resist her no longer. This was one hot snooker mama. I had to say something, anything to gain passage to her Planet Peachy. But, in a fortunate twist of fate, Ben beat me to the action. He slipped his arm around her waist and showed her the correct way to hold a cue.

Poor, miserable, misguided Ben. She beat you. How you gonna give her lessons?

I watched in horror as she shuddered off his embrace, spun around, gave him a razory glare, and swatted his little ego out of the air like a gnat.

“That could’ve been me,” I thought, gratefully, as she squished Ben into gnat batter before my very eyes.

I learned some valuable lessons that night:

1) There is little in this world that is sexier than a hot snooker mama.

2) There is little chance in hell to score with a hot snooker mama with your tired, chauvinistic ploys. You have to play it cool. You have to shoot your stick with a splash of class, a sprinkle of confidence, and a truckload of “don’t-be-a-predictable-doof.”

Women today are more informed than ever. They have twenty-four hour cable networks. For chrissake, they have Elimidate and The View. They’re no longer going to fall for your tired Masse shots, and your predictable jump-shots. You need your whole game working. You need...

Five Things Never-to-Do When Trying to Score A Hot Snooker Mama:

1) Don’t get caught staring at her bottom: Use the mirror, or your peripherals. If she catches you brooding over her dangling dorsum, well you’ve scratched before you even broke.

2) Beware assmosis: The wagging ass is like a churn. It keeps stirring and stirring and stirring until your man-lard assmosisizes into a brain-clogging miasma. Symptoms include putting your arm around her waist to show her how to hold the cue. To inhibit assmosis, visualize your grandmother playing naked Boggle with Tony Danza.

3) Lose well: If she beats you, don’t sulk. Don’t make excuses. Just shake her hand and re-rack. Don’t be one of these little-pecker dudes who throws a tantrum to defend his masculinity. It’s the tantrum that emasculates your manhood, moron. That being said . . .

4) For god’s sake, don’t lose the game: During courting, it’s usually best that the male shoot better billiards than the female. If she’s better than you at pool maybe she’ll think she’s better than you at other important man-type-stuff, like earning the bacon, maintaining rigidity, or manning the remote control effectively. It’s probably not a deal killer if you lose a game here or there, but take note: There is a lot of green between you and her plush pocket

5) Do not slam your shots, unnecessarily. Who are you, some big, badass tough guy or something? Why do you need to hit the ball so hard? Could it be your tiny pecker?: Ok, sure, some shots need a good, firm stroke – that doesn’t mean you have to launch a space shuttle every time you shoot. Take firm strokes, take finesse strokes, use english, snappy banks, no slop – play the leave. Show her you come in many speeds. Show her that you are more than just an oafish ramrod with a tiny tip. Show her you got game.

EJD
6/19/02