So there we were, we being the usual collection of magical maffickers, that is to say Robert Neale, Larry White, Ed Solomon, Ron Dayton and your humble narrator, in one of our usual email exchanges but which was quite unusual.
You see, Larry had just sent a video of a really neat card rise to all of us. It looked great and we were all commenting about it and speculating on it. This was most unusual since Larry hates card tricks the way most of us hate mustard on chocolate ice cream with pickle topping. Actually, he hates cards tricks more than that and would probably prefer the mustard and chocolate sundae than being asked to pick a card.
Ron Dayton began to explain his previous use of the idea, which we kind of expected, Ron being Ron and too damned inventive for any one individual. Ed Solomon, himself hating card tricks more than Larry (this is speculation since I do have a video of Larry performing a certain card rise and I have yet to see Ed do a single card trick, so I suspect I am right; regardless, I do have blackmail material on Larry in the form of said video, so I am content I will hear little argument with my statement), chimed in with a comment concerning Larry’s/Ron’s idea that he would soon begin to regret:
“Most clever. Particularly for a card trick. Now if it was the Queen of Spades popping up, winking and spitting vinegar in your ear, as Harry Anderson once suggested, that would be an interesting card trick.”
Why would Ed regret that? Why, simple, Gentle Reader: Bob Neale and I were on the receiving end of that statement, along with Ron and Larry, and, well, if anyone was going to make that card trick, it would be us. So Ed, you see, prompted the creation of – gasp, gods and little devils – a card trick.
And that’s pretty much what happened. Me being me, I took the idea and ran with it, giving it a workout in less than a week at a party with a friendly audience. I reported back my experiences (in luxuriously boring detail, I assure you) to Bob, who then offered some advice here and there as I smoothed out the rough edges.
You’re holding the result.
What follows is a piece of business, to use a certain vernacular. It is, in it’s own way, my version of a gambling expose, but without a poker hand in sight. It is nowhere near what could be called serious, but the comedy comes from the spectators. It begins with the spectators constantly losing certain bets and ends with a bit of magic that is so shockingly out of place it’s surreal.
As surreal as it is memorable. I will cop, as I rightfully should, to only having performed this a few dozen times. Yet it is always well received and yet again it has become something people ask about.
As such, it is about as magical as you can get, and I’m frankly proud of it.
I think you’ll find yourself proud to show it off, too.