Friday, June 16, 2006

Happy (early) Father's Day 

I had a nice long post written up about father's, mine in particular. But I just don't feel like sharing that. You'll forgive me, right?

Cheers to my old man.

Cheers to my friend Tony. His father was like my second dad.

Cheers and Happy Father's Day to all "old men" out there reading this.

Now go back in time and read one of the best posts ever. Then go call your father.


Thursday, June 15, 2006

Back with more... 

Where have I gone? Don't post for a couple of days and the emails start up again making sure I'm alive and not in detox somewhere. Yesterday was crap because I was in work by 3am. By noon I was in a coma on the couch trying to remember the number to the pizza joint. Today I'm not posting anything decent because I'm rolling out shortly to catch the afternoon Phillies game.


I seem to be getting some good comments to my rant on Tuesday. Feel free to add your two cents to the rant in the comments.



Amy "I secretly have a crush on Al" Calistri
BJ "who's the hippy in my WSoP press seat" Nemeth
Lou "why the hell did I link this CantHang guy" Krieger
CL "Link a brotha up" Russo
Sean "It's about friggin' time" Donahue

And I owe Sean a Top 5 Not Safe For Work list. Coming tomorrow (or later today depending on the amount of booze consumed at the game)



Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Ode to the lemur... 

I hate you.

I hate the guy wearing the oversized headphones at the poker table when it's a freeroll! I hate your silly little Hellmuth sunglasses and your crappy little CD player. Get an iPod moron.

Fuck you. Give me your money.

I hate when you call with six-two off, ten three on, or any two cards to crack my big hand just because "that is my lucky / favorite / dumbass hand. I always play it." Keep playing it.

Fuck you. Give me your money.

I hate when you say "I had a feeling (insert sucky action) was going to happen." Sure. You just 'felt' you were going to spike that 2 outter on the river. Do you have a 'feeling' that I'm about to shove my boot up your ass? No?

Fuck you. Give me your money.

I hate your passive, calling-station ass. Grow a pair of balls for christsake. Check calling all the way down with the mortal nuts? Even on the river? Actually, maybe I don't hate you that much since you save me chips. But...

Fuck you. Give me your money.

I hate the guy drinking the cute little chardonnay in the cute little wine glass at the table. It's looks good in the hand of the girl next to you but you look like a wuss. Yeah, just because the glass fits in the cup holder doesn't make it ok. Here, have a shot.

Oh yeah, fuck you. Give me your money.

I hate your stories about 'dominating' the all-mighty 2/4 LHE tables in AC. Here's a quarter, go play the slots. Free drinks, no rake, and I can tune out your stories about hitting the big jackpot on the Terminator slot.

Fuck you. Give me your money.

I hate the guy who spent too much time watching Chris Ferguson on TV. Insisting on counting to 15. Before.... every.... action. It's a FREEROLL you douche. If you insta-fold that 9 trey, it's not a tell.

Fuck you. Give me your money.

Morons. Every. Last. One.

The preceding rant was brought to you by too much SoCo, not enough sleep, and the supreme desire to write Fuck every other paragraph. I guess this counts as many bad beat stories. Instead of the thousands of dollars I would have to pay everyone off for reading, how about I offer you a used 3500 Watt Generator?


Monday, June 12, 2006

Shady's back... 

I'm back alive and well. I survived the killer redneck-on-the-beach wedding with plenty of booze and stories. Much the same as any other weekend, beer and booze, but throw in some other variables and you strike it rich. Bonfires, kegs, sandstorms, and tent disasters are a start. 3am golf cart races and emergency runs to pick up margarita machines and forgotten laundry were just part of my job as the best man. I'm particularly proud of the fact that I managed to slide the term "freeloaders" into my toast.

I'll get right on the write up soon.

USA v Czech Republic at noon Eastern.


When does Brazil play their next match? What a tiny little image, click to embiggen.