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Saturday, August 26, 2006

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Friday, August 25, 2006

Whole Lotta Rosie 

"Want to tell you a story 'bout a woman I know,
Comes to lovin', she steals the show.
She ain't exactly pretty, ain't exactly small,
42-39-56, you can say she got it all!"

Bon Scott, AC/DC
Turn it up Steve. Loud. Really really loud.

Anyone reading this crap knows by now that I'm pretty much fucked up in the head. I'm sitting at my desk gnashing on 5 pounds of bacon and a gallon of water. Breakfast of Champions. I've got winamp blasting some messed up shit straight into my skull with 5 songs on non-stop rotation. Whole Lotta Rosie, Holy Diver, Among the Living, Hatecrew Deathroll (for the Blood man cometh), and Sam Kinison's Wild Thing. Completely warped. Someone walked into my office and I must have given the blank stare of a man melting his brain. She left quickly.

I occasionally find my self wondering if I'm going crazy. Not "office shooting rampage" crazy, more like bat shit crazy. Then I look at my surroundings and realize not only am I not crazy, I'm down right average. You know, except for the wild ass hair, huge gelatinous middle section, bizarre tolerance to Soco, and the desire to spend as much time in the soft soft arms of the nectar floating in some Caribbean paradise.

A day without a buzz is a day that never was.

And my buzz last night sure helped gather more young souls to the ever growing bash. BigMike is very happy and I think MeanGene may have to pick some people up on the way across the state. Seems I managed to talk my way into getting a dozen barely 21 year old Penn State girls to make the trek for the party. That caused BigMike to reminisce for the rest of the night morning about the joys of campus life while attending Penn State. I won't tell you what I had to promise them for their appearance. If I remember correctly it involved the girls with random bloggers, 5 gallons of tapioca pudding, glitter, and naked crisco twister. As Caucci is fond of saying, "the glitter is for traction!"

Is it any wonder that I sit around with a shit eating grin on my face?

BigMike hit me with the king of all back handed compliments after talking some 6 foot big breasted blonde German girl into dragging her friends into the bar in September. "Dude, I don't know how you do it, but I imagine if you weren't so damned ugly you probably could have pulled a ton tail back in the day." Brilliant.

As it is, I'll stick to being America's Wingman.

Not once, not twice, but thrice have I had to pay for the 5 pound bacon breakfast since this post started. Also, the internal censor kicked in and half the post disappeared into the rubbish bin. You're welcome.


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Thursday, August 24, 2006

One more month to go... 



One teeny tiny little month left to go. I still have more shit to do than you can possibly imagine but the march of time keeps stomping along. Dozens of emails are flying around the cyberinterweb in a rapid fire succession. Big names are being talked to and added all the time. Constant sit downs with the bar to iron out all the details. Suites and transportation and tourney set up. Logistics man, logistics. If you don't know then you don't know.

BigMike and I will also be spending just about every non-working hour at all the bars around the area. See that new banner at the top for the Bash? That was created by the lovely Gracie for our mass flyer campaign. 5000 of those beauties have been printed and sitting in the back of BigMike's car. Our job is to plaster this entire area with those little fuckers in an attempt to draw more than twice as many to this Bash as last year. The 'official' head count per the doorman last year was slightly over 400 through the door. That didn't count the dozens of bloggers and band members who were there before the doors opened.

No pressure for me.

Commentor Jason brought up a point that I haven't made yet about poker games that weekend. There will be no side games at the Bash or the Boathouse that weekend. The only event is the Gavin Smith extravaganza. Friday night I'm sure there will be some home games around the area but there cannot be any played at the Boathouse for legal reasons. Consider the Bash my attempt to reenact the best parts of blogger gatherings without being bothered to throw cards in the air. It comes down to spending some quality drink time chatting up old friends and new friends. Take the opportunity to bullshit with bloggers you read all the time and those who you're just meeting for the first time.

One blogger I know that will be getting his drunk on big time, Mr. TripJax himself. For I owe him many drinks. He was kind enough to do us a favor and all while he was on vacation.

I know that not many people coming to the Bash will be able to play with Gavin and his friends because of space and the donation factor. So he helped me set up a satellite tourney on Full Tilt Poker. And by help, I mean he did it all. So here you have it. Pimp it away. Even if you can't make the Bash and would like to give a little and enjoy blogger insanity, stop on by. We will be giving away one seat to the Bash tourney no matter how many play.

Where: Full Tilt Poker
When: Thursday, August 31st. 9pmEST
Buyin: $0+$25
Password: charitybash
Why: Because poker bloggers are more generous than your average bear

This is open to bloggers, readers, degenerates, stalkers, talkers, and anyone with $25 to throwdown on Full Tilt.

Pimp away, the more the merrier.

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I also need to give a big thanks to RiverChasers who in the last 24 hours have provided much relief in the form of equipment, dealers, give aways, and shameless Bash promoting.



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"Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead."
Charles Bukowski

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Tuesday, August 22, 2006

The Reset Button 

A smarter man than I once told me that I need to hit the reset button every once in a while. Not sure who that smart man was. I was probably loaded at the time and it was his idea of an intervention. Well that's just what I did this weekend.

Not a drop of liquor, no cigarettes, no bars, no Bash, no stress. Nothing but sitting in the middle of god's country around a fire with my family and the smell of a camp fire. I ran around playing football with my 10 year old nephew and 65+ father. (By the way, you think your old man is cool? He ain't got nothing on my pops.) My knees will take a bit to get back to normal. Normal being the dull ache instead of the constant grind of bone on bone. Hamburger and hotdogs cooked over the fire and my own personal gallon of Mama CantHang's sweet tea.

We were camped at a place near a tiny amusement park built entirely for young kids. The biggest roller coaster in the joint was wussy enough for me to ride a couple dozen times. And that's a big accomplishment for a wussified roller coaster man like myself. All the rides were set up for the tiny ones and I had a great time running around with my nephew and 7 year old niece. How many amusement parks have rides that say "if you're taller than this (indiscriminate height), you can't ride this ride"? Corn dogs, funnel cakes, french fries with malt vinegar, water ice, and soft pretzels. Good food and good time. The kids beat the crap out of me, but I had a blast. And there was the water park yet to come! Wait til that story.

I did have a nice little conversation with my nephew as I tried to explain to him how real camping used to be done. Old leaky canvas tents, a million bugs, sweating in the heat of the day trying to find shade to cool off, cooking every meal over the open flame. He couldn't seem to believe me! It's like I was telling him about walking barefoot to school in the snow uphills both ways. It might have had something to do with my situation while I was telling him the stories.

I was sitting in my parents 40 foot motor home in the middle of the hot hot afternoon, the air conditioning was set at a comfy 70 degrees, I had my feet up on the sofa, SportsCenter was on the camp ground provided cable hookup, and my laptop was in front of me surfing the internet on their free wifi connection.

Life is so tough for these young whipper snappers.

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Oh, and the water park. What a lovely little retreat in the middle of Amish country where no one would have predicted. Water slides and water falls just as far as the eye could see. And the women. Where they get these lovely cornfed princesses, I'll never know. Looking wonderful in their one piece and beautiful in the bikinis. MILF's and models from stem to stern covered in liquid goodness. A truly amazing site. Does that sound fascinating to you? Stick it in your head because that's where it was for me.

Until I actually got there.

Instead of MILF's I got Aunt Mildred and her two-tons-o-fun monster thighs. Every foul beast on the planet testing the tensile strength of that poor lycra. The combined stench of chlorine, sunscreen, and really old people made me have to chew back my lemonade slushy several times. Lost kids with diapers full of water, slimeballs taking their first shower of the summer (just 'cause it was 'bout that time), and some inexplicable blue dragon doing the YMCA song. I can't even begin to explain turning my head to the right and catching some fat mama bending over and the sights that were seen at that very moment. Miscellaneious body hair, that's all I can bring myself to say.

I made it about 10 minutes in that hell before claiming heat exhaustion and wandering back to the climate controlled goodness and blogger retreat.

~

About 8pm last night as I was finishing up the last little bit of sweet tea left and chomping on my perfectly done burger, I realized that sometimes it's a very good thing to just pop that reset button. Just for mental healther sake. It was nice to get away from all the stress and pressure life seems to be piling on.

Now I'm ready to get my shit back together and get ready to hang with my friends from old and new. One month mother fuckers, one teeny tiny month.

Cheers.

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