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Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Weekend of crazies 

It's bizarre that the stories I've been writing in my spare time that I can't post here yet are much more interesting than the rubbish I'm putting up. The good stuff gets written in a rage off the top of my head with the iPod screaming (my current favorite album is Linkin' Park Minutes to Midnight. Pick it up). Maybe it's time for the super secret hidden blog wonder to vent my spleen. Early on Dr. Pauly was gracious enough to offer up a spot for a guest post and I still might take him up on the offer. It's about time I start posting the enormous stash of girlie shots I collected during my time off. Maybe that will be the new secret blog.

The busy weekend ended on a good note as we ran the charity poker game at the pub and raised some money for a great cause. A couple troopers from NYC made the trek to join the lemurs (if someone has a URL for Ross pass it along). I think I got the better end of the deal from Mary. She brought down a case of bacon from her monthly collection and she got a case of beer from the tournament in return. Bacon > Beer.

The tournament ran well other than a few problems with a lower than expected participation. I can sum the tournament up quickly. Charity game, rebuy tourney, Lewey was drinking shots of Patron like they were water. Yes, the charity made a pretty penny that day. I sat back to watch the craziness and get loaded off my ass casually guzzle gallons of water and Red Bull.

We had LivePokerRadio.com pumping through the house sound system for out entertainment during the game. That was great until I heard them start talking about me and the charity game. Before you knew it there were 4 screeching harpies screaming through a tiny microphone to the poor listeners. They were also positioned in such a way that I couldn't rip the cord from the laptop. I apologize to anyone who was listening at that point. I'm a sucker for hot girls. Hopefully my second stint on the radio went over much better.

Thanks to everyone who's donated so far. Can't tell you how much I appreciate it.

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Saturday had us attending a wedding that was set up to be nothing but a monster drunken mess. Didn't disappoint. The idiotic open bar rules prevented the guests from getting shots but that didn't stop 75% of them from hitting the sports bar one floor down. Huge shots and the Flyers game kept them coming back. I felt a little guilty for bailing on the reception until one trip we found the bride herself poneyed up to the bar doing shots and pissing on about the Flyers.

The night degraded even further when the reception shutdown and two wedding parties descended on the tiny bar. Nothing like this Pittsburgh mess broke out but there was a certain member of the crew who was drinking top shelf vodka by the pint glass. There may even be video evidence of him singing a duet of Summer Nights at the karaoke machine.

I only survived thanks to my incredible self control and constant trips to the smoking area. Thank god no more weddings for the rest of the year. It may take the state of Pennsylvania all summer to stock back up on booze before the Bash in September.

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I haven't done enough pimping of the great job the BDR guys have been doing with the Borgata Deepstack tournament this weekend. Huge logistical nightmare but they worked the kinks out and I listened the entire weekend. Listen up and help spread the word.

See everyone at the Skillz game tonight. I'm back in the mix looking to earn my TOC seat with just a month to go. Razz rulz.



Tournament: Blogger Skills Series
Where/when: Full Tilt, Tuesday 21:30ET
Game: Rotation between non-NLHE games
Buyin: $12+1
Password: skillz

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Monday, May 05, 2008

Cinco de Mayo memories 

Posting has become a lot rougher than I anticpated. There's that odd feeling of having someone look over my shoulder even if I'm not doing anything wrong. Does sobriety cause paranoia? Last was tight while I made plans for the charity game on Sunday and prepared for a wedding on Saturday. Long days and long nights with no end in sight plowing forward towards my goals.

Today I celebrate the day where my damned nickname became a permanent part of my existence. AlCantHang Day for the old timers is a replacement for Cinco de Mayo around these parts. The entire story is posted around somewhere and it even made an edition of Truckin' way back in the early days when I might have had a little talent with words. The short and simple version begins in a new club on the Delaware River. A friend's band was doing there best to pack the new place and brought many old faces I hadn't seen in awhile. One of those was FatAss Bob, the only other knucklehead who took a twisted pleasure in drinking Soco neat.

Several hours later they found me passed out in not-yet-open-to-the-public restroom. Apparently I was a horrific mess, those details I will spare you. It probably wasn't good for the new business to have a drunk hippy carted off by the EMT's, no doubt I would have been spewing profanties. You'd have to ask someone who actually remembers the evening.

I eventually sobered enough to reassure the motley group of friends, band members, family and barely dressed band skanks that I would indeed survive with the worst 7 day hangover in history. Thank god for them or I wouldn't have witnesses when the doctor came in to deliver his verdict.

"We have your blood tests back Mr. (now)CantHang. Your blood alcohol level was 0.46, your friends should be visiting you in the morgue instead of the emergency room."

Apparently that's a very bad number and very few survive when they get that bad. They tell me that EMT's thought I was dead already in the restroom. The doctor then spent many minutes of lecturing while my friends in the room, most likely bagged off their gourds themselves, tried to contain their laughter. 24 hours in the hospital constantly being pumped full of fluids kept the massive hangover to barely a week although the damage to my internal systems was bad enough to keep me off the sauce for a good six months.

So how will I spend the anniversary of my biggest worst hardest binge ever? Curled up in the fetal position hugging desperately to a big meatball parm sandwich and the ragged leftovers of Hope.

(or whoever else the escort agency sends over)

Cheers my friends, lift one for me this evening.

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