Friday, December 15, 2006

Rule #20, you make the call 

The following is NOT a paid advertisement by Southern Comfort (although that would be SWEET):

I've spent the last two days trying to figure out how to properly wrap my weak-assed writing skills around the 'other stuff' that happened during the week in Vegas. The moments that aren't full of lemur-like poker play and other such events. Those things tend to attract the more socially conscience of us. My cultivated rep as a drunken degenerate was hard to come by and I take the opportunity to strength that rep as often as possible. If people don't see me with a rocks glass in my hand they figure I'm either already all lit up or hungover like a worlds fucking champ.

And they are usually right.

So when I see others writing about the drunken stupidity that goes on during these events (in some not so glorious prose), I smile and really enjoy it. Some people get it, some never will. They are all welcome into our degenerate pit.

Even hell's minions need a designated driver on occasion.

I'm not sure I can even come up with many stories about my inebriated wanderings last weekend. Some I remember vividly, others are a bit muddled, and most will never hit the intertubes. Those stories are just mine and I'm keeping them. Part of the raging solo. You understand? We can get a couple of things out of the way though. There were generally three conditions you could find me in during the Vegas trip.

1. Sober - On my way to booze land. This only happened once and if you saw me in this state I can tell exactly where you were. Geisha bar, late morning on Friday. I had just stepped foot in Vegas and was working my way up to...

2. Drunk - Just to make it simple on everyone I'll eliminate the different levels of drunken. We'll just let this category cover everything from having a nice buzz to the "shit, I fell down again" wastoids (from now on shall be known as the Drizzzzzs).

3. Hungover - This covers the 6 soul sucking hours of my blogger tourney play and my horrendous flight home.

That about covers it. Very little time wasted with silly stuff like food or sleep. Drink, gamboool, stumble. Wash, rinse, repeat. I was on a mission, set down a path of wasted moments and wasted thoughts by good friends who told me to rage on.

That can somewhat segue into one of the stories had to be told on Saturday. It seems that sometime Friday night/Saturday morning I came close to breaking Rule #20 from Pauly.

20. Don't get rolled by a hooker.

This is self-explanatory. But if you have the desire to hire a working girl at the nearest Hooker Bar, then make sure you're not too drunk and never flash around your bankroll because you will get robbed. A 2005 WSOP bracelet winner picked up two hookers to celebrate his win and not only did he get rolled, they also stole his bracelet.
He has since told me that I did not commit a clear violation, merely a misstep. Let's see what everyone else thinks.

Friday night at the MGM was a continuation of the drinkng that started when I landed in Vegas. Fortified by the shoe leather steak at Outback and ready to roll, we hit the MGM sportsbook in full voice. Shots were done, poker was played, and trash was used as an accessory. I spent time talking to bloggers, Lance Corporals, and a newly engaged head shrinker. I even managed to drop Carmen's nice digital camera into a full pint of Newcastle. Apparently my blunder didn't matter since she was going to repeat the same feat later.

"Carmen, who had resurrected herself for the meeting on no sleep, was fine, except that she dropped her digital camera into a glass of water. (The same camera had been dropped into a beer at the MGM less than twelve hours earlier.)"

Michael Craig
Does that get me off the hook with the lovely Carmen? Most likely not. Mea Culpa.

We crushed our way through a couple shifts of bartenders and monster bartabs. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, just guessing on the time here, I decided it was time to embark upon my Otis inspired romp into solo decadence. Probably not the most brilliant idea but the decision was made. I made my slurred goodbyes and staggered my way down the 4 mile trek between the poker room and the taxi stand.

I don't remember telling the driver where to take me but he dumped me off at the Casino Royale. Apparently I wanted to play some craps. If I'm not mistaken, there is a Denny's located right next to the Casino Royale and I somehow recall that I might possibly have walked in for a French Slam and triple bacon fuel booster. Bacon baby. Seems like it happened but I have been unable to obtain any fiscal evidence either way.

Craps at the Royale. Craps at the Royale with 100 times odds.

That make any gambler happy other than the fact that you actually have to be IN the Royale at the time. I rolled and bet the shit out of that table. The waitresses were falling over themselves for some of my stoopid tipping action (come on, it's not like I was high rolling it with the big boys). Red birds flying all over the place. I was paying the stick man just to compliment me on my gambling prowess. I was in a craps zone after getting myself up well over a grand at a silly little $3 craps table.

During a stumble to the men's room I noticed that the damned sun was up and seemed to have been for awhile. The cowboys were starting to come out to play again. I somehow remember that there was a blogger tourney later that day and it might good to be somewhat coherent. Maybe a couple of hours in the room soaking up the booze with McD's bagel sandwiches (snooch!) and SportsCenter.

I colored up and by the time I was done tipping and overtipping, I put 6 of the ugliest $100 chips you'll ever see in my pocket. Mobility was taking a break and the Casino Royale has rooms, right?

I was staggering around trying to find out how to get up to a room and couldn't get the damned door to open. Naturally a generous citizen was walking by and I managed to mumble enough for her to show me the key card slot to operate the door. Then it happened.

This monster sneaks through the door with me and slammed/pinned me in the elevator. Here's what I can make out from what she starts saying in my ear, keeping in mind I'm wasted and she doesn't seem to be that far behind.

"mphg, blowjob mmfmmfph anything mmmpempmwp cheap...."

You get the picture. I started punching the elevator button to stop the damned thing to get her out. About as horrid a hooker you'll ever see in your life. Weezy Jeferson 10 years dead.

I politely tell her "no thank you" and escort her off the elevator. I absolutely did not call her a festering axe wound and toss her. Absolutely did not.

I should have been happy she didn't boost my precious McD's cargo. As I was getting dressed to hit Caesar's I did a cash checkup on the ol' bankroll. Only there was no bankroll. Every Benji had gone missing and I knew exactly where it went. I checked the little secret pocket of my jeans and the dumb whacko missed the six bingo chips from my craps win so it wasn't a total wipe out.

Fucked without getting fucked. Brilliant.

I just shook my head and wrote it off as another experience. Pauly was going to get a chuckle at the very least. Pauly confirms that I didn't actually get rolled by a hooker, just got my pocket picked. What I didn't count on was Pauly getting the crux of the matter so quickly.

"How the hell didn't you notice her pulling her hand out of your pocket?" asked Pauly.

Took me a second to recall and form a proper response...

"Ah, well, you see, her other hand was a little busy at time."

Oh boy.


Wednesday, December 13, 2006

DickBro, Mookie, and Riverchasers 

Just a few notes from our regular "sponsors" before I head back home at noon to enjoy my oversized lazy-boy and watch the entire DVR'd season of My Boys where Jordana Spiro spews more baseball cliches while showing cleavage than should be allowed by law.


I heard the story in Vegas, offered some response, and listened to the debate. Now go read the BoyGenius. The Birth of DickBro!


How could I forgot to mention...


If anyone is interested, there is another Riverchasers tournament Thursday evening.

Tournament #9376890
Game: NLHE
Date: December 14th, 10pmET
Buyin: $10+1
password: riverchasers
Tournament name: Riverchasers Online Poker Tour Event #4


Vegas trip, the Poker 

Do you think I could just say nothing about this last weekend and get away with it? Everyone else is going to have proper writeups and I could always just link to theirs. Unfortunately I don't think I can get away with that since this trip I spent a large chunk of that time taking some very serious Otis advice.

"Redemption in Raging Solo

In Vegas, one's opportunity for a solo rage is ubiquitous. For as long as he wants or as long as he can stand, he can prop himself up on the shoulders of friends. And when he is ready, he can step out into the dry air, blink at the lights, and start to walk. Where he stops--if he stops--is of little consequence. What matters is that he rages solo. It need not be a trip-long or even night-long event. It can last as long or short as he wants. It can be sober or drunk. It can start at one end of the strip and end at the other or it can start on one side of the street and be only bound by a crosswalk. What matters is the rage. It can cost $1,000 or $1. It just doesn't matter.

Raging solo--define it as you like--is the key. At the end is redemption. And with redemption comes a whole new way of looking at things."
I wish I had the capacity to spend more time amongst my blogger brethren. I had three nights to pack in 6 months worth of hardcore stress relief and lay a serious testing upon my liver and soul. You guys understand, right?

This will probably be short, I'll hit up more stories later in the week. I've been sitting at my desk at work since 3 this morning and it feels weird to be awake and alive at 3am instead of drunk and degenerate. Let's just get some of the pokerin' out of the way so we can get to the good stuff like how I kind of broke Pauly's rule number 20.


I don't even know if I can count the first tourney at the IP Friday morning as real poker. I had been up since 5am ET and I was crushing the video poker at the Geisha bar around 11am waiting for any bloggers to show up unannounced. Free booze while playing video poker, bonus.

Mr. and Mrs. Head were the first to find me there followed by Pauly and several other bloggers in various states of dishevel. Most were heading off for brunch at the Wynn and would I care to join them? Up since 5am, no food since 6am, nothing but booze since. Nah, I decided, I'll just stick it out here at the bar with Daddy and crew. Play the shitty IP poker tourney.

Can't tell you a single hand but I can tell you I despise that damned poker room. Nothing like getting intentionally kicked out. I didn't want to be tempted to every come back so I asked the manager what I needed to do to get banned. I was told the procedure then proceeded to use that word several times to get the ban enforced.

Done, no more temptation.


Several drunken hours later, following a huge tasteless steak at Outback (I'm such a douche, turn down the Wynn buffet and hit the shit-restaurant), I made my way over to the MGM. A little booze and a little poker. I spent most of the time in the SportsBook getting on Carmen's bad side, which I'm sure we'll here about later, but a little time was spent managing the Drizz big stack in the uber-super-mega donkey 2/4 CORSE game (replace Hold'em with Crazy Pineapple).

Sitting next to Fuel55 while the rest of the table showed absolutely no regard for those little clay disks sitting in front of them. I drug the first pot and last pot of my night. How the hell does a Stud/8 bluff work in 2/4 donkey mega-pots? I have no idea but I won the first hand with absolute shit but 4 tiny hearts showing.

The last hand was in O8 when I straddled and thought I was dead only to scoop the whole damned thing. Remarkable.

Pablo got stacked by Gracie, Garth almost got hit by the LoveElf, and Fuel55 just sat there shaking his head.


28 hours after landing in Vegas, full of booze and fury, still without any sleep, I walked my way into the poker room at Caesars in the exact state I promised myself I wouldn't be in. Dead Money and just play dead. The look of concern was there from my sober friends. The hungover friends probably didn't realize how hurting I was.

Goddamned if I didn't go on to finish 12th out of 78(?). Unreal. I really just wanted to die by the end. Only three hands of note that I'll care to mention.

I'm playing tight for more than one reason. The main reason that I was concentrating on getting two gallons of Gatorade into my system. The esteemed Dr. Chako raised ahead of me, I re-raised with my KK. He pushed in and I called. He flipped over AA. I stood up ready to finally track down some place to lay my head when he said "Don't worry. This is how I went out of the last tournament."

King on the flop for a proper 2 outter and I picked up a very nice bounty. Picture to come.

Several more hours of donking around, still too out of it to appreciate the excellent first table where I found myself. I really wish I could have been better prepared. April, Daddy, Glyphic, RadioVegas, Euro Shecky, Jen Leo, and Amy Calistri. Good lord. I'm such an asshat.

Second hand of note. Down to 4 tables I believe and I'm a shortstacked mother humper. Lucko, SoxLover, and myself get everything all-in with 99, 88, and my donk-a-licious shorty AQo. 4 clubs on the board later and I'm back in the game, SoxLover still in with his 8c, and Lucko-way-ahead is gone. I'm thankful he didn't literally come around the table and knock me out. That could have been awkward.

Last hand of my tourney life. I had already screwed up by folding my big blind getting somewhere in the neighborhood of 5 trillion to 1 odds to call because I apparently fell asleep at the table. Soon after I found The Hammer and barely any chips. I pushed into pocket kings and I'm finally off on my way to zzzzzzz land.

Except I never made it there. But that's a story for later. Much much later.


There are so many other stories but the silly poker stuff is out of the way. That was it for me and poker this weekend but so much more stuff. A little taste...

- 4 flushes, 7 boats, 2 quads within 2 hours (and a dozen shots) of video poker at the Geisha bar Friday morning.

- I crushed the silly craps game at Casino Royale sometime early Saturday morning then got my pocket picked by a hooker who looked like Louise Jefferson.

- Fully tested the capabilities of Carmen's camera while floating in a pint of beer. The camera. Not Carmen.

- Played Pai Gow for the first time with Change100 and Milwaukee Steve's money. PAI GOW!

- Al falls down. Again.

- I got Michael Craig to do a "shot" at the SportsBook bar in the MGM.

- Shots with the WiffleWaffleHouse!

- Richard Brodie officially has ZERO skills with the ladies. Michael Craig has his work cut out for him.

- Digital camera was transported to Vegas. Number of pictures taken: ZERO.


More to come as I continue to read the recaps. Too many things running in my empty excuse for a head.

I had an absolute monster of a great time. There are a lot of people who deserve special thanks (especially April for all the incredibly hard work) but I'll give a big general thanks to my invisible internet friends for hanging with me whenever I managed to show my face. I was on a mission from God.