Friday, July 11, 2008
Bonus Code "Iggy"!
Congrats and good luck to the wee man Blogfather who is in the money and cruising along in his first ever appearance in the WSoP Main Event heading into Day 4. Methinks his last 4 years of hard fought anonymity might be going right out the window. I couldn't be happier for the little guy who's done so much for the poker bloggers. I imagine he'll have quite a railbird section later today as his friends in the media will be anxious to see our friend do something special.
Cheers Mr. Swayze.
Check out Dr. Pauly and the PokerNews crew for updates.
~
My other friends seem to be having a blast in Okie-Vegas. I had every intention of making the trek but I have too much on my plate preparing to start the new gig on Monday. Right about now I could use that relaxing time sitting next to the Okie-lake, chugging Keystone Lights (has to be a step up from Miller Lite, right?) and cruising around on the wave runners. They are obviously having a good time because I received the following cryptic message from Sean after 4 this morning.
~
Not that I could have survived another night in Vegas but there was a reason I needed to get back home. A small going away party was planned for Wednesday, we were going to use drinking as a way to celebrate one of us hitting the eject button from the corporate cockpit. There was little chance it would end anywhere near the sober zone and there was a potential for bad shenanigans considering the large number of upper management on the invite list. Luckily it was only old work friends who showed up. Not a single person from management or any of my new found Human Resources readers felt like taking the chance to interact with the underlings. I drank with impunity and subtlety was not a weapon in my arsenal. There might have been a thing or two to talk about.
I'm pretty certain I didn't completely embarrass myself but we definitely knocked back more than our share. There's no way to accurately calculate the exact amount consumed because shots where coming at me from all directions, the only thing saving me from complete annihilation was lunch sometime in the late afternoon. It's always a blast getting together with the guys I've known for so long and get plain ol' silly. Just about the only thing I'll miss by not working with them anymore.
The drinking tour continues this evening with a party that I won't even begin to describe, I'll wait until I have photographic evidence to pass along. It will involve idiots, amateurs and costumes.
~
Dr. Pauly also took time out of his busy schedule to put together the July issue of Truckin'. Enjoy.
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Cheers Mr. Swayze.
Check out Dr. Pauly and the PokerNews crew for updates.
~
My other friends seem to be having a blast in Okie-Vegas. I had every intention of making the trek but I have too much on my plate preparing to start the new gig on Monday. Right about now I could use that relaxing time sitting next to the Okie-lake, chugging Keystone Lights (has to be a step up from Miller Lite, right?) and cruising around on the wave runners. They are obviously having a good time because I received the following cryptic message from Sean after 4 this morning.
For the record i win the last longer amd (sic) i fell off a golf cartI have no clue what that means but it sounds like fun.
~
Not that I could have survived another night in Vegas but there was a reason I needed to get back home. A small going away party was planned for Wednesday, we were going to use drinking as a way to celebrate one of us hitting the eject button from the corporate cockpit. There was little chance it would end anywhere near the sober zone and there was a potential for bad shenanigans considering the large number of upper management on the invite list. Luckily it was only old work friends who showed up. Not a single person from management or any of my new found Human Resources readers felt like taking the chance to interact with the underlings. I drank with impunity and subtlety was not a weapon in my arsenal. There might have been a thing or two to talk about.
I'm pretty certain I didn't completely embarrass myself but we definitely knocked back more than our share. There's no way to accurately calculate the exact amount consumed because shots where coming at me from all directions, the only thing saving me from complete annihilation was lunch sometime in the late afternoon. It's always a blast getting together with the guys I've known for so long and get plain ol' silly. Just about the only thing I'll miss by not working with them anymore.
The drinking tour continues this evening with a party that I won't even begin to describe, I'll wait until I have photographic evidence to pass along. It will involve idiots, amateurs and costumes.
~
Dr. Pauly also took time out of his busy schedule to put together the July issue of Truckin'. Enjoy.
1. Berlin by Paul McGuire
It was in a hotel suite, not some dingy hot sheets motor inn near the airport. Anyway, my entire point was that at least I had the courtesy to keep my hooker alive, not like Uncle Teddy.... More
2. One Night Out Part II: Hunter-Hunter by Sigge S. Amdal
The night sky loomed with pregnant darkness, while a million brilliant lights in white, blue and orange from the city below fought the epic battle as hard as they could. Sirens, shouting, gunshots and helicopters; everything was muffled by the distance... More
3. Of Lattes and Stuffed Monkeys By John 'Falstaff' Hartness
I abandoned the carnage of my room, leaving an apocalypse of shattered glass and plastic on the sidewalk and the oak outside my window garlanded with t-shirts and sweaters. Five hours later I pulled up in front of my parents' house without ever really noticing how fast I was going or really having a plan as to where I was headed... More
4. All Those Things That Don't Change, Come What May by Johnny Hughes
Jake inherited the Magic House when his drinking Uncle tried to empty a rabbit out of a long irrigation pipe and the pipe hit a high-line wire. The 1940s furniture clashed with Jake's beatnik, coffee-house conversational monologues sanctioned only by the weekend wannabe artists, singers, writers, and actors from the college that came to his regular parties, called Jake Parties... More
5. Don't You Know What I'm Thinking? by May B. Yesno
You know, education is a funny thing. Too much of it in any one area makes you dumber. That's probably a bad way to look at it. Lets say, a very good foundation in a subject is a good thing, but as you continue to study it, it takes more and more effort to obtain less and less knowledge from it.... More
6. Cold by Kajagugu
When we crossed the border we had to avoid detection and make it quickly to our destination. We had decoy units who crossed the border with us and then led the UN peacekeeping soldiers on a wild goose chase. With these fools out of the way we moved swiftly and silently... More
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Walk of Shame Part XVII
"You were really fired up last night."I had to correct Mr. Bartender, it was two evenings before when I found myself at the polar opposite end of stone cold sober. When I first sat down I had no idea how the night was going to end but things are rarely sane on my first night in Vegas.
Bartender - Hooker bar
Things started off innocently enough with a small gathering of old timers and newer bloggers. The booze started with a trickle but quickly built up steam as I sat at the hooker bar with Iggy, Otis and MiamiDon (I'll take a booze session with these guys over a random night at the tables any time).
At one point I remember having several rocks glasses filled to the brim queued up waiting to be the next in line for my destruction. No one was slowing down and we kept trying to get Iggy away from the bar, to go somewhere calming. He would be sitting down to play in the Main Event in just a few short hours but the draw of booze and conversation was too great for the wee man.
Pop the clutch and fast forward to where things got a little fuzzy. I have no idea when it happened but the infamous Hammer-creating Grubby made an appearance and my eventual path was set. Things were no longer subtle. High brow respectable conversations turned into hooker prop bets where Grubby and Don took turns confirming whether individual females were in fact Pros or Joes. Amazingly no face slapping was involved with either gentlmen.
My next memory is walking around the Rio with Don and finding the most amazing cab lines. Vegas tip #2763, don't try to catch a cab shortly after the world's biggest poker tournament breaks for the evening. The best available option was to catch a ride with Grubby and his stripper loving friend. Who would actually believe that I had never once seen the inside of a Vegas strip club? I decided to overlook the fact that I hadn't slept properly in 36 hours.
Rumor has it that we went to two clubs that night. All I remember from the first one was an empty room, the tallest damned stripper pole in the world and almost being drowned in silicon, saline or whatever the hell they use to augment these days. Nothing worth mentioning at all. It was Cheetah's that I remember.
For some reason I had it in my head that I must be a fiscally responsible human now that I am not sucking on the corporate teat. But things like responsibility and moderation have never really stuck with me so I forced myself to play within my limits. At Cheetah's I graduated to nothing but Red Bulls and Marlboros to straighten my head out. The rest of my bankroll was spent on some lovely lass whose tweaked out head seemed to believe every line thrown at her by myself and Grub.
"My name is Al. Al Timeter. I'm a test pilot."
MiamiDon instantly went MIA. I saw him for the first 5 minutes at Cheetah's and then he was gone. I had one quick glimpse of him a few hours into the festivies as he made a mad dash between the VIP room and the ATM. I imagine there was some serious negotiating involved, perhaps Don has a future in the United Nations.
Before long I found myself sitting in a comfy chair, Grubby's friend was sound asleep next to me and I was just about as broke as Waffles on a blackjack bender. I was starting to sober up with the realization that if I heard one more club thumping dance remix my head was going to explode. I'm not sure if my worst decisions in life are done under the influence of booze or cocaine in a can.
So I made the choice which will follow me for the rest of my days. Walk home or wait for Grubby to exit the backroom. I had no idea where we were, not a clue how to get back to the hotel and thought for sure I would get shanked the second I walked out the door. No knifing occurred because I was met by god's flashlight, the damn sun was shining bright because it was 6:30 in the AM.
I picked any landmark I could see and started walking. Mapquest tells me today that it was a 4 mile trek through the desert reeking of booze and stripper dust. I kept my head down to avoid eye contact with the few drivers on the back roads. The only other person I saw on the street was a homeless guy relaxing beneath an overpass. I felt a small ping of jealousy because he looked so comfortable.
By the time I reached Palace Station my old broken knees were popping. When I could see the double towers of the Wynn my abused heart was about to explode from the effort (and nothing whatsoever to do with Red Bulls). I swear the security guard at Treasure Island was on the radio with his cohorts laughing about the fat hairy hippy stumbling up the strip with the 1000 yard stare. The Japanese tourists were too frightened to snap pictures with Sasquatch. And who the hell is walking the strip at 7am besides morons like myself, skank ass hookers after their "shift" and broke fuckers who just dropped their last red bird at the Casino Royale craps table?
Consider this a public service announcement. When heading out for an
My ultimate walk of shame finally ended when my hotel key card actually worked for once. I fell into bed mumbling something to Riggstad about being broke AND broken. It turned out to be yet another in a long line of Vegas Day Ones that end with me mumbling, stumbling and doing something idiotic that I'll never forget.
The parts that I can remember at least.
