From the archives: The most messed-up game of hold-em I’ve ever played

I was trolling a poker forum and came across a post I made about 2 years ago, or so.  I think it predates this blog and was reposted from my OLD blog, which is now dead and buried.  I’ll RE-repost it here for lulz:

 

So me, my uncles (Steve, Tommy, and PT), and my cousin (who shall be known as “Devilspawn” or “DS” in the future)are all looking to play a home poker game. Steve was in charge of setting up the table, I was counting out the chips, and I asked PT to go to the nearby store to get a new pack of cards since my sister spilled beer on the last new deck we had. PT later returns with TWO decks, and we settle down to play.

Let me first give you a little background description of the various relatives. PT (Paul) is 39 and the most like me. I get along with him pretty well, and he’s more like an older brother than an uncle. He tends to drink a bit, but he becomes easier to beat when we play poker. I’d say he’s my biggest competition and plays better than the rest, but he gets predictable.

Then there’s Steve. Steve is a year older and a bit of a crackhead. See, “Crackhead” is a phrase or term that I use to describe the type of player that we’re all familiar with. The guy who’ll refuse to fold a pair of 7’s, even with 3 over cards and a possible straight on the board. He’ll go all-in on a bluff frequently – sometimes he has nothing as you fold your 2nd pair, and sometimes he flopped quads while you and your full house mutter under your breath. His personality fits his style, though. In his younger years, he was a bit of a…what’s a polite way to say this? A man-whore. The guy who could go through the yearbook pictures, point to the pictures of women and go, “yes, yes, no, yes, no, yes, her AND her sister, yes, yes…” He also was, and still is, a bit of a pyromaniac – a trait we tend to share. He’s definitely a lot of fun to be around and good to have on your side, but a pain to play poker with. I’m getting better at reading him, but it’s a constant struggle. I usually try to outwait him since he either wins or busts early.

DS is my uncle Steve’s son. His real name is Steven as well, so the nickname will help remove confusion. He’s a typical 14 tear old kid and loves to annoy me. Unfortunately for him, I love to throw him in snowbanks, shoot him with paintballs, or generally let him know that he’s still inferior. For the most part, he’s an ok kid and somewhat decent at cards. He tends to be a bit cracky, but he’s easier to read than his dad. When he bets big – run. He thinks that the quicker he gets all of his money in, the sooner he’ll double up off of his huge hand. He’ll also call you with anything, so don’t bother bluffing him.

Then there is Tommy. Tommy is the oldest of the uncles, at around 45. Tommy is perhaps one of the strangest individuals I’ve ever known. He’s kind of an introvert and isn’t exactly blessed with the social graces. He’s your typical, redneck, nascar-loving, classic rock type of guy, but he also has the overwhelming need to try to fit in. Hanging around my other uncles and I, he tends to try too hard.

Take his changing interest in music. Lately, Tommy has signed up for a free month of music downloads off of AOL, and has made the most out of it. Now, when Tommy goes to a bar with a jukebox, he normally starts picking groups like George Thoroughgood and Kansas. However, I underestimated his tendency to try to fit in. As the 5 of us were sitting at a table to play poker, Tommy decided to get up, go to his computer in the other room, and play music. Soon, we heard the Black Eyed Peas telling us to “get it started.”

As Steve, PT and I looked at each other, Steve whispered that Tommy actually borrowed Steve’s playlist and put the exact same songs on his list. Tommy doesn’t know whack from fly, frontin’ from representin’, or Ice Cube from Vanilla Ice. If you want to have a visual, think Kip from Napoleon Dynamite. He came back to the table as we quietly shook our heads and played. It can be hard to concentrate on your cards when you hear Ludacris telling you to bend over to the front and touch your toes, but we somehow managed…

Right away, things seemed strange. PT dealt out cards, face-up, to see who was going to deal. First card – king of diamonds to DS. I got the jack of diamonds. Tommy got the 10 of diamonds. Steve got the ace of diamonds. Since he had the first ace, he was the dealer, but I made PT deal out one more card to try for the royal. He pulled a 9, so no royal. Still, it seemed odd. I was dealt into the game, and a few hands in, I looked down to see pocket 10’s. Not too shabby. I was first to act, so I raised. EVERYONE at the table called. I’m thinking – ok, I have a family of crackheads, but let’s see what happens. The flop? 10,J,Q. I have a set of 10’s, but the possible straight is scary. Plus, there were 2 hearts. DS is first to act, and he bets. I raise. EVERYONE calls.

… I might be in trouble.

The turn was a 9 of hearts. Great. Now we have 9,10,J,Q out there, and I was sure someone had a straight, possibly AK to give them a huge straight. Plus, there were now 3 hearts giving someone a possible flush. Steven bet. I called. So did everyone else. What the…?

The river? A queen. That’s a great card for me, since I now have a full house – 10’s over Queens. Sure, if someone had pocket jacks, pocket queens, or a Queen plus a board card in their hand, I was in trouble, but I thought the chances were rare. DS bets big to open. He plays like a crackhead anyways, so I wasn’t too scared. I just called. So did EVERYONE else except Steve, who called us all crackheads as he folded in disgust. We all turned over our cards. DS had a KJ, giving him a straight. Tommy had a KQ, giving him a straight as well. I was happy with my hand until PT looked at me, apologized, and showed his pocket Jacks. I just sat there in shock. That was an incredible hand and I got beat? I was on tilt, but we kept playing.

The next hand, I was in the big blind with J9. Everyone called until DS raised. I was still steaming from my earlier beats, since it seemed like I had a playable hand EVERY time, but kept losing. I wisely folded and let those guys slug it out. The flop was A,K,10. DS went all-in. He got both Tommy and PT to call him. I was shaking my head as Tommy showed Steve his cards. I figured that was a sign Tommy had a good hand. PT and Tommy played the turn and the river – both bet smaller amounts just to raise the pot, but neither folded. 2 10’s came out on the turn and river, making the board A,K,10,10,10. After the betting was done, Steve looked at DS and shook his head. He said, “Sorry son, you lost this one.” DS swore he didn’t. Steve said, “Uh, yeah you did. You can’t win.” PT turned over an ace, giving him a full house. Tommy smiled and turned over a 10, giving him the 4 of a kind. DS slammed his cards down – an ace and a 10, giving HIM a four of a kind.

…

Wait a minute…3 10’s on the board, plus a 10 in each person’s hand…I’m not a math major or anything, but that’s 5 10’s.

We wondered just what the heck just happened, until I grabbed the deck and turned it so all the cards were face up. There wasn’t a single card under a 9. It was a freaking Pinochle deck!

It seems PT didn’t check to see what decks he was buying, and got us 2 Pinochle decks. No wonder I had such good hands, yet everyone else did too! I think I cracked a rib from laughing so hard, but we eventually dug up an old deck, minus beer stains, and went on to play a real game. After it was all said and done, I was $20 richer.

Quick hit – does this make sense to anyone else?

Now, I’m allowing for the idea that he could be onto something, but Tommy had me baffled earlier tonight.  I talked to him at approximately 9:30 PM tonight, and he mentioned how he had a load of dishes ready to run in the dishwasher, but he wanted to run them at 1:00 in the morning.  I, being an idiot, asked why.

“So I can brargle flossum guhr ready bin la morning.” (So he can have them be ready in the morning)

“Then why don’t you just run them now?”

“pringle dink ween mess hand bridge…”

As far as I can tell, the answer had something to do with “using less amperage” at that time of night.  Being around him and knowing how he thinks, I can only assume that he believes that the dishwasher running at that time, won’t be influenced by other appliances running at the same time, and will work a lot more efficiently.   I…just don’t know what to say.  I’m not an electrical engineer, so I could be wrong, but this seems a little odd to me.

 

For some reason, I’m reminded of this scene from Blazing Saddles:

Clusterfuck 2009

I live in western PA, a hilly, cold region that can sometimes get a great deal of snow.  While having a vehicle with 4 wheel drive is nice (except when you need to pump gas), my driveway is another matter.  It’s extremely long and curvy, and has a little valley in the middle of it.  Combine that with the extreme amount of snow we got dumped on with, and it’s not pretty.

I’m watching the Pens game on Sunday, hours before the Steelers are supposed to kick-off.  I went out to see if I could clear the part of the drveway near the road with just one lonely shovel.  Tommy was in a pissy mood, trying to operate the snow plow attached to the tractor.  He has a snowblower, and has for a few years, now.  Thing is, it’s broken and Tommy doesn’t know why.  He keeps muttering that he needs to figure that out, but he never does and he never lets anyone competent take a peek, either.  It’s my opinion that he just needs something to worry about.

I trudged down the driveway during the 2nd intermission of the Pens game.  I had no illusions about getting back in time for the 3rd – it’d probably start before I even got to the road.  I left it on, though, so I could rewind the DVR later and watch it.  After the trek through deep snow, I got there and started shoveling.  Maybe it was because I didn’t eat anything that day, or maybe it was because I wore too many layers, but I didn’t last too long.  I carved out a small indentation and was working on the mailbox area when I started getting tired and dizzy.  I’ve felt this before – once during a soccer game and once during a practice.  I was going to pass out or throw-up.  Maybe both.  Since I was near the road and didn’t feel like having cars pass by and see me like this, I decided to cross the road and over to my mother’s place – luckily located nearby.  I rang the doorbell, and waited for her to open.  She did, I mumbled something Tommy-like since my speech was slurring, and stumbled past her to the bathroom. 

Now, my mother is not a great housekeeper by any stretch of the imagination, but I had no problem immediately slumping down onto her floor and using my sweatshirt as a pillow.  With me, having a cold bathroom floor under me always makes me feel better.  I think I stayed there for about 10 minutes, then got up.  My mom was a bit worried and offered me some hot tea.  I figured it was a good idea, so I at least got to watch the last of the 3rd period as the Pens blanked the Rangers.  While this was going on, she got a call from Tommy and told me, “You might want to take a look at this…”  I looked out her front window and saw a large red lump in the middle of the driveway.  It seems Tommy decided to be a hero…or an idiot.  I’m not sure which term best describes him attempting to take his car down an unplowed driveway like that.  He asked my mom to call the guy she uses to plow her driveway, and bitched how everyone was “stupid” for not already offering to plow ours.  She called the guy, but he evidentally broke his plow somehow. 

After a bit, I went back outside.  I felt good enough to help carve out my brother’s car, who was parked in her driveway.  It got plowed in and he was already parked near the snow bank on the car’s left.  He’s a horrible driver, and thought gunning the gas pedal was the best way to get out of snow.  I helped him shovel, then directed traffic while he backed into the road, then gunned it back into my mom’s driveway.  He was still about 8 feet from the road, but he was happy that he’d be able to leave a bit later on.  I finished the end of my driveway ( I carved a 15 foot-deep area out), then made my way back up the hill.  I was tired, sore, and not moving so fast.  I finally got back inside, while edging my way past Tommy’s trailblazer and snickering.  Tommy was amazingly in a good mood when I got back, and asked if I’d get the Jeep out later to help tow him out.  Fine, but I was gonna rest for a bit. 

My sister called, and said that her husband Ben was on his way over.  Now, he has a 4-wheel drive car, but he still wasn’t making it up the driveway.  I asked why, exactly, he was still planning on trying.  She shrugged (I could feel her doing that over the phone), and just said, “Ben likes to play in the snow.” 

…

Ok, fine by me.  Later on, I went upstairs to look out a window, and saw Ben stuck in our driveway near the road.  I wasn’t surprised, but then he got out and parked on the side of the road.  That surprised me a bit since there wasn’t really a shoulder for him to rest on.  He was halfway in the lane.  He jumped out and ran over to my mother’s.  I soon got a phone call while I was watching all of this.  It was my mom and she asked me if I would walk back down with a shovel to help clear her driveway a bit.  Seems Ben wanted to pull Lance’s (my brother) car forward more, and pull his in behind him.  I tried to explain that while I would normally help, there was no way in hell I was walking a roundtrip driveway tour again, and by the time I got down there, they’d already be done.  I felt kinda bad, but I still watched Ben and Lance frantically shovel from a distance.

After Ben parked his car in a safer area, he got his daughter, put her on his shoulders, and grabbed a shovel.  He then walked up our driveway to the house.  At that point, most sane people would say “fuck you” and go home, so that was nice of him.  I figured this was a good time to grab the camera, suit up, and head out to see what was going on.

Here’s Tommy’s vehicle.  Near the top of the pic, you can see my mom’s place – the red brick house across the street.

 

 

Here you can see Ben shoveling out the back tires.  At this point, Tommy was still in the house.  I had already warmed the Jeep up, and was waiting for Tommy to get the damn tow rope out.  He came out, and tried to drive his car out.  Still not happening.  He then wanted to shovel some more.  I started to get aggravated, and asked him where the tow rope was.  I figured pulling him out was way easier than what we were doing.  I tried to listen to Tommy’s description, gave up looking for it, and asked Tommy to go find it himself.  He then went, couldn’t find it either, then found some strap used to tie down loose stuff that you carry in truck beds.  Fine – hopefully it’d work.  We then went around to the back of the jeep and saw that there wasn’t a hitch or hook to tie the damn rope to.  Weird.  I offered to sit in the back with the hatch open, and hold onto the rope while the other end was attached to the trailblazer, but they declined.  Here’s a video:

http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/?action=view&current=Clusterfuck007.flv

 

This is taken while Tommy is still nowhere to be found.  That’s Ben operating the plow.

Finally, Ben got in the Trailblazer and Tommy and I pushed.  It made progress, and we finally got his car back on the flat, plowed area of the driveway.  I figured this would be a good time to interview Tommy, but he wasn’t feeling so talkative:

http://s157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/?action=view&current=Clusterfuck008.flv

 

 

Yeah, I didn’t get that, either.

Thankfully, the Steelers won their game and are heading to the Superbowl (whoot!), so that helped cap off the evening.  I don’t really have a good closer to this entry, so here’s a pic of my kitty Binx trapped in a plastic bag:

Awwww….

My hell ride back from across the state and other random cliffnotes

Sigh.  Ok, Jen – you win.  You beat me into submission, so I’ll go ahead and fill you in on the relative non-excitement going on around these parts.

 

So, I finally have the Jeep back and under my name.  It’s fixed, and both windows open AND close, which is very handy in western PA during the winter.  However, the Honda is back in the shop for something that I forgot about.  Seems that the threading in the oil pan got worn down, and it was given a temporary fix by a mechanic by fitting it with an over-sized oil plug.  The wal-mart guys won’t even touch it to change the oil, so I had to get someone to put a new oil pan on it.  That was about a week ago, and I still haven’t heard from the guy…

Luckily, the Jeep was able to take me on a less-than 4 hour drive.  I stayed out there for 2 nights – I could tell the trip was going to be weird from the start, though.  I’m not usually big on signs, but I did a double-take when I saw a cloud in the sky.  I swear, it looked exactly like God was giving me the finger.  It was a big cloudy lump, with a white pillar sticking straight up from the middle.  It looked just like a white fist with one finger sticking out.  The drive out still wasn’t too bad, even with the random trucker at a rest stop checkout line.  He graciously let me in front of him as he had no idea what he wanted yet.  I got my purchases (cough drops/gum) and turned to nod my thanks again, just to see him shaving.  In the middle of a turnpike rest stop.  While in line to get food.  Yuck.

After I finally got to my destination, I had a good time, though.  I actually went to a bar that was having a poker tournament, so I got signed up.  First 4 places got paid and about 50-60 people signed up.  I was mostly card-dead for mst of the tournament, and was seated with the most obnxious guy ever.  He was a greasy rednecked Ohio State fan, and loved to talk shit both about everyone’s play and their respective sports alliances.  I remained calm and smiled at him when he tried to talk shit about Penn State, then decided to raise on his blind for the next 2 hands in a row.  Unfortunately for him, he was gunning for me and called with worse hands. He gave me enough chips to double my short stack up, and I got moved soon after.  About 7 minutes later, he got moved to my new table and looked a bit surprised at my stack.  Before he got there, I had won about 3 hands in a row and was now one of the bigger stacks.  I outlasted him, since he was kinda pissed off and on tilt.  I eventually found my way to the final table and did well to keep my chips and even get a few new ones.  It got down to 5 people left, and I saw what I thought was the short stack on the big blind.  I figured since 2 people folded to me, I’d raise with pocket 5’s and put the guy in.  Even if he called and won, I’d have 2/3 of my stack left.  Besides, this guy was playing really tight so I doubted he’d even call.  Unforunately for me, he woke up with pocket queens.  Even worse, I apparently can’t count.  He turned out to have a lot more chips…exactly 100 more than me.  He called, I sighed, and busted on the bubble.  Oh well – I thought I did well.  Aside fromt he final table, I was amazed by just how badly some people play this game.  Live poker is SO much easier than online, for sure.

Besides the poker, I got to watch a Pens game at a different bar and took part in some trivia contest.  I ended up winning a gift certificate that I’m almost never going to actually use.  The guys running the contest wanted everyone to make up a team name for the contest.  I immediately came up with “Sexual Chocolate” but that got vetoed.  Fortunately, I had a back-up name: The Amish Armada.  The contest guy got a kick out of it, at least.

The rest of the trip was great, but the ride home was a bitch.  It took me about 7 hours to get home – almost twice what it took me to get there in the first place!  I got on the PA Turnpike and about 5 minutes later saw that there was a detour up ahead.  I turned the radio to the info channel and evidentally I was going to have to take the exit before the one I actually wanted.  I figured – no big deal.  I’d pull off at the next rest stop, read the map, and figure out the rest.  I got back in the car and exited the rest stop.  Big mistake.  Abotu 2 minutes later, I hit the traffic jam.  I guess I shoulda known that this detour would overload the alternate route and having that many cars all needing to exit just one exit was a bad combo.  I ended up stuck in the same spot for 10 minutes at a time, moving about 200 feet, then re-parking.  I started turning the car off between stops, and took the time to get out and wander around.  At one parking lot break, I even opened the back to get out a book and the laptop.  I figured I might as well have something to do while I waited.  It was kinda cool, though – people were milling around and it almost looked like a tailgate party. 

Unfortunately, all this waiting around and drinking my gatorade caused my to start feeling the need to take a piss.  Since I was in the middle of a highway surrounded by 3 lanes of stuck vehicles, there wasn’t any way I could really do this on the side of the road.  I tried to hold off as best I could, but I have my limits.  Finally, I saw that I had little choice – I was going to have to piss in a bottle.  I had an empty ice tea bottle with me that would do the trick.  Now, I just had to figure out how to pull this off without being obvious.  I went into the back of the jeep and got out my wind pants.  I figured they’d be easier to slip back on than my jeans.  I climbed back in, and tried to inconspicuously take off my pants.  I got my shoes off and worked the jeans off.  Luckily, it was getting dark so maybe people wouldn’t realize what was going on.  I sat there in my boxers/shirt/socks and opened the bottle.  I worked my junk through the peep hole and tried to figure out just how to do this.  I couldn’t really sit down and go since I’d be squirting upwards.  I’d have to turn around and aim down, yet this would look kinda suspicious.  Hm….

At that EXACT moment, the cars around me all turned on their engines.  FUCK.  This meant good news and bad news.  The good news is that we’re going to move forward again.  Bad news?  I’m half-naked with stuff flopped out in the open.  I shoved my extremities back in my boxers, and turned on the jeep.  This time, it wasn’t just a 200 foot drive.  We all kept going at about 30-40 MPH.  While this is normally nice progress compared to a parking lot, I was gritting my teeth.  I turned on the radio again and heard that the detour was lifted.  As we got closer to the alternate route, I saw that there was a ton of cars on it and it was bumper-to-bumper.  fuck that – I went ahead past and chanced it.  I finally made it to the next rest stop and pulled in.  The place was packed – probably all refugees from the traffic nightmare.  I pulled into a parking spot and hoped I’d be able to dress.  No luck – there was a car next to me and the people there were outside their car fucking around with something.  Every now and then, they’d glance over at the strange guy giving them dirty looks from the jeep and doing some sort of pee-pee dance.  Finally, I decided I didn’t care how obvious it was that I was half-naked, and shimmied till I could work my pants back on.  I slipped on shoes and finally made it to the bathroom.  Ahh…

I got back on the turnpike and got off my exit.  I saw a Burger King and felt like rewarding myself with a burger or 2.  I got in, ordered my food (I hate drive-through…I prefer to order inside), and got my empty drink cup.  There was an old guy in front of me – kinda skinny and seemed to be by himself.  I went to the other fountain and filled up my drink.  He then turned, saw me, and started talking:

“Heh heh you ever heh with beer, you know, uh when you get the bubbles heh?  They say you heh can stick your finger in there and heh make them pop you know. That true?”

“Uh…yeah.  That actually works.”

“Heh huh. *garbled*”

At this point, the old creepy guy started shambling towards me, finger outstretched, with his eyes on my coke.  I quickly realized that he was about to violate my drink with a digit that’s been God-knows-where.  Horrified, I mumbled something in response, and quickly turned back around to see if my food was there yet.  Have it your way, my ass.  I got my food, turned, and slipped past the dude.  As I walked out, I shook my head at the thought of this guy offering to put his finger in my coke.  I then stopped in mid-stride and wondered if that was a metaphor for something a bit worse.  “Can I put my finger in your coke” may not have been exactly what he was after.  Ew.  Seriously, though – wtf?

What else has gone on since my last entry?  The fall soccer season is over – we ended up with a winning season, even after losing 2 of my captains to injury before the season even started.  PT’s place is all cleaned out and DJ now lives there.  I was done to visit while getting the Jeep’s title transferred and it was a bit unsettling.   I’m glad DJ’s happy there, though.  He used to live there as PT’s roommate for a time, so it’s almost like the place is staying in the family. 

I’m sure there have been other things I could write about, but they either slipped my mind or aren’t important enough to discuss.  I just got done typing up a speech for tomorrow’s soccer banquet, so I’m kinda fried anyways.  The fact that I typed THIS much amazes me.  Anyhow – enough for now.  Does this work for you, Jen? <3

PT’s home and role reversal (Bonus story: the most disturbing IRC convo EVER)

Well, PT got released today.  He’s pretty weak and his skin color isn’t quite right, but the hospital peeps are hoping that the time at home does him some good as far as peace of mind.  Getting him up the steps to his apartment was a challenge, as I have one good leg, but I somehow managed. 

 

It seems that part of the reason why he went back to the hospital in the first place is because his medications weren’t being taken correctly.  He was given all the stuff along with a schedule, but due to his shitty sleep schedule and tendency to sleep through pill time, he wasn’t taking them when needed.  Now it falls mostly to me (With DJ on weekends) to make sure that he takes the correct pill at the correct time.  I hate this.  How can I say this without sounding like a bad person?

Ok, I probably can’t.  It’s just difficult for me to handle that I’m responsible for keeping another adult alive.  Especially one that I looked at as the older brother I never had.  I’m trying to toe that line between giving him dignity and being sure that he’s doing what needs to be done, but it’s not easy.  I have to make sure he takes his meds that are scheduled at all hours of the day, force him to eat something, and move around to help get some energy/muscle back.  I feel like I’m a new dad and just adopted a 41 yr old kid.  I know it’s frustrating for him and I try not to make him feel worse about it, but I don’t want it to always be like this.  I’m hoping that at some pointhe’ll recover enough to be able to do these things that need done to keep him well, but I’m not sure I can see far enough into the future to know when that’ll be.

 

Ok, enough emo bullshit.  Here’s an excerpt from an IRC conversation a few years back.  I REALLY wish I had been in on this topic, but wasn’t.  It involves people from a message board that I still frequent, so I knew/know all of those involved.  It’s about a guy nicknamed “Vesper,” who goes by the name “Threepercent” during this conversation.  It’s about him and his former job working in a mortuary.  The 6th line down kicks off the chat:

 

[21:27] *** Now talking in #wildfire
[21:27] *** Topic is ‘Welcome to The Asylum chat.’
[21:27] *** Set by GA on Fri Jul 25 21:51:44
[21:27] <Durin> Hey
[21:27] <Fenster> Hey
[21:27] <Durin> Vesper fucks dead people.
[21:28] <Durin> In case you didn’t hear
[21:28] <Fenster> Hehe
[21:28] <Fenster> I gotta sig you
[21:29] <Durin> lol
[21:31] <Vhp> ewwww
[21:31] *** Joins: Threepercent
[21:31] *** Vhp is now known as Ninety-SevenPerce
[21:31] <Ninety-SevenPerce> damn
[21:31] *** Ninety-SevenPerce is now known as NinetySeven
[21:31] <NinetySeven> Fucking
[21:31] <Threepercent> Past tense, folks… Dang you all to heck
[21:31] <Durin> Heh
[21:31] *** NinetySeven is now known as Ninety7percent
[21:32] <Durin> We’ll get over it
[21:32] <Durin> I… Eventually.
[21:32] <Fenster> Have you the key to the mortuary or something?
[21:32] <Ninety7percent> HE SAID HE WORKED THERE
[21:32] <Durin> Erm, I appear not to be able to type.
[21:32] <Ninety7percent> LEARN TO READ FENSTER
[21:32] <Fenster> :O
[21:32] <Threepercent> No… Worked in a crematorium..
[21:32] <Ninety7percent> He did em, then threw em in the burner
[21:32] <Durin> LOL
[21:32] <Fenster> Ah, burn the evidence
[21:32] *** Ninety7percent is now known as Vhp
[21:33] <Fenster> Well I suppose its a good way to pass a long night shift
[21:33] <Fenster> Give those poor suckers a good sendoff
[21:33] <Threepercent> Place was creepy, kinda had that effect on ya…
[21:33] <Vhp> I’m not sure man chowder can survive crematorium fires
[21:33] <Durin> Okay, I have to ask – you don’t have to answer – but was it intercourse or oral?
[21:33] <Fenster> :O
[21:33] <Vhp> I think oral would be slightly less than fulfilling.
[21:33] <Vhp> USE YOUR TONGUE, WHORE
[21:33] <Durin> I’d think either would be,
[21:33] <Threepercent> Hmm, how do you answer this, without shooting myself in the head..
[21:33] <Durin> LOL
[21:34] <Durin> No answer is acceptable
[21:34] <Threepercent> Look, it all started innocently enough…
[21:34] *** Joins: Maera
[21:34] <Fenster> Well, you know
[21:34] <Vhp> GOOD TIMING MA
[21:34] <Maera> hello!
[21:34] <Durin> LOL
[21:34] <Vhp> Vesper is telling us the corpse sex story
[21:34] <Threepercent> First, curious as to what it looks like, on a dead person..
[21:34] <Fenster> At Vesper’s age, he’s been married a while.
[21:34] <Fenster> He was probably getting better sex at home than at work.
[21:34] <Durin> What “it”?
[21:34] <Threepercent> Yeah, over ten years..
[21:34] <Threepercent> The crotch..
[21:34] <Durin> Ah
[21:35] <Threepercent> And chest
[21:35] <Vhp> on a.. chick.. right?
[21:35] <Threepercent> So… Yeah
[21:35] <Durin> LOL
[21:35] <Threepercent> Chick
[21:35] <Vhp> okay
[21:35] <Vhp> Does it look the same?
[21:35] <Threepercent> So, then, once you have seen it, and there ain’t no one else around, you wonder what it feels like
[21:35] <Threepercent> Yeah, pretty much, after it is cleaned up.
[21:35] <Threepercent> So you touch it… No one is looking, and they surely don’t care..
[21:35] <Vhp> Were they like, old ladies?
[21:35] <Threepercent> Naw, young and middle aged.
[21:36] <Vhp> whew.
[21:36] <Threepercent> So, then… once you have felt it with your hand, you wonder if it is damp? or Dry..
[21:36] <Threepercent> Dry, btw..
[21:36] <Durin> …
[21:36] <Vhp> SICK
[21:37] <Threepercent> …
[21:37] <Vhp> So you went straight for the backside?
[21:37] <Durin> Was this during your satanic stage?
[21:37] <Threepercent> So, then, you wonder, is it rigormortis like everything else? Or flexible..
[21:37] <Threepercent> No backside…
[21:37] <Vhp> Dude, wouldn’t that cause, like, chafing?
[21:37] <Threepercent> I will get to that..
[21:37] <Vhp> oh Lord
[21:38] <Threepercent> Well, it actually doesn’t rigor up…
[21:38] <Durin> my thoughts exactly Vhp
[21:38] *** Joins: sushi|went_out
[21:38] <Vhp> Oh no – virgin ears.
[21:38] *** sushi|went_out is now known as sushi
[21:38] <Threepercent> Once you find out that it can be inserted into… why not?
[21:39] <Vhp> Wow, that’d be quite disturbing to enter the conversation at this point.
[21:39] <sushi> hi people
[21:39] <Threepercent> So you have to get it wet… So you drop a whole lot of spit on your member…
[21:39] <Threepercent> Hi Sushi
[21:39] <Vhp> LOL
[21:40] <Durin> Sushi, either you have good timng or bad… depends on the way you look at it
[21:40] <Fenster> Nah, I was pasting all this for Sushi. :p
[21:40] <Durin> Ah, okay
[21:40] <Threepercent> The sheer naugtiness of it, makes you spew pretty quick..
[21:41] <Durin> OMG
[21:41] <Vhp> Whoa, whoa, whoa.
[21:41] <Vhp> You mean spew as in “finish” or spew as in puke?
[21:41] <Threepercent> Finish
[21:41] <Vhp> SICK
[21:41] <Threepercent> The puking comes afterwards, once you realize what you have done.
[21:41] <Fenster> >_<
[21:41] <Vhp> So, someone has an urn full of ashes and Vesper juice sitting on their shelf.
[21:41] <Threepercent> The guilt..
[21:41] <Fenster> lol
[21:41] <Threepercent> I cleaned it up, best I could..
[21:42] <Vhp> God damnit, Vesper.
[21:42] <Vhp> You’re going to hell for sure.
[21:42] <Durin> So there was guilt, I mean it wasn’t like you found a new activity at work?
[21:42] <Threepercent> Oh no… Guilt for sure…
[21:42] <Threepercent> Felt awful, for a long time..
[21:42] <Vhp> Did you give the family a call and say you’re sorry?
[21:42] <Vhp> or at least an apology letter?
[21:42] <Threepercent> Um, no..
[21:43] <Vhp> Like, “hey, sorry for deflowering your sister’s corpse?”
[21:43] <Threepercent> I was young, stupid, uninhibited, but not crazy..
[21:43] <Durin> Or “About those ashes of your mother…”
[21:43] <Fenster> naraiko: Eww. Remind me to never meet Vesper IRL
[21:43] <Fenster> Midnight Angel: lol
[21:43] <Fenster> Midnight Angel: don’t die around him either
[21:43] <Fenster>
[21:43] <Vhp> lol
[21:43] <Durin> LOL
[21:43] <Threepercent> Bastages…
[21:44] <Durin> Vesper, you need to write a biography.
[21:44] <Threepercent> It was a mistake.. From my past…
[21:44] <Threepercent> Not much I can do about it now..
[21:44] <Vhp> So, what about all the shit-eating questions?
[21:44] <Threepercent> I would never consider it again..
[21:44] <Threepercent> I dated a chick, who thought the smell of horse shit was a turn on..
[21:44] <Durin> … Oh boy.
[21:45] <Threepercent> Who am I to judge, when it is getting me laid..
[21:45] <Fenster> No more!
[21:45] <Fenster> My poor ears are burning!
[21:45] <Fenster> My sexual drive is gone! :[
[21:45] <Durin> … can’t breath… laughing… too hard…
[21:45] <Vhp> AAAAAAAAH
[21:45] <Threepercent> Kept a big ole box of it under her bed… straw and all..
[21:45] <Vhp> SIIIIIIIIIIIICK
[21:45] <Vhp> AKLSDJLakjdsalhi;vh;;sdv
[21:45] <Vhp> EDWEWWEWEWWWW
[21:45] <Fenster> STOP
[21:45] <Durin> OHHHHHHHHH
[21:45] <Durin> GOD WHY?
[21:45] <Threepercent> Nutty broad… I didn’t care..
[21:46] <Fenster> Umm. Did she ever smear herself in it?
[21:46] <Threepercent> Until the night she wanted me to wear it..
[21:46] <Durin> DAMN VESPER!… I bet you know how to kill a party
[21:46] <Vhp> CHRIST
[21:46] <Vhp> SICK
[21:46] <Vhp> SICK
[21:46] <Threepercent> She laid on top of it… normally..
[21:46] * Vhp vomits.
[21:46] * Fenster vomits.
[21:46] <sushi> i still need to read
[21:46] <Durin> no words. no words
[21:46] <Threepercent> That is how I accidentally tasted it..
[21:47] * Vhp vomits uncontrollably.
[21:47] <Durin> I”M OUT OF HERE!
[21:47] * Fenster shivers.
[21:47] <Durin> somebody keep a log
[21:47] <Fenster> I need a hug.
[21:47] <Fenster> I am
[21:47] <Vhp> haha, look at Elurai’s thread.
[21:47] <Durin> brb…. damn
[21:47] *** Parts: Durin
[21:48] <Threepercent> Like I said, I ain’t proud of it all, but I don’t have to hide it…
[21:49] <Threepercent> Do me a personal favor guys..
[21:49] <Fenster> This log cries for posting.
[21:49] <Threepercent> Don’t post the cadaver part, on the forums, as some of the folks that lurk there, work in the same company I do..
[21:49] <Vhp> Oh shiznit
[21:49] <Vhp> Sick
[21:49] <Threepercent> And know who I am in RL..
[21:49] <Threepercent> I don’t need the headaches..
[21:50] <Fenster> Do you grave rob socially?
[21:50] <Threepercent> No…
[21:51] <Vhp> You should change your board name to “The Undertaker” or something like that.
[21:51] <Threepercent> But I have performed a few rituals on top of them… And had sex on top of a witches grave..
[21:51] <Fenster> lol
[21:51] <Vhp> A witch? Lol.
[21:51] <Vhp> Sorry, I refuse to believe any of that ritual/magic crapola.
[21:52] <Threepercent> Yeah, they encased her in solid concrete, back in the 30’s, because they wanted to ensure she didn’t “rise from the grave”
[21:52] <Threepercent> You don’t have to believe, to believe that I did it…
[21:52] <Vhp> But, wow, big deal. A grave.
[21:52] <Vhp> I don’t think of it as any different than a regular grave
[21:52] <Threepercent> That was how I felt aobut it
[21:52] <Threepercent> er about it
[21:53] <Threepercent> I did it to prove a point, to some local nut cases..
[21:53] <Threepercent> Well, and to freak my girl out..
[21:53] <Fenster> lol
21:53] <Vhp> The girl that was giving you poon atop the grave?
[21:53] <Threepercent> Her nipples seemed just a bit perkier, laying bare chested on that concrete slab..
[21:53] <Threepercent> Yeah.
[21:54] <Vhp> I think you’d fit in at #the_lonely_inn
[21:54] <Threepercent> Why is that?
[21:54] <Vhp> gee
[21:54] <Vhp> <Threepercent> Her nipples seemed just a bit perkier, laying bare chested on that concrete slab..
[21:54] <Threepercent> LOL… Perkier because she was afraid… and turned on, at the same time..
[21:54] <Fenster> Isn’t that the plushies room?
[21:55] <Vhp> Dude
[21:55] <Vhp> I’d just be happy to get laid on a bed by a halfway decent looking chick.
[21:55] <Vhp> And Fenster, I know you’re a virgin
[21:55] <Vhp> No way you’re less than 90% pure
[21:56] <Threepercent> I ain’t all that good looking, but I have been around… Had some pretty nice looking ladies too..
[21:56] <Maera> vhp, fenster admitted doing a big girl. no way you’d admit that unless you did it
[21:56] <Vhp> Oh, Sorry Fenster. I forgot that shitting on yourself was one of the questions.
[21:56] <Threepercent> Nothing wrong with big women…
[21:56] <Vhp> Yes there is.
[21:56] <Vhp> They’ll crush me.
21:56] <Threepercent> They tend to extremely into it too..
[21:57] <sushi> i cant catch up to you guys lol
[21:57] <Threepercent> So you ride her… They typically can take quite the pounding..
[21:57] <Vhp> I don’t want to have to buy a new bed just for one night of good, fatty sex.
[21:57] <Maera> use her bed, vhp lololololol
[21:57] <Vhp> Sorry, call me superficial, but I don’t find heavy women attractive whatsoever.
[21:57] <Fenster> Yeah, smearing it all over yourself feels <3 <3
[21:57] <Threepercent> Or the floor… Either way, it can be fun..
[21:57] <Maera> fenster, you’re nasty
[21:58] <Fenster> The pot just called the kettle black. <3
[21:58] <Maera> shut up =/
[21:58] <Threepercent> Well, any more questions, before I go back to work?
[21:58] <Threepercent> Bastages, btw.. All of you.. =)
[21:58] <Fenster> KEKEKEKEKE ^_^
[21:59] <Vhp> Uhh
[21:59] <Vhp> What does shit taste like?
[21:59] <Fenster> Poo
[21:59] <Fenster> Duh
[21:59] <Threepercent> Like shit…
[21:59] <Vhp> Is it good?
[21:59] <Threepercent> There is no comparable taste, unless you have eaten gritty mud.. At least that would give you a texture comparison.
[21:59] <Fenster> Well its nutritious and it goes down well with some fresh piss
[21:59] <Threepercent> No
[21:59] <Threepercent> Not good tasting at all.
[22:00] <Vhp> What about piss?
[22:00] <Maera> fenster, you’re weird
[22:00] <Threepercent> Not really good tasting.. I try to avoid it..
[22:00] <Vhp> Which is worse?
[22:00] <Threepercent> Shit
[22:00] <Vhp> What kind of wine would you recommend with shit?
[22:00] <Fenster> Well if you’ve ever been with someone who had a fetish for pissing, you’d know all too well
[22:01] <Threepercent> Hmm, a red wine… More body, and a nice aftertaste, to override the scat.
[22:01] <Vhp> Sick.
[22:01] <Vhp> SICK SICK SICK
[22:01] <Vhp> SIIIIIIIIIIIICK SHIT IS NASTY SICK
[22:01] <Threepercent> you asked.
[22:01] <Fenster> Yeah
[22:02] <Vhp> Yeah, but shit is still nasty.
[22:02] <Threepercent> Yes, it is… In taste at least… It is tolerable, as a smell.
[22:02] <Vhp> Hell no
[22:02] <Maera> maybe it’s because i’m a female but i would never do anything i thought was gross just to get laid
[22:02] <Vhp> Neither would I
[22:02] <Fenster> She was a goth. I was a virgin.
[22:02] <Threepercent> Prolly Maera..
[22:03] <Fenster> Nasty combination.
[22:03] <Vhp> I have no freaky, kinky desires whatsoever.
[22:03] <Fenster> Not even girls with go faster stripes?
[22:03] <Threepercent> She was horny, I was horny… She wanted to smell scat, I wanted to get a nut.. Worked out great
[22:03] <Vhp> No way in hell I’d hit some chick that rolled around in shit
[22:03] <Threepercent> What I really hate, are women with Foot fetishes, who don’t clean their feet.. Now that is nasty..
[22:04] <Vhp> See, I think all fetishes are pretty nasty.
[22:04] <Vhp> What the fuck is wrong with regular sex, just in different positions?
[22:04] <Fenster> Boring.
[22:04] <Threepercent> I’ll suck on a womans toes all night, as long as they are clean..
[22:04] <Vhp> Bullshit, Fenster.
[22:04] <Maera> i would never let any dude around my feet if they were dirty. then i’d have to kiss him…no thanks
[22:04] <Threepercent> Exactly Maera..
[22:04] <Vhp> I’d be happy with regular sex for the rest of my life.
[22:04] <Fenster> You’d be happy just to get sex.
[22:05] <Maera> vhp likes the missionary position
[22:05] <Vhp> None of this shit-eating and foot fondling and bonding and gagging.
[22:05] <Threepercent> And I will be too VHP.. Believe it or not, my wife is pretty tame..
[22:05] <Vhp> No, MA, that’s Unreal.
[22:05] <Threepercent> And I am very happy..
[22:05] <Vhp> With his bed.
[22:05] <Maera> rofl vhp
[22:05] <Maera> his blankie
[22:05] <Fenster> I thought he liked it doggy style with the army recruiter? ?:|
[22:05] <Fenster> lol
[22:05] <Threepercent> Straight Oral, with just a few position changes, and we have a grand ole time
[22:06] <Vhp> Oh, oral is fine too
[22:06] <Vhp> No weird shit though
[22:06] <Threepercent> But doesn’t she sometimes taste a bit like urine? Even a hint?
[22:06] <Maera> lots of guys don’t do oral but you better believe they want it =/
[22:06] <Vhp> I had a dream where I was getting a blowjob last night, but then I realized that’d never happen and that it was a dream, so I was upset.
[22:06] <Threepercent> Not me Maera.. I give as good as I get, even better sometimes..
[22:06] <Fenster> Prawn cocktail=:/
[22:07] <Maera> fenster, you’re awful, i swear
[22:07] <Vhp> Wouldn’t you feel like a real dick if you get off but the chick doesn’t? Ya know, that’s where giving oral comes into play.
[22:07] <Vhp> WHYT AM I TALKING ABOUT THIS
[22:07] *** Vhp was kicked by Vhp (Vhp)
[22:07] *** Joins: Vhp
[22:07] *** ChanServ sets mode: +o Vhp
[22:08] <Threepercent> To answer his question, there have been several times, I have not “gotten off” and she has.. And I am fine with that..
[22:08] <Fenster> Well if she’s clean its fine, but if she’s all gooey, I gag.
[22:08] <Threepercent> Its about pleasure..
[22:08] <Threepercent> Well, I have an hour, I better get busy working…
[22:08] <Fenster> Later Vesper
[22:08] <Threepercent> Later all…
[22:08] *** Quits: Threepercent (Quit: http://cookie.sorcery.net/~ircd_/javachat/)
[22:08] <Maera> bye vesper

 

Hope you weren’t eating when you read that.

Random Picture Time!

 *edit* Jesus, did this turn out fucked-up or what?  I forgot this site doesn’t let you link pics.  It makes you use their shitty uploading system that insists on sending up a spam “mini-window” everytime you hover over a hosted pic.  Editing the pics in after uploading them is a major pain in the ass, so I’ll just delete the img bookends and hopefully you can copy/paste them or something.  My apologies.

I just uploaded a bunch to photobucket, so let’s see what we got:

We’ll start with some Vegas assortments…a few night pics of the Strip:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/Vegasstrip.jpg

and

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/VegasStrip2.jpg

Here’s the prime rib I ate at Binion’s:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/PrimeRib.jpg

Here’s a couple cool pics of the big overhead screen on Fremont Street:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/Fremontscreen2.jpg

and:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/Fscreen3.jpg

Here’s me and the prize I won for throwing darts at things over at Excalibur:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/MyPrize.jpg

Here’s my mother trying to force me to pose in a pic with her and my prize…which she later kept:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/MomI.jpg

Here’s a statue’s penis outside Caeser’s Palace:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/Statuepeen.jpg

Here’s a cool waterfall located behind…The Wynn?  I forget:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/Waterfall.jpg

I earlier mentioned that my brother is a Star Trek nerd and went to Vegas to go to the convention.  Here’s my “disguise” that I used to crash the convention:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/Nerdgear.jpg

Since my brother only drinks in Vegas, and it takes him about 2 to get trashed, here are a few of drunk Lance eating soup:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/LanceMomsoup.jpg

and not eating soup.  I felt the need to get my sunburnt head in the pic for some reason:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/drunkLanceI.jpg

Here’s the show we were at, and which I quickly found out I wasn’t allowed to take pics of:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/Excaliburshow.jpg

oops.

 Here’s my naked, sunburnt chest after getting back home.  Please excuse my chest hair and unshaven face.  And nipples:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/Sunburnchest.jpg

Getting away from the Vegas motif, here is the awesome wrapping job I did on my brother’s christmas present:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/Present.jpg

 Yes, that’s a Mt. Dew “Fridgemate” box fragment.

Here’s my awesome whirlpool tub:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/tub.jpg

Here’s my shower.  The weird thing about it, is that it has water jets above the on/off handle.  They spray water at chest level, so I simply call them the “nipple cleansers.”  I kinda like ‘em, but I don’t get it:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/shower.jpg

Here’s a shot between the last 2 pics, with my favorite seat in the house.  You can also see the “bed” that I used for several hours that I mentioned in my last entry:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/Bathroom.jpg

I swear I can almost play racquet ball in there…

Here’s the long-ass driveway that my li’l Honda hates:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/driveway1.jpg

and:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/driveway2.jpg

I’d include pics of leaves turning colors at this point, but the ice skater originally requested those and she’s being what my friend Parker refers to as a “C-word.” 

I uploaded a few other pics – mostly funny gifs and pics that I use to randomly spice up internet chat forums.  Here’s just one – yes, it’s totally wrong, but I lol’d anyways:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/kfcbankrupt2jy7.gif

And here’s one more….I can’t help myself.  This is way too awesome not to post, though:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/roflbrothel.gif

And last but not least, here’s a pic that best sums up my soccer experience everytime I start to believe that things are finally going my way:

http://i157.photobucket.com/albums/t61/dooxy/Jan%202007/fail.jpg

Beaten into submission

FINE!  Thanks to an insistant email, I figure it’s about time to update this puppy.  I can’t promise it’ll be long or interesting, but I suppose I have a few months to cover.  It usually seems that the things I feel are interesting bore people, but the things that are “normal” for me that I take for granted (Such as “uncle stories”), people find intriguing.   (much <3, Jen – I blogrolled you, btw)

 Let’s see…well, the school season for soccer has come and gone.  I lost a few decent players, but I still had a strong core and I got a few good younger players.  I figured the team would miss the talented few that I lost, but the depth ought to make up for it.  Judging by our record, I’d say it did.  We finished 12-3-3, which is an improvement on last year.  Me being me, I still can’t help but think we should have done better.  We ended up tying a team twice that kicked our asses last year, but we had them on the ropes…we just couldn’t finish them off.  We also lost the very last game of the year, against a bad team that was missing their starting keeper.  I don’t know what to say – I’d have bet $100 we’d win that game, but they played their best game all year, and we sucked up the field.  The game ended 2-1, but I know it should have been 5-1 in our favor.

The older girls finished their season as well.  They started out poorly, but managed to finish out 2nd in their section, so they made the playoffs.  For some reason, they were listed as the home team versus their playoff opponent – North Allegheny.  NA played us last year, coincidentally, and they smacked us around.  Thing is, the game was to be played this year…at North Allegheny.  Through a fluke in the schedule, they were listed as a possible site for playoff games, and they just “happened” to be selected to host our team.  They also had a turf field, of which they were very used to playing upon.  Our team?  Not so much.  So congrats girls – we’re the home team, but we get to play NA AT NA, and on their turf in front of THEIR fans.  What a crock of shit.  The game was actually close, though, and was tied at the half.  We had a few defensive miscues, and couldn’t finish our shots, so the game ended 3-1, North Allegheny. 

 After a game like that, the girls are obviously disheartened.  Some were choking back emotion, some were just pissed off.  Some of the bench players felt bad for the others, but would obviously get over it.  This is the time for a coach to step in, say something inspirational, and put a cap on the season.  Amy just cried.  I’m not the overly emotional type (except if I see a team win the Stanley Cup – fuck you, it’s special to me), so I kind of cringed.  Instead of letting the team know how well they did, and how prould she was, she kinda sniffled and said, “Yeah….um…*sniff*  it’s rough….wow…um…” 

After the game, I ran into a few parents and was social, since I like most of them.  I lost track of the bus, but finally found it and got on.  I saw Amy with her sunglasses on, sitting in a seat staring forward.  I started to put my stuff on the seat next to me and I heard a loud *ssSSNFFFGUWUMPGHhh!*  That was the sound of Amy suddenly letting loose an unchecked sniffle that she obviously had building for a bit.  I ignored it, as I really didn’t know what to say.  Later on in the ride, she turned to me and thanked me for helping out this season…and then informed me that she won’t be returning next year.

 No, I didn’t jump for joy, mutter “thank god,” or moonwalk.  I kept calm and asked, “are you sure?”  See, it’s not that I necessarily want her gone.  Well, maybe a little.  I honestly didn’t feel any animosity towards her – I felt bad for her.  However, I want her position.  She assured me she was done, and so did her assistant coach Mike.  His daughter is graduating this year, so he wanted to take time next year to be able to watch his 10th grade son play soccer. 

So far, I have yet to let the Athletic Director know that I’m interested in it.  This is for a few reasons – I don’t want to look overly eager, and I don’t think it’d be kosher to start nosing around for it before Amy actually makes her official announcement at the banquet (the 19th).  I’m also trying not to get my hopes up too much, but I have to admit that I’ll be upset if I don’t get it.  I’d like to think my past involvement and track record should help my case, but I’m not a teacher at that school.  This means that I’m not part of the union, and the union makes sure they get first choice.  I don’t know of anyone who would actually step forward to take it, and I’m hoping if someone wants to coach that badly, they’ll realize that maybe they had better coach middle school before stepping into a varsity coaching position.  I know that I wouldn’t have been able to coach varsity 3 years ago without having a MAJOR learning curve to climb, but I feel I’m ready to give it a shot.  We’ll just have to wait and see, I guess.

In other soccer news, I’ll soon be playing indoor again.  We moved to a co-ed league, since that sounded more fun to me.  The guy making the team let me know we needed a few women, and since the age range is 16+, I recruited a few of the seniors.  I got Liz, who’s a solid defensive player, and who I’ve dubbed “the little ball of hate.”  She’s really short, and gets really pissy when she plays.  I can identify..not with the height, but with her attitude on the field.  I also recruited one of the captains, who happened to shatter the school goal scoring record over her varsity career.  She finished with something like 112 goals, which is just nuts.  When you figure on having only 20 games per year for 4 years, you have to average over a goal per game.  This is soccer, not basketball, so that’s a pretty rough pace – especially when your first 2 years are your freshman and sophmore years.  You have to battle against players much bigger than you, not to mention beat out older girls on your team for playing time.  She led the team in scoring every year, though, so obviously she’s a special type of talent.  Great girl, polite, coachable, and loves the game.  I hate to admit it, but she’s better than me – even if my ankle was 100%.  She’ll know for sure whether she can play or not, but having her, Liz, me, AND Amy on the same team ought to be interesting, if nothing else.  And no – my ankle isn’t 100% yet, and is starting to look like it may never be.  I’m going to either learn how to tape it correctly, or give this fucking ankle brace another test run.  So far, it cuts off my circulation and cramps up my foot.

**************************************************

I got a call from my buddy Parker (we share a first name, so we go by last names with each other) about playing pick-up football.  At the time, my ankle was healing nicely (I tweaked it since then) and I thought it’d be fun.  I showed up at the park and saw only 5 people, counting me.  Oh well – we threw the ball back and forth a bit.  It was just me, Parker, Pat (mutual friend from back in my Wal*Mart days 10 years ago), Parker’s cousin, and some guy named Art.  We were still fucking around when this guy comes wandering down to the field from over the hill.  Right away, this guy seemed…off.  He started loudly speaking, and asked if we needed a 6th to get a game going.  Me being me, I both love to play and I love a good story.  This guy seemed like he’d provide one.  He started going off on a tangent as he was coming our way about wearing Brian Minto’s jacket, and waving a stuffed plush toy at us.  Brian Minto is a local-area boxer, and I barely knew of him.  I have no idea why this crackhead brought that up.  I use the word crackhead not to literally say that he does crack, although I wouldn’t count it out.  He just seemed very random, sketchy, and abnormal, so the term crackhead has a wide range of use as far as I’m concerned.

Anyways, he started waving the doll around and informed us that it was “Wario” – Mario’s evil nemesis from Super Mario Brothers.  He went on about that fucking toy for a good minute or so, while we all looked at each other.  I was grinning, since this seemed like fun, and he wasn’t going to be on my team - I had Pat and Art.  This guy was dressed in a polo shirt, with courderoy pants on, but that didn’t seem to bother him.  We shrugged and got ready to kick off.

 Right away, this guy’s mouth was running.  He started loudly proclaiming how good he was, and that he was a former punter from Mars High School.  Let me note that this guy was in his mid 30’s, and since I coach at their rival school, i was not impressed.  That, and he couldn’t catch a pass to save his life.  He then decided that since his teammates weren’t throwing correctly, he’d need to save the day at QB.  Every incomplete pass he threw was someone else’s fault, and he felt the need to talk trash every play.  I knew that with Parker in that huddle, things might get interesting.  He usually isn’t afraid to set someone straight, and we were all playing a friendly game.  This guy talked as if this were a playoff game.  Don’t get me wrong, i play to win, but at the same time i can sit back and laugh if Parker burns me on a play.  If I think I can jump for an interception but will probably knock into someone hard, I’ll back off.  It just wasn’t THAT competitive, in our eyes.  This guy felt otherwise.

After I made a few TD’s and interceptions, he started to focus his talk towards me.  “Yeah, you bring that shit in here next time.  I got your number!  I played for Mars and this is how we bring it, baby!  All day, every day!”  This was usually muttered to presumably himself, right after throwing an incomplete pass.  He also started pretending he was Peyton Manning, and started calling audibles at the line of scrimmage.  I looked at Parker’s cousin and saw him staring in disbelief.  Keep in mind, they didn’t actually huddle, so this guy’s teammates had no idea what the fuck he was doing.  As I stood ready to play defensive back, he started calling out, “Yellow!  Yellow!  42!  42!”  I looked down at this point at my bright yellow shirt, and somehow made the startling leap of logic to realize that he was going to throw to my guy.  Since there were only 2 receivers anyhow, it was usually a 50-50 chance of that, so it wasn’t like I was ever caught napping.  Of course, he threw it deep to my guy and for an incompletion.  As I trotted back to the line, I asked Parker’s cousin if this guy really thought we were so stupid as to not figure out his “code.”  He laughed and said that they never discussed this in a huddle, so apparently he figured his teammates would figure it out, but we wouldn’t.  At this point, Parker had started to let the guy know he needed to relax a bit.  Cracky would say, “Oh yeah, I know..” and then walk away while muttering, “I ain’t gonna relax, i’m bringing this shit cause that’s how we play this game!”  He apparently didn’t think anyone else could hear him.

After I made another interception, Cracky realized that I needed to be covered by the best player on the field – himself.  “Ok, looks like I better take over on this guy since we ain’t getting it done!  I’ll show you how we play in my hood!”  Keep in mind, Butler’s population was 15,121 as of 2000.  This ain’t Compton.  Anyhow, he lined up across from me.

 Now, when we play defense, we give a buffer of about 5 yards or so, then run backwards for a bit with our eyes on the player.  We then turn and match the WR as best we can, and hope the ball can be deflected or picked off.  This guy, however, decided to change that a bit.  As my QB was saying “Set!”, I looked across and saw the crackhead lined up 3 feet in front of me.  Ok…a bit close, but whatever.  He outweighed me by about 30 lbs, so I figured I’d just burn by him.  As Art said “hut!” I started forward.  This guy reached out and grabbed my shirt, and clung for dear life.

 I should stop at this point and better define my sports personality.  I tend to turn into a little ball of hate, myself, especially when either fucked with or when some ass decides to cheap shot me.  I also can’t stand to be restrained by somene, in any sort of way.  I tend to kind of stop thinking, and violently react.  In the past, this trait has caused me to get a soccer game forfeited, land me in a hockey penalty box, and punch someone repeatedly as they were wearing a goalie face mask.  Seeing as this game was mostly friendly, except for this one crackhead who had been steadily getting on my nerves for the past 20 minutes, I took more exception than usual.

As the guy clung to my shirt, I attempted to cut around him.  Cracky decided that he was going to stop me by trying to wrestle me to the ground.  At this point, i snapped.  I knocked his arm away, yelled something like, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” and did a 180 past him.  As I was travelling past him, i was still facing him.  At this point, I threw out a punch to this guy’s neck.  I then grabbed him as I was moving past him, planted my feet, and dragged him with me, over my thigh, and towards the ground.  As he was travelling down, I put my other hand on his back and added a push to make sure he hit it hard.  He did.  I half thought about punching him while this was going on, but I just stood over him.  When he hit, he kind of crumpled up and I think he hurt his leg in the process.

He responded while on the ground, “Well now what’s that all about?”

“That’s for trying to rip my damn shirt off.”

 ”I didn’t rip your shirt off!”

“Not for lack of trying.  The last time someone tried to do that to me, I bought her dinner first.”

“Well I don’t know why you need to be doing that!  I was just playing defense!”

Parker stepped in and informed the guy that playing defense doesn’t mean draping yourself over someone and trying to wrestle them to the ground.  I was still pissed, but kinda pleased with myself.  This guy had it coming, and I’m not the type to just let someone toss me around.  I must have a sign on my back that says, “Please fuck with me!” because I get minor stuff like that all the time in sports.  In soccer, I tend to be pretty fast and decent, so older, fatter, slower players like to clutch and grab.  This guy, however, went way overboard.

He got up slowly, dusted himself off, and muttered a half-assed apology.  I shrugged, and we played a few more minutes.  After one incomplete, I had to walk near him on my way back to our huddle.  He held out a hand and said, “Hey, sorry about that.  I was just playing defense, you know?”  I didn’t turn around, but I gave a brief hand shake as I kept walking and muttered something like, “No problem.”  As I kept going, I heard his trademark muttering, “I’m not sorry!  I’ll bring that shit all day!  That’s how we play this game, baby…”  I shook my head and laughed.

Soon after, we decided to break up the game – Pat had to go, and me, Parker and his cousin were going to go to another place to play with more people.  The crackhead gathered up his(?) jacket, his Wario doll, and melted away into the woods.  We have no idea why – Parker thought he went in there to go lie down and lick his wounds.  Pat left but loudly proclaimed me as “the man” as I did what they were secretly wishing they had done.  I almost feel bad, but that guy was a dick – screw him.

**************************************

I realize this is getting long, so I’ll briefly touch on a few more things.  I’ve been running hot and cold in poker.  I recently played a tourney and won 3rd, which was good for $520.  Too bad I was staked for it (it was out of my usual buy-in ballpark)so I ended up having to give a solid portion of it to my backer.  You’d think that’d tide me over for a while, but I went on tilt after losing a few too many el-cheapo games.  My total winnings still outweighed the amount I donked away at the low-limit games, but I hate losing no matter what the stakes are.  Even after still being up about $60, I got fed up after busting out of yet another tournament in 5th place.  Top 4 got paid, so that always hurts.  I ended up banning myself (poker sites have an option that you can cut yourself off if you feel you have a gambling problem) for a week, as I was too disgusted with poker and knew that I was in no mood to handle any more losing.  That’s the way this game is – the losses you take always seem to outweigh the wins.  You always remember that heart-breaking hand, but become fuzzy on the details of a winning hand.  I can still remember my losing hand from the Omaha Hi-low tourney that I played in Vegas ($150 buy-in, I had a 9922 and hit a J924 board.  The river was a 5, which gave the pot to the 2 crackheads playing A3xx and A36x.  One had a straight and tied for the low, one had a higher straight and tied the low.  I had 3 of a kind twice over, but that doesn’t count for shit against a straight.  Goodbye me.)  Can I remember any winning hand from any tourney I’ve ever won?  Nope.  Anyhow, I’ll be allowed to play this coming thursday again, so hopefully my luck will change.  After the week off, as well as going outside to hack shit apart with a machete, I’ll hopefully have it all out of my system.

 There’s some major drama going down involving my uncles (Steve and Tommy), credit card fraud, and an upcoming lawsuit.  I don’t really want to go into all that much detail.  I never really talk about the major things in life – just the superficial things.  I may touch upon it more later on, but it’s getting ugly.

 Oh, I wrecked my car.  Nothing TOO major, but going through a barb wire fence on bad tires tends to make a little damage.  I now need to replace my left blinker and right passenger mirror.  I’ll stop here, as this is already way too long.  I guess that’s what I get for waiting months to update it.

Shamelessly stolen from another site: Rules of Poker

One of my favorite hobbies is playing poker.  From No-limit hold’em, limit hold’em, omaha, 7 card stud, and other variations – I enjoy them all.  (Except Razz.  Fuck that game right in the ass – it’s the devil.)  In fact, I’m currently playing a tournament online as I’m typing this.  It’s a cheapo tourney, so I’m not investing a ton of attention to it.  I’m decent, but let’s just say I’m not about to turn pro any time soon.  While surfing other message forums, I came across these rules and felt the need to repost.  Anytime I laugh out loud at something, it deserves a 2nd look.  Enjoy:

In 2003, amateur Chris Moneymaker earned a spot in the World Series of Poker through the internet and went on to win the tournament, giving the game a tremendous boost in popularity. At the time I assumed the national focus on poker was simply a trend that would eventually die down, like reality shows or terrorism. For the first and final time in my life, however, I was wrong.

Four years later, it’s impossible to change the channel without coming across a poker show. There’s the aforementioned World Series Of Poker, World Poker Tour, Celebrity Poker Showdown, Poker After Dark, You Can’t Poker On Television, Hey Asshole That’s My Poker, Poker Poker Poker and Rock Smasho: Kung-Fu Botanist. You’d think that poker would start get a little old with such an overabundance of programming dedicated to the topic, but I can’t get enough of it. Every night I lie in bed and imagine myself at the final table of a tournament, intimidating my competition with the raise of an eyebrow and making out with Shana Hiatt while hundred dollar bills rain down from a broken moneypipe in the ceiling. I never really imagine myself playing poker though, because after four years I still have no idea how the game actually works.

If I want to make my dream of playing in a poker tournament come true, I have no choice but to bear down and study the Official Poker Tournament Rules. Conveniently enough, I have them right here!

Tournament Requirements/Guidelines

• To enter a tournament, you must pay an entry fee of around $5,000 to $15,000 per axle. Bicyclists get in free. People in wheelchairs are forbidden.
• Alternately, you can win a position in the tournament through a “satellite”, which in poker terms is essentially a large mechanical object that orbits the Earth while sending and receiving data.
• Players are required to bring their “A” game. Any player caught with a “B” game will have it confiscated and be sent home without a refund for their entry fee. Players caught attempting to smuggle “C” games into the tournament will be shot to the full extent of the law.

The Rules Of Poker

• Most tournaments use a poker variation called Texas Hold Em, which replaced Texas Drop Em in 1998 due to the tremendous amount of time involved in picking cards up off of the floor after every hand.
• Each player is dealt two cards, unless the dealer runs out of cards. In this case players will be asked to share their cards with the person next to them.
• At this point, a “pre-flop” betting round begins. During this stage, players are encouraged to prepare for the flop by raising the provided tarps above their heads.
• A total of five community cards are placed face-up on the table. If you can guess how many cards are on the table, you win all five.
• Players must go in turns. For instance, if Player 1 casts Firaga on Player 2 and kills him, Player 4 must wait until Player 3 has finished his turn before using a Phoenix Down.
• Tapping the table is a “check”. Pushing the cards away from yourself is a “fold”. Rubbing your face on the table’s felt and moaning suggestively is a “mating call”
• The best hand is determined by the following:- Two pairs beat one pair

  - Three of a kind beats two pairs

  - A straight beats three of a kind

  - A flush beats a straight

  - A full house beats a flush

  - Four of a kind beats a full house

  - A straight flush beats four of a kind

  - Scissors beat cards

• Once the field is narrowed down to two players, they will have one hour to play until one of them has taken all of the other’s chips. If one hour passes and both players still have chips, the winner will be determined by a dance-off, judged by audience applause.

The Grizzly Bears

• Do not make sudden movements while any of the bears are nearby (raising your hands in victory, looking at your cards, mouthing “where did these bears come from?”, etc.)
• If a grizzly eats your chip stacks, there is no recourse. Their decisions are final.

Etiquette

• Players may wish to wear accessories to conceal their facial expressions and any tells they might inadvertently broadcast. It is within the rules to wear: sunglasses, baseball caps, hockey masks, horse blinders, the Shroud of Turin, an epidermis made of clay, paper bags, holographic projections of eye surgery, those masks you cut out from the backs of cereal boxes, a placenta, fake mustaches
• Not allowed: actual mustaches
• Be courteous to your fellow players. Most of the pros probably have at least a few million bucks, and someone’s bound to put you in their will.
• When placing a bet, the chips you are wagering should be deposited in front of your cards. They should not be placed in the center of a makeshift trap that will sever the dealer’s arm when he attempts to collect your chips and give them to your opponent.
• You may see a woman in a tournament. She might even be seated at your table, or right next to you. Stay calm and observe the protocols established for this situation in comic book shops. Ask the woman questions like “So, you like poker?” and sweat profusely. Tell her you like her shirt and awkardly touch it under the guise of seeing what the fabric feels like. Go home and replay the entire night in your head for the next year, envisioning how different things would have been if you had ESP so you could have pretended you liked the same things she did.
• Shoving another player to the ground and stealing all of his chips is generally frowned upon, but does not violate any specific rules. Use good judgment, and employ this strategy sparingly.
• Limit your “I beat you!” celebrations to less than five minutes, with no more than three of those minutes spend laying on the ground and laughing as you roll from side to side and wildly kick your legs.

Well that seems easy enough.