Why is it easier to wallow in misery then bask in the sun while putting words into sentences? Writing comes more fluently, 50 cent words dancing within rants about mouth-breathing Arby’s employees who choose to neglect their GED studies while inserting horseradish sauce into the paper to-go bag instead of the requested packets of tangy Arby’s sauce goo that hits my Beef n’ Cheddar like a perfectly placed penis during sex.
What the penis goes into is up to you, I don’t judge anyone. Yet mind the mint level and it shouldn’t burn a week afterwards with a motorcross track of bumps suddenly appearing. Might want to get that looked at.
Watching the final tables during the Sunday Million at Stars over the past month or so has really changed my perception on tournament play. Every player who makes that final table got lucky. Period. View all the CardRunners videos, read Harrington in English, German, Japanese, and Sanskrit, go to a WPT Boot Camp, and it still comes down to cards falling your way. K3o versus Q6s all in pre-flop? Yep, biggest pot of the tournament that awarded $207,000 to first with three tables left not a freeroll. I’m sure the poker geniuses will spout about some level 11 play, pot odds, and their VPIP ratio divided by how many bong hits he took in the last hour. Granted the players who regularly make the cash, make it deep are doing something right by maximizing their wins, but if you don’t get those AA vs AQ all-in preflop for a 1st place sized stack type suckouts (which a well-known, and playing very well internet pro lost with in the final two tables) you’re not going to win.
Still love covering the tourneys though; it really does give you a different perspective on the game which I’ll try once the current gorgeous Minnesota summer weather fades back into the Hades of a Minnesotan winter. Muy thanks to Otis for the opportunity, I sincerely hope that I’m not tarnishing his good name with those write ups.
Tonight I’ll be doing this. The Torchlight Run and adjoining Aquatennial parade is a great jog through the streets of Minneapolis. And I do mean jog as my bad wheel is limited to a tight knee brace with a fistful of Advil after signing up for this several months before the old-man disease pop up while legging out a triple. On the softball field you perverts. I will restrain myself from kicking the first guy I see wearing yellow spandex shorts in the junk, but it may take a few pre-run pints from Gluek’s to do so. Seriously, why do these guys think this is “sexy” or even comfortable, you fail at life if you are a male looking at a mirror and slipping on the skin tight yellow M&M shorts and think “should I hang it to the left or right today for the ladies today?”, then proceed to take a bath an Axe body wash with a spritz of Drakkar Noir.
Females are more then welcome to do wear such things, except the Drakkar Noir. I insist.
Tomorrow expect me to drop in on Riverchasers since this lack of poker playing is building up like gas from eating a pound of bacon with cheesy hash browns at the Waffle House.
It’s good to be happy again.