Thursday, February 19, 2009

Skillets Taste Better With Friends

If I get married again, I want a guy there with a drum to do rimshots during the vows

- Sam Kinison


First, a thank you.

Although my first real-life meet with these invisible internet friends was briefly during the 2007 Winter Classic in Vegas, the real meet was during the Bash this year. While the bar Olympics raged and I was in my element of playing bar games while imbibing on good grub and perfect pours, new friendships were formed over the three days culminating in that competition made for barflies.

Darts, shuffleboard, a mess chicken wing eating contest that left Jordan and Falstaff with a good amount of Durkee’s hot sauce dripping down their chins while a row of irish car bombs awaited other competitors in the background.

Permanent smiles were made that day, and made wider while conversations over freshly priced skillets at a roadside diner that was nice enough to stay open for the adults that crowded into a mini-van for some quick bites down scary-assed tight backroads of PA, before returning to the fray. Bad dancing and worse displays of drunkness awaited later that night as a skinny accounting worker decided that after his eye-bleach worthy white boy Kid n’ Play moves on the dance floor, his Arm of Adonis would take all-comers with $5 (I apologize as I don’t remember any arm wrestling except reaching in my pocket the next morning while seeing a trio of Canucks eating breakfast and finding enough for 1/4th of my obscenely priced airport taxi ride).

To Dr. Chako, The Wife, and Bam-Bam, I thank you. Doc and The Wife’s offer shocked me so much it took a day or two to register that getting these hearing aids wouldn’t break the bank and I’d be able to hit up the various family and blogger trips I had planned this year.

The Dells, Vegas (for my wife’s convention which is conveniently during the last week of the WSOP before the main event DONKEY DOWN!!!!!!), Chicago, Bash (if there is one), Vegas. All coming in THX Dolby 6.0 surround sound.

Can’t wait.


For a minute of poker/blogtastic talk.

I dabble online to see where the competition is at concerning the Omaha games (one can find such free online poker at places like Bodog). They’re still horrible, continue to be horrible, fat chick trying to pole dance at Deja Vu horrible. Learn the game folks, just play tight if needed, but there’s money to be made if you know that 59JJ rainbow isn’t worth a flyer when there’s a bet and two raises in front of you in O8.

I know the poker content here has fallen, and while my love for the game remains the same, its time I’d rather use reading Curious George Goes to the Hospital (the illustrations of George hitting the ether is comedy gold). I play when I can, I write about it when I can but would rather leave those scripted words to PokerStarsBlog or the occasional article for Al at Poker From the Rail at Full Tilt.

I’ve been told these pages have dropped in popularity as Google-bombing certainly did me no favors, and not playing six-tables of PL/NLO8 for four hours a night to come here a throw a Sam Kinison-sized fit about some 12 buy-in swing isn’t helping these “page ranks”.

But, do people really want to read that anymore? Maybe due to my first post being back in aught four those types of posts have grown stale on me and those fresh faces to the internets are still drooling for bad beat and variance stories. Hell, even a decent score (for me) gets not much more then a line or two of typed letters.

You get, what you get here.

Sometimes its poker.

Sometimes its bOObies

Sometimes its life whines.

Sometimes its sappy-shit better left for a Hallmark mini-series on Lifetime starring William H. Macy, but what I do assure my five readers you will get me unedited, missing words, bad punctuation, worse metaphors because that’s who I am and this is my spot to let go.

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