WPBT 2010: A question

Shock and awe.

Two things that kick start a day better than any RockStar/Red Bull/NoS/Triple Cap-Low Fat-Double McTwist.

Yes the Vikings won last night, yes I am happy as a fan and it is with hope that Winfield got the game ball for shutting down Vick in the first half.

But, the fandom of rabidly rooting for the Purple was put away like Favre's noodle several games ago before some supreme being decided that this once proud team in August needed a second helping of humility by popping the bubble and sending a Minnesota style blizzard to Philly with in three weeks. 

The football game wasn't the shock and awe and nor did that happen after the lights went out with a couple in their mid-30s going to sleep.   That was two nights ago.  No, the shocker (also not used) was my wife's annual planning of our Spring Break trip.  Since she has worked for a school district ever since I got attached to the short softball player with great legs coming thru her grey St. Cloud State mesh shorts, Spring Break has been the time to take a vacation.  Whether its a couple of nights up in Duluth, across the border for an indoor water park at Wisconsin Dells, or the most popular stop:  Las Vegas.

While the wife thru out Atlantis in the Bahamas a few times and looking at the price tags that would burn the remainder of my depleted bankroll that "BET MORE" during the WPBT got (yes more WPBT stories to come, sorry but there has been Captain to drink, sledding to do, and kids to unwrap presents with stories about getting 86'd at Sherwood Forest and chopping up the WPBT tourney will need to wait).  Aside from winning a PCA ticket like some Hollyweird blondes did (congrats again Change!!) that would be out and set aside for a bucket list or save for a year type thing. 

The thought of going did appeal to me especially with the frozen wasteland I'll be gazing into for the next four months, its easy to picture oneself sipping on a Mai Tai while watching bronzed asses bounce by and a symphony of waves crashing live instead on an iTunes playlist.  Wife turned her full attention towards going to Vegas of which got an reaction out of me that was nothing short of shock and awe.

I didn't immediately want to go.  In fact I actually argued against the idea.

BAD DEGEN BAD!

This last WPBT trip ruined the Vegas experience for me.  It was like the best sex with the hottest partner you could ever imagine and then turning to your fleshlight stroker with Anal Queens 15 in the background and just turning over to go to bed.  The things I got to do on that trip three weeks ago will never happen again for mostly monetary reasons, but certainly the luck of each scene playing out to its perfection.  The dinner, The Crowes (which I have a bottle of Captain waiting this weekend to write it up properly minus embarrassing stories which will remain in the minds of those who attended), The wink of the leftover Asian hooker at 5am (not found at a Steel Panther concert), Betting without concern of losses, The Sunday football games, The flight of a golf ball heading towards Red Rock national park, The WPBT tournament run, The birthday Pai Gow binge, The first class seat, and the perfect mix of degenerates and professionals one could possibly gather.

How do I top that?

Or perhaps how do I not try to top that and enjoy the moment with the love of my life while laying out at the MGM Grand pool with an overpriced mixed drink in hand?

Work (recaps not spreadsheets) and online poker funds acquired via recent strong lucky play will cover the trip's cost but it won't be the same.  Maybe I just answered my question, different but same, after all there are other ways to reach euphoria than ordering your sixth round of drinks off the 61 year old former Miss Golden Gate Imperial Palace waitress who you genuinely questioned the sustainability of her out of place looking fake tits and if they would make it back for round seven after five hours of getting cold decked playing Pai Gow dealt by a former North Korean water torture specialist named Kim. 

I don't doubt I'll have a great time with the wife, but my hesitation about going back to Vegas was nothing short of eye-opening. 

A Wife's Plea

*Dearest Full Tilt Poker:

For a couple of years now your website has supplied this family with a little extra income so we can enjoy some finer things in life, like going to Arby’s and splurging on one of those delicious Apple Turnovers after a filling meal while the kids enjoy the latest plastic toy which will get thrown away before we leave the building. Or hitting up the local outdoor strip mall (even during the winter HAR HAR!) and buying a few pairs of sexy, soft cotton underwear (I hate the word “panty”) at Victoria’s Secret instead of that rough shit from Kmart.

But lately the kids and I have been woken by noise in the night. No, not those noises, as I can tell the difference between my husband complaining about poker and finding the perfect double penetration amateur porn to wack off to. For some reason he thinks I don’t know about the spooge-fest, so lets keep that little bit of information between us m’kay? The yells lately are not the ones laced with testosterone after conquering another player and funding another trip to Archivers so I get my 16th pair of scissors that cuts paper in a yet another totally cool way! These yells are from various cock-shriveling defeats at your wonderful Battle of the Blogger Tournament series. He appreciates all the wonderful gifts you’re throwing at the internet scribes and Riverchasers patrons, but wonders why your random number generator is inclined to put a finger up his spine almost every night he stays up to play after re-reading “Crocodile Bus” to the soon-to-be two year old that won’t go to bed? I am the only one allowed to fuck my husband up the ass according to the church we were married at several years ago.

Be aware of this.

Because next time you even think about going near that poop chute with some rag cards to bust his hand after he plays for three hours and ends up waking the kids because you thought it was funny to leave him hanging after a dry hand job with no peppermint lotion causing me to have to deal him humping my leg at one a.m. while muttering “wrap draw” “fuckin Ace-Rag” I will swim to Dublin and personally take my 27oz. Combat softball bat to the kneecaps of everyone since I hate getting my hair wet in the ocean due to the snarls.

Just so we have an understanding, bust him early so he can masturbate and go to sleep, or keep the 15 aces in the deck from hitting the river so he can lose on his own terms.

Or I will bring the pain.

Thank you,

Drizz’s Wife

*this post was written in jest as she’d never swing for the kneecaps and I'm totally kidding as I do enjoy these tourneys and Full Tilt just that the "beats" are becoming hard to handle after two months