Thursday, October 26, 2006

A Sea of Valium

Mike Tyson’s Punch Out fanatics make an appearance while watching softball. Hint to the dads… IT’S A FUCKIN GAME WHO CARES?!?!?!

Now I can see people that get a little hot under the collar because their game isn’t going as planned or expected. I’m guilty of throwing golf clubs in the past, something I’m not proud of but I’m sure if you traveled to Andover, MN you might find my 3-iron in the middle of a pond at Woodland Creek golf course despite it being there for over five years. But, to get in a coach’s face about playing time; then making it a dick swinging contest? You need help, so I suggest emailing Waffles for anger management techniques during confrontational situations.

Last night took some Lamaze styled breathing, ice chips, a pint of Edy’s Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream, a Lifetime special presentation, and a cozy blanky to calm myself down for an unfortunate start (and ending) to playing last night. It began with one AlCanPostHotties IM’ing me the nanosecond after I got Wyatt to bed (which unfortunately contained another surprise this morning) and I managed to register before having to take him back downstairs to sleep under the glow-in-the-dark solar system.

I should have just fallen asleep with him.

They were not “bad beats” just unfortunate placements of cards, and timing. That’s the risk you run while playing 3-4 games at once, especially 6-max. I looked like Shaq trying to string together two successful free-throws for the first hour of play last night. Make one, miss three, make one, miss two, make one ooooooh ooooooh darn he hit a runner runner straight. These are nights that people could resort to flaming other players. Spouting off unintelligent verbal rubber lawn jarts that miss their plastic scoring circle and usually bouncing back to take out their eye (metal jarts >>> wimpy plastic jarts).

The Mookie started and ended for me rather quickly, I barely got to say hi to people before bowing out unceremoniously with QQ vs. QQ. That’s always fun.

The O8 tables were no less kind as I managed to drop $200 in the first 15 minutes of play due to some outs not coming in, and letting a very aggressive ballcap kid run me over with an assortment of rivered flushes and straights. But, I managed to squeak back to even over the course of the last hour and a half with the help of said MENSA Jr. club president showing moves like capping the river on a board with three queens and an ace with KK. For those without Omaholic fever, generally when someone raises you every street and the board shows a pair, or trips, just give the person credit for having trips, a boat, or quads unless you’re playing $15/$30 and above where the players will feign the big hand (correctly) and mostly fold/call down (correctly) when met with resistance.

Then a certain Mr. Speaker must have smelled the blood from my rapidly closing wounds and invited me to partake in a high-ball glass sized HORSE tourney with a special lime twist. I managed to lose all three hands I participated in, what the RNG spat out is inconsequential but stayed with the theme of the evening. In honor of the loss, I shall be breaking my songwriting cherry tomorrow to honor our blogging Adonis in dashing checkerboard Umbros shorts and shin guards.

Be forewarned of my hacking of one the greatest hair band ballads of all time. That, and I’ll be just a little tired since my brother managed to snag me a press pass for an open skate at the Xcel tomorrow morning as part of broadcasting the K102 morning show from there and he needs to leave by a yawn inducing 4 am to set up before we get to fling pucks at former Hobey Baker award winner Robb Stauber.

I couldn’t pass it up.

Thanks for dropping by, now for those who are attending the blogging trek to the city of sin for my birthday please check out April’s latest musings. I am personally up for crashing a local daily tournament (maybe two) and seeing how many residents of Las Vegas we can put on tilt.

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