Tuesday, November 30, 2010

I'll wipe that smile right off your face

Is it time for Wilson Phillips yet?



It's the home stretch to the 2010 WPBT Winter Classic where smiling is actually encouraged and won't get you a press conference beat down by our many illustrious poker writers for many different outlets.  Seriously?  Smiling?  I understand one question about the smirk, he answered cordially but to keep needling the guy and a team who just played awful football for 60 minutes is akin to having TMZ on your press pass.  Yep, just like those "reporters" who walk up to random celebs with hot-button questions "So OJ how's the right hook coming along?" "Paris do you prefer to use the left or right nostril?" "Hey!  Mr. Gibson could you tell us how you REALLY feel about Jews?".  Report, don't become part of the story.  Of course I did not attend J-school and since my poker reporting is done in the comfort of a Snuggie with a laptop and a Cap'n Coke sitting aside from the couch, I can't completely know what was going thru the mind of that reporter after last night's Monday Night Football game.

Photo Cred: ParkThoughts

Update to the last post:  I finished 12th in the PLO8 MTT after I was unable to keep my eyes open and opted for sleep.  Bad degen.  A decent shot for another small score but this week's schedule is brutal.  A full financial analysis of PartyGaming is due which was taken on due to being curious about the aftermath of leaving the US player base.  Profits down of course, but not as bad as you think.  I'll publish the numbers here after handing in the assignment.  Then, a 5-6 page essay comparing two short stories, along with normal weekly assignments, and trying to work ahead for next week since I don't feel like doing anything related to school in Vegas.  Oh, and there's taking the kids to see Santa at the Mall of America all day Friday
where I have two all-day passes to Nickelodeon Universe readied as a gift for daddy going away to spend a few days with friends.

If you see a spare me currently wandering around the back bank of slots at the Gold Coast or giving away money at the Flamingo's $2/$4 game at 5am nursing a hot chocolate, send him back to Minnesota, I could use my clone for this week. 

In case this is your first or fifth WPBT Winter Classic, is it imperative you read Dr. Pauly's guide to surviving the weekend.  Leave passing out on an off-strip Pai Gow table while Xi is trying to collect your losing bonus bet to overworked parents and veterans of such degeneracy.  We're used the five second naps and snapping awake with zero consciousness and appearing to function normally when the four year old is asking for help after turning the sink into a giant tub of cherry flavored kool-aid and playing Barbie's beach house from the sides.

8 days folks.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Saturdays with Dr. Pauly

If you ask me why I'm up at nearly midnight watching Mallrats on a night I was resigned to head to bed early.

I have no clue, I really don't.  But, I can tell you what I did at a more reasonable hour:

That would be me, luckboxing my way thru this courtesy of Dr. Pauly.  The Turkey cup wasn't a choice as my old ass was passed out by 9pm the previous evening, but PLO + kids giving daddy a little time to play = good decision.

Wow, Shannen Doherty was hot!

Anyway Dr. Pauly was putting up a signed copy of Lost Vegas (NOW 15% off!!  Head over to Lulu for details, or click the link) and while I was planning on asking the good doctor to sign the copy I purchased a few days after it was published, a second copy for a Christmas gift would be perfect.

Since a recap of the action is better suited for people who can write such recaps and I'm still baffled as to why I'm still up grinding in this $5 PLO8 tourney, I'll leave it that I got lucky and won.  Period.  Exclaimnation point. 

In light of the Gophers (football, not hockey, not basketball, but FOOTBALL) winning tonight I'm going to allow someone else to claim this nightcap because I will be covering the monthly promo tourneys at Stars tomorrow, and I hear a gathering of likeminded degens is getting rather close.  Good night and may the wraps be with you.

11 days.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Wife Knows Best Chapter 10: He WILL Forget

After walking through the front doors after a longer-than-usual commute (a whole 15 minutes!) and missing the fine smell of bacon-wrapped steak that was promised to be pan-searing when I got home, an audiable sigh left my nose. 

"Oh, I can still throw the steaks on" said my wife, at least those were the words from her mouth. 

The actual words were "I got home and did the laundry, vacuumed the floors, pulled your daughter down from the ceiling, and rescued a bus load of 8th grade volleyball players after their driver fell asleep trying to pull an all-nighter so don't ask me to make your fuckin steak".

Calmly, I suggested Leeann Chin's and I would offer to climb right back into the car to retrieve the Sesame chicken goodness with a side of egg-fried rice and gooey cream-cheese puffs. Also, as a bonus, the mystery package I signed for yesterday happened to be a large (for me) check from my musings on PokerStarsBlog and after checking my bank balance, a wire transfer from Full Tilt also went thru so "bet more" at the WPBT may be back on (if the funds clear of course)!

A side trip to the bank was made where a cute Thai teller that would have made F-Train throw out a few suave lines, I however stumbled thru the reasons for the large foreign check and made a joke about giving it to my wife for Black Friday (which isn't entirely false, but don't let her know when she finds some extra cash in her purse from the degen fairy).  Then on to the Leeann Chin's I go to about twice a month noting the usual surly but hot blonde who wears too much makeup and a distaste for people on her face serve up some Sweet and Sour chicken for the kids, Lemon for the wife, and as an audiable, some Mongolian chicken for myself.  Wrapped up with two pairs of chopsticks for the kids to poke their food with, it was back home to a "movie night" (meaning a late-night date with "An Introduction to Literature" for daddy).

pic cred: dan-dare.org

Toy Story 3, and this one lived up to the hype, with a excellent ending, on top of an excellent ending.  Just when you thought it was over with Woody and Buzz saving the day again, it jerks your heart strings for a few minutes more. 

All the pillows and blankets were gathered up as the nightly ritual of getting the kids to brush their teeth without flinging poo at each other began.  But tonight there was no poo, perhaps after-glow from the awesome movie as they settled down quickly, got tucked in as I returned to the porch and found my fat cat Funky rightfully assuming my ass would be on the couch for the next few hours.

Just before cracking open the play "Trifles" by Susan Glaspell and later "The Cherry Orchard" by Anton Chekhov my wife came in to remind me to put away the turkey that had been thawing out in the sink before going to bed.  I looked up and nodded telling her not to worry about it.  But, my wife was not convinced.  She takes out a strategically placed chair which blocked the walkway between porch and living room (the kitchen is in-between the two) and places a pan on it.  After seeing this I raised a middle finger in salute, and got one in return with a smile.

After the required reading I was too tired for the writing portion of the assignment and shut off the lights to the porch which were the last lights on in the house and started stumbling to bed much like I do on later nights.

WHAM!  #!#$&$#!@@

My middle toe rang with pain as I slammed it into the strategically placed chair which filled the lane like Wilt Chamberlain and Shaq standing side-by-side.  As my trudged my bruised toe and ego to the kitchen light and took the medium-sized wet turkey placing it in the fridge, I could almost hear my wife down the hallway laughing in her sleep.

14 days folks.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Quick hits: Parenting question for those with good poker faces

Quick hits:

  • Brad Childress fired = Drizz happy camper.  It doesn't help the team any, but least shows they're willing to move forward.  My hopes that the "moving forward" part means building a stadium in Blaine, MN not LA.

  • There are just 15 days left before the WPBT Winter Classic.  Do you have your three person PokerStars-infused prize pool last longer team in place yet?  What the fuck are you waiting for?  The Lions to the win the Super Bowl or Obama to admit he could have done things differently in his first two years in office?  Not gonna happen.  So go.  Sign up your weak-ass team that will visiting Davy Jones' Locker after run over by the Brad Childress-less Viking ship of TEAM SKOL!!!  If you dare bust one of us out I'm sending this guy to your house to rinse your mouth out with month-old dead trout or his unwashed arm pits:

Photo cred here

  • On Sunday I got a lazy day as a present to myself for waking up at 6am and busting out a two page essay on poems, half of my final paper (due in three weeks), and finished a statement of cash flow for a mock corporation. Shortly after the Viking's implosion that had Packers Fans creaming their green and gold g-strings my daughter entered the room with a worried face. Usually this means a) "Daddy, I took five bars of Hersey's chocolate and ate four of them while smearing the fifth one all over the kitchen" b) "I want to watch Strawberry Shortcake's adventure in Berry-Berry land for the fifteenth millionth time but can't get the DVD player to work after jamming three discs in there" or the dreaded c) "I did something that I won't tell you, but know it's wrong and need to be questioned like a police's person of interest". Can any parent tell me the secret behind keeping a straight face while your adorable four year old daughter tells you she cut her bangs with safety scissors? Bluff a flush draw on the turn in a heated PLO game with a stony face? Yes sir! Not laugh on my cutie's hair malfunction?
Not this guy.

Updated pic of said daughter for those who do not follow me on Twitter

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Life imitates smartphone

While skating last night with the kids as they attempt to gain mobility on Minnesota's most known surface, there were strands of little kids in various hockey and bike helmets in various stages of ability.  The chair-user, the future Gretzky, and the kids having the ability to stop which mine don't thus run the risk of having their faces find out just how hard the boards and plexiglass really are.

Then there was this guy...

Since our two little ones had adjacent lesson times with a half-hour practice time in front of each one, we got to spend an hour whipping around on the ice and I got a few loops with carrying the kids that they enjoy.  But, THAT guy above is real.  It's not a fuckin commercial.  He laced up his skates, most likely his kid's too, and stood on the ice Twittering to his little heart's content.  Not once looking up from his smartphone to see a smile on the kid's face or chase him/her until they would get caught.

The sad disconnect of the digital age is real, I know it because I'm at home pecking away at school work while the kids are up when I should be explaining that you go up the ladders and down the chutes and to stop trying to take five spaces when a four is spun.  At least my intentions are somewhat benefiting the kids with potential higher earnings and a father who is trying to become a better person by not standing around looking up nude Bristol Palin pics as life skates by.

Instead of saying the cliched "thanks" next week:  I thank my kids and wife for being understanding of the need to return to school, to be with friends in far away places, to allow me to be myself and not forget how big of a dork I am.  I thank my friends for the same reasons, whether you read here or not, just the occasional text message or even a "tweet" that makes me smile even when you're just as busy as I.  I thank my father who now has seen more injuries cutting down trees than his two Purple Hearts while serving in Vietnam, how you and mom selflessly give without any reward other than a fading embrace from a rushed son and grandchildren. 

To those who help me purchase my hearing aids last year, I thank you and another round of drinks awaits in Vegas in a mere 20 days, as I can't wait too see everyone again and hear their tales versus reading them.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Using a page from the whining book

Whine and thou shalt receive. 

My kids employ these method on a daily basis and once in a great while through frustration I'll give in.  Softy, I know.  Mostly because the words "daddy is working" coming out of my mouth while doing homework or describing the seventh place finisher in the Sunday Warm-Up at PokerStars, has a ghastly charcoal taste to each syllable.  Last night it was creating invoices and receiving payments for a fictional landscaping company while my son wanted a second knight to accompany him in a game called Castle Crashers on the PS3.   For the low price of $14.99 (plus some PS3 add-on cost of a buck and change) these little square-headed knights bop different ghouls and wombats Street Fighter style with a little RPG thrown in as there's leveling, gold collection, and standard strength, magic, dex, and defense add-on to improve your character. For a quick game, well worth the purchase.

As I poured some tears out on these pages way too soon about floating cash at Full Tilt the joy seeing that cash with a bonus enough to cover more than the bank fees (thank you good sirs) was back in my account by the time Michael Vick was in the middle of going All-Madden on the Redskins last night (seriously, if the Eagles played like that, can anyone beat them?).  Now with two accounts flush with online moneys, the question is:  is it safe to try to withdraw again?  One method involves several fees adding up to $60 which doesn't appeal to me but for the sake of "bet more" in Vegas a few less lap dances won't hurt the silicone and baby powder crowd too much.  The other method is wait and pray that the check clears, and with three bad checks already in the past few years I don't need my bank getting itchy to close my account that has been open since Ronnie Regan ruled the White House and I was getting my 100 pound skinny ass kicked in middle school.

For those who still drop by and play, let me know if you've had experiences (good or bad) with cashing out, and I'm not talking about getting your aces cracked five times in row while your brand new 100" 3D-HDTV blows up in the background from the cash-out curse.  Save those stories for the Geisha Bar.

22 days shopping days till my birthday folks.  Get a move on.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Checks and chips

Trying to keep my eyes open on the ice-slicked roads of Minnesota this morning thanks to winter's regurgitation of snow overnight on Friday, there was more than a few odd sights on my ass-crack of dawn commute.  The gray with white flecked bunny with ears seemingly lopped off, perhaps from a gang initiation which must have included darting out in front of a tired suburbanite at five a.m.with hopes that his green tea fix kicked in enough to dance his truck around around those short, fast legs.

No squished bunny, he'll survive enough to terrorize the neighborhood by knocking over a few gas stations before meeting his maker by a vigilante Ford Probe's front right tire. 

After avoiding animals there was the Stephen King-like mist with a 16-wheeler coming over the top of a narrow bridge that I was attempting to cross at the same time taking up the entire width.  Luckily by the time Maximum Overdrive's figure peered thru the fog it became just another commuter that probably had his eyes open no more than me.  

Sufficiently awakened by new found alertness, I see its November 15th and we're only 23 days away from the 6th installment of the WPBT Winter Classic which only half of the field has signed up for the biggest giveaway we've had thanks to the wonderful folks at PokerStars.  Be sure go to Up For Poker's for the details on the last longer, hammer challenge, and my favorite...  bust an original player from the first WPBT tourney.  No, I was not one of those folks as my bankroll was in its infancy at the time, marriage was about as stable as Brad Childress' job, head injury still kept me under supervision, and my son was just drawing his first breath so running off to Vegas that year wasn't possible.  But, those who survived the first year's drinks at Sherwood Forest will be back and guarding their bust out prizes like a child's stuffed animal. 

Lately on the online front things have not been rainbows and perky tits waiting to serve you another Jag Bomb because you're just so darn cute (or probably because you're the only one tipping consistantly).  This weekend I had not one but two checks bounce from the major sites.  Full Tilt's check bounced after waiting A MONTH for it, offered no explanation nor any forebearing that processors were having troubles.  As you know my bankroll isn't big (see: name of blog) and we're talking about enough for a plane ticket and maybe enough money to bring my golf clubs with.  It wasn't until I wrote in after my bank informed me of the NSF check that an apology was given.  PokerStars however offered a pre-emptive strike telling not to cash the check (which I didn't) and gave a bonus on top of my withdrawl and the funds are once again back in my account (unlike Full Tilt who continues to drag their feet about this...). 

In the year of "bet more" since I had been doing not-so-bad at the tables lately, there was a little extra to enjoy an upper crust dinner with good foodie friends, whiskey with a Packer Fan and a husband to a Packer Fan, golfing with a soon-to-be groom, and still have enough for playing 3am Pai Gow with Hong and Dr. Pauly at the Gold Coast.  Those things will still happen, but this extra bit was my reward to myself for the hard work over the past year.  Going back to school full time with two jobs has been tiring especially when you add a daughter who thinks it's ok to get up at 5:30am on a weekend to climb into the freezer using a chair and phone book to gobble down 2.5 bars of Hershey's then proceed to bounce off the walls for the next five hours on a sugar rush while daddy tries to book a sale of a 20-year bond bought at 102, and sold six years later at 98.5 with an interest rate of 11% and coupon rate of 12% and writing a two-page compare and contrast essay on two poems (seriously, how do ya'll read poems, I'm baffled).

As the king of the deuce-four, PokerGrump, added in a recent post about cashing out at Bodog where he was given an ATM-type card instead of cash with a bunch of loopholes and fees attached to it (read the post as he explains all the fine print).  Is this the direction we're going to avoid the UIGEA?  Or until the government finally allows us to go back to the good ol' days of NetTeller and wire MY money as quickly as needed? 

We shall see as Bodog wrote to me a few days ago telling me I had more than happy meal money in my account to cash out should I not want to play there. Thanks to the cancelled checks I feel like I had just split the uprights for the game-winning 37 yard field goal and as the guys were carrying me off the field Rex Ryan comes over to laugh in my face as he called a time-out right before I was to get in the hot tub with the Dahm triplets and I needed to compose myself for another try.

Neither site has commented on the ability to try again, and the 2+2 threads on the matter do not show much light as to people receiving and clearing a second check.  As told, I "need" those degen funds before escaping the sub-arctic temps of Minnesota for the poker felts of Vegas.  The question is, will I be on a budget and just enjoy the fact that I'm surrounded by good friends that I only get to see 2 or 3 times a year, or will "bet more" be in play making airplane noises at Excal playing 4am craps?

Tuesday, November 09, 2010

Just putting a pen down and writing

It's taking out the overstuffed garbage with the last bit of your wife's BBQ meatball grinder tray that fed the dozen or so friends that came out to spend a day trading landscaping work for decent beer and food.  Standing in the driveway with a fading sunset and hues of dark red climbing beyond the wall between your place and those with net incomes that will be attained sometime close to retirement.  The delicate balance between being responsible and giving up is a juggling act that most people lean towards punching their time cards five days a week at the same time or with enough regularity that the in-house Starbucks barista has your triple no-foam mocha Grande espresso  ready before punching up Microsoft Outlook to see the balance of inane meetings and fake smiles for the day.
Getting in a routine is good for goal-setting and attaining.  Each day the work gets done to the point that the pile of dishes are not resembling something you'd see an art museum next to the human vagina project that the state paid $100,000 for someone to simulate menstruation every fourth week of the month inside of glass box.  Routine of sleep, work, kids, homework, sleep gets broken briefly with self-imposed time-outs for imbibing in a few adult beverages without worries that your essay on Anne Bradstreet's "To my dear and loving husband" written with the help of rum and a deep love for my fellow routine task-master.  She's more than that, my friends are more than that, I am more than that, there's needs to be a point of satisfaction and despite having everything I could possibly want, the bottomless hole of want never gets filled.  It's not a bigger TV, house, or cool phone that produces perfectly slow-cooked ribs with a touch of a button, and achievements won't slow this down either.  No amount of "employee of the month" or Dean's List certificates (although I'm a little proud of that fact and hope to continue to carry a nerdy GPA until graduation in 2013) will stop the cold chill feeling like I need more.

More what?  It's dark, shapeless, odorless, tasteless, it's carbon dioxide, there's no stanza to describe the more that is needed to feel whole.  Do you give up the routine that keeps you buckled down enough to enjoy those who are kind enough to put up with your quirks and earn enough monetary funds that society accepts you as a productive member.  I thought going back to school would fill a void, and it does on a resume and more to the fact that the cobwebs upstairs needed cleaning.  But, I've also learned that I will never be completely satisfied no matter the amount of small glimpse of joy like sex, a Vikings victory, or the feeling my kids or wife give me with an unconditional embrace.  The latter keeps me going at 11pm after getting up for work at 4:30am while trying to figure out the present value of a $400,000 bond with a 12% contract rate and 11% interest rate paying semi-annually and how to book it properly. 

Maybe someone at the Geisha Bar or a Pai Gow table while surrounded by my very good friends in one month could sit down with me under similar intoxication explain how they "got there".  Or least how they look at themselves daily in the mirror and say "I'm pretty ok with you today, so don't fuck it up".   I apologize for my usual no structure writing but I've found that my "Nuke" Laloosh form of posting is my voice since that's also the way I threw a baseball for the Osseo Orioles 18 years ago.

In the WPBT news "Team Procedure" captained by BadBlood is looking for a wing-man (or woman) to fill out their feeble attempts to overtake Team SKOL at the Up For Poker last longer portion of the Winter Classic sponsored by PokerStars.  My advice...  don't arm wrestle The Mark left handed, drink whatever is put in front of your with a smile, and if you want to keep your winnings don't join those two degens at the PLO table afterwards.

29 days, get my birthday presents ready folks, I have high demands.  Like smiles, drinks, and tales of Superpanchos while discussing who gets the dragon hand in Pai Gow.

Thursday, November 04, 2010

Heidi Montag's Tits are the Nation's Financial Problem

Kid Dynamite - Former Wall Street Trader and Vegas crusher (seriously go read ANY of his Vegas trip reports, it's a level of degeneracy I strive for myself but never get there) turned meat grinder/home garden extraordinaire packs mostly financial news with enough layman terms sprinkled in so someone like myself can understand TARPs and other news concerning our government handing out money to those who cry because they had to do away with their third Bentley.

Seriously go read, he's like a Rosetta Stone for finance. 

Anyway, there was post on someone named Paul Krugman whom I'd never heard of since my reading and media interactions are mostly poker blogs and watching Johnny Test, SpongeBob, and Literary textbooks for school.   Anyway Mr. Krugman apparently slammed people like myself who having been saving versus spending in recent years and trying to be as fiscially responsible as a good degen can be (sorry but the siren calls of Pai Gow bonus bets and Mr. Cashman slots MUST BE ANSWERED! I didn't completely neuter myself after marriage and kids).  Me and my wife both work full-time, getting up at 4:30am every day during the week and get home around 5pm, then dinner, taking the kids to swimming/dancing/skating/advanced assassin techniques for ninjas class level three then around eight or nine I start to study since I returned to school full time.  Oh, and she also works occasionally at a senior citizen function while I help out with the Sunday Majors coverage at PokerStarsBlog.  All this to pay a mortgage that is barely above water (no we did not buy "too much house" it's barely 1,400 square feet and 30 years old so take those arguments elsewhere) but on the good side our cars are paid off and we carry no credit card debt which allows us to live a little instead of going dumpster diving for half eaten ramen noodles.

The reason I mention the above was after reading a story about a chick who is more plastic than my daughter's Barbie dolls "Heidi Montag files bankruptcy after blowing $10 million".  My point isn't the money since this nation's elite need to buy rich things and do or have done something to earn that money.  It's their prerogative (ok, busting out Bobby Brown since you can't say that word without the song popping in your head)

Ah, ah, ah. THAT'S MY MY MY PREROGATIVE ... Oh welcome back.  Montag.  The whole irk behind her "financial woes" lies behind her spending something she never earned. "We thought The Hills would be like 90210" was the excuse.  Can I please punch her in one of those over-inflated tits please?  Why should semi-decent hard-working folks like myself slave over humping crappy jobs when we could be snorting coke off high priced stripper's asses at Cheetah's and playing poker with Doyle Brunson?  Just charge it, lose my house because I can't even afford the minimum payments on my 15 maxed credit cards?  Fuck you!  I'm ENTITLED to my house, you're going to throw out a family of four because I can't pay my obligations?  /internet sarcasm

I don't know when or why people in this country got to the point that don't feel responsible for their actions or even try to rectify the issue "I almost stripped for Playboy until my parents took us in!" says Montag.  Well, I don't have DDs or a vagina for that matter, so my chances of doing something on a similar last-ditch effort are slim to none, can't even spooge in a cup for cash since not producing another child we can't afford seemed responsible.

Responsiblity has a price, if a little sanity is the cost, I'm ok with paying it so I can look at myself in the mirror in the morning and only hate the fact that I root for a football team which enjoys torturing its fans year after disappointing year. 

34 days.

Wednesday, November 03, 2010

A Rolling Moss Gathers No Wins

My favorite football team continues yet another epic collapse.  This isn't the 1983 season where Les Steckel dropped a 3-13 bomb on this franchise with coaching ineptitude unseen until, well, now.  Brad Childress has shown this year that he is a staff accountant trying to do the CFO's job.  Last year was an aberration in a few plays that went their way, no injuries to the ghost of a Hall of Fame quarterback and his favorite receiver.  No quarrels with star players that will quit on 3/4th of the plays as I'll give Favre credit here as being someone who will put his best effort forward despite a coach with granite in his ears and similar legs for moving in a different direction when the first plan doesn't work.

Then you have Randy Moss.  A true Viking, another future Hall of Famer who had returned to the team after a few games to seemingly take the place of Sidney Rice (who took some horrible career advice and delayed his hip surgery enough to take him out this all-star lineup).  He caught Favre's 500th touchdown, much joy returned to Mudville as with the unseasonably warm weather up here just kept getting brighter. Since I personally was not eating with the team on Friday, to expound on the catering incident isn't right.  I wasn't there and can only read about what happened and offer editorals like Sportcenter ran off for the past 24 hours.  It could be a product of the Vikings' PR machine trying to save its battered coach's face, but now that the owner of the restaurant is being quoted:

Tinucci's co-owner Gus Tinucci said Tuesday. "(Moss) he comes in, and I'm helping one of the guys and didn't look up, and all of a sudden I heard, 'What the (expletive) is this? I wouldn't feed this (expletive expletive) to my (expletive) dog!' And he's screaming it at the top of his lungs.

It's hard to think Moss' return had anything with wanting another shot at 1998.  Can we blame the coach?  After all it is his responsiblity to manage the talent, as it's the owner's job to make that talent available. Childress didn't sell the program to Moss, or Moss is just an insufferable prima donna bitch, or both.  Either way the season that could have been, is mired right now in confusion with a future that has a "must-win" this week, and the next, and the next, and the next.  If there's a poker analogy, the Vikings are stuck five buy-ins looking to get even and just mortgaged the house to get back in the game.  Playing scared isn't an option, they need leadership in that locker room, they need Jared Allen to rebirth Mullet Nation and find his competitive fire after getting married becoming that guy who says he can't come out with the boys tonight, they need someone besides Brad Childress who can't fire up a lighter soaked piece of wood with a spark hanging over the top of it.

/end rant

In other news, there's 35 days until my birthday party in Las Vegas.  I hope a few of you drop by as social media doesn't give what a drink and smile do.