"I'm sorry, Jonny, I don't remember"
Ok, so a little catch up.
As many of you know, on my way back from Port Jervis and Milford (where we most definitely did NOT see Ethan Embry at some shit bar) I decided to stop in Good ol' Scranton to hit up Dave's and pick up my fix of comics.
Dave's is on linden, on the same block as flashbacks, so I parked the Patmobile (my ghetto seventeen-year-old buick) in front of the Government building/post office.
Where it promptly exploded.
AAA towed me to their garage, where they managed to jump that starter so I could drive home. I was told it was a starter problem. when I took it to the shop, this turned out not to be the case. The garage guy informed me that he thinks "there is a falty circuit that failed, creating a feedback in the on-board electrical system, shorting out the starters central processor."......... yeah. ok. It's an 86 Park Ave, not the starship fuckin' Enterprise.
So he tells me it will take a long time to fix the problem, and an assload of money. This sucks.
Pat not happy.
But he gets even less happy come last tuesday when I go to the dentist.
Now, before I continue, some background info:
I hate dentists.
I'm an anti-dentite.
Hate them.
they fall just below clowns on my shit list.
My teeth are uber sensitive. Breathing in through my mouth with my teeth gritted, is the eqiuvalent for me of clamping jumper cables wired to a nuclear plant directly onto my testicles.
My teeth suck. And they hurt on a good day. Last time I got a tooth drilled, I couldn't drink on my right side for a year thanks to that fat, jewish (sorry brad) butcher.
That's why I didn't go back to the dentist for two years. But this new place is called "Gentle Dental" and more importantly, they have nitrous. So I tell this lady (who's russian) that I NEED to be gassed. when she asked if I wanted the novacaine shot now or after the gas, I said "now. and make it a double." needles don't scare me.
Nitrous is AWESOME by the way. If you haven't tried it, I suggest you do so at your next earliest convenience. They say you know what's going on, you just don't care... that's not quite accurate. You care... you just find everything amusing.
Like when she's drilling my second cavatie and I feel it like a motherfucker and she gives me another shot of novacaine, then tells me "you are a candidate for a root canal, but I don't want to do this..." (In heavy russian accent) "There is convtrovercial procedure which has been successful... I do this procedure on friends and family... it real good..... I wouldn't perform it on old person, but you are young... there is excellent chance you will survive."
The bitch told me there was a good chance I'd survive.
I know she meant the tooth and the nerve, but still, when you're drugged up, that ain't the shit you want to hear. At this point all I'm hearing is "ROOT CANAL, moose and squirl, ROOT CANAL, moose and squirl." and I'm finding this whole situation HILARIOUS.
So she does it and it works.
But before it does, I present you with the top ten things you DON'T want to hear with your mouth pried open and your dentist reaching in with very dangerous objects.
5. Wow... there's not much left... I think we can rebuild the tooth...
4. This is what happens when you don't floss (cue drill sound)
3. Call James in here, he HAS to see this....
2. I can't believe it's still bleeding...
and the number one thing, you don't want your dentist to say with her hands in your mouth....
1. Oh Shi -- NURSE!!!
But the good news is she gave me vicoden. Score.
So wed night is so much better. Geoff, Zam, Raymond, William and myself go down to Atlantic City and we rock the two-four poker tables at the Borgotta.
And who made three hundred dollars? Oh that's right. I did.
People at the table were scared around me. One dude thought I was a shark he'd played against at the Taj.
There's nothing quite like sitting pretty behind your mountain of chips, enjoying the hateful stares of your fellow players.
I was on cloud nine
Untill I got home Thursday morning and found out my car would probably cost more than I made.
Bullshit.
So after a few days of hellish work, we hit up the Borgotta again last night.
Not so good as wednesday. I sit down at a bad table and in the course of a few well played, but bad luck hands, I'm down 40. Then 60. Then it's off to Mac. Now I'm down 80. now 90. with ten dollars left, I move to the table my boys are sitting at.
I play it safe. Punking out early unless I'm holding a monster or I'm big blind and everyone checks the flop.
I start making it back. Suddenly I'm even. The Boys (zam, Geoff, Bill) decide to leave, it's about 330 in the morning. But I'm not done. I'm on a run now. I'm up 50.
a hundred.
a hundred fifty. I should leave now. But I don't
It's 430 in the morning when it happens.
Pat's rule for poker #123:
When asians in sunglasses carrying bags containing over four hundred one-dollar chips sit down at your table, PEACE THE FUCK OUT.
but I didn't, cause I'm an ass.
These guys all know each other and they're betting like crazy. I'm holding my own, but I'm definitely on the defensive. They were nice guys, they were just damn good players and they knew it.
Now I'm only up a hundred. now fifty. now I'm down ten.
They're saying I'm playing well and not too feel bad, since I'm the only one left and they drove everyone else away (this did NOT comfort me).
I'm down money again. I'm not happy.
After the flop, it's just me and this dude Eli. The only white dude to sit down with this asian duo. They're all friends, but he's the keith of the trio. They make fun of him incessently, but he is a damn good player. (similar to Keith in the making-fun-of part, not the good player part)
So I'm dealt a pair of bullets. The flop is nine-seven-nine.
If this Eli character (I know his name, cause all I heard from the dynamic asian duo was "Get out, ELI. No playing air hold 'em, ELI."
now if he has a nine, I'm fucked. He could also have flopped a flush or straight draw.
The way he's betting, you'd think he had a pair of cowboys and was positive the turn and the river would each be a king.
he raises.
I re-raise.
he re-raises.
It's a showdown so we're just knocking the cap off all bets. This pot is getting huge.
The next card is an 8. not good, since it helped his straight, flush, possible straight flush draw. I'm getting nervous, but I keep raising.
And then comes the river.
and the river was good to me. an Ace.
I'm sitting on a monster.
full boat.
Aces full of nines.
the sledgehammer.
I bet.
he raises.
I re-raise.
he calls...
It was the call that let me know he had shit.
and he did.
I throw my cards, and just nail him with the sledgehammer. The table erupts. The asians are going nuts. The way they were reacting, you'd think David Hasslehoff was performing on the table, with two 10 year old catholic school girl geishas dancing the "rerry honorable dance o' rove" next to him, throwing nintendos everywhere.
They loved that shit.
all I heard was "ELI!... ELI he hit you with the Sledgehammer! He sledgehammered you, ELI! No air hold 'em ELI!"
It's five thirty in the morning, I'm a hundred up, so I decide to leave.
It was a great ending to a tumultuous night, but still, not nearly as profitable as last wed.
Ah well, we're going back tomorrow night, and it'll be the last AC trip before school, so we shall see if the poker gods will shine their magical luck powers on me.
Well you know the old saying, "unlucky at love.....
lucky at cards, douchebag"
anyhoo, I think that catches us up for a while, I have no idea. It's mad early and I got work soon.
Snoogans.
As many of you know, on my way back from Port Jervis and Milford (where we most definitely did NOT see Ethan Embry at some shit bar) I decided to stop in Good ol' Scranton to hit up Dave's and pick up my fix of comics.
Dave's is on linden, on the same block as flashbacks, so I parked the Patmobile (my ghetto seventeen-year-old buick) in front of the Government building/post office.
Where it promptly exploded.
AAA towed me to their garage, where they managed to jump that starter so I could drive home. I was told it was a starter problem. when I took it to the shop, this turned out not to be the case. The garage guy informed me that he thinks "there is a falty circuit that failed, creating a feedback in the on-board electrical system, shorting out the starters central processor."......... yeah. ok. It's an 86 Park Ave, not the starship fuckin' Enterprise.
So he tells me it will take a long time to fix the problem, and an assload of money. This sucks.
Pat not happy.
But he gets even less happy come last tuesday when I go to the dentist.
Now, before I continue, some background info:
I hate dentists.
I'm an anti-dentite.
Hate them.
they fall just below clowns on my shit list.
My teeth are uber sensitive. Breathing in through my mouth with my teeth gritted, is the eqiuvalent for me of clamping jumper cables wired to a nuclear plant directly onto my testicles.
My teeth suck. And they hurt on a good day. Last time I got a tooth drilled, I couldn't drink on my right side for a year thanks to that fat, jewish (sorry brad) butcher.
That's why I didn't go back to the dentist for two years. But this new place is called "Gentle Dental" and more importantly, they have nitrous. So I tell this lady (who's russian) that I NEED to be gassed. when she asked if I wanted the novacaine shot now or after the gas, I said "now. and make it a double." needles don't scare me.
Nitrous is AWESOME by the way. If you haven't tried it, I suggest you do so at your next earliest convenience. They say you know what's going on, you just don't care... that's not quite accurate. You care... you just find everything amusing.
Like when she's drilling my second cavatie and I feel it like a motherfucker and she gives me another shot of novacaine, then tells me "you are a candidate for a root canal, but I don't want to do this..." (In heavy russian accent) "There is convtrovercial procedure which has been successful... I do this procedure on friends and family... it real good..... I wouldn't perform it on old person, but you are young... there is excellent chance you will survive."
The bitch told me there was a good chance I'd survive.
I know she meant the tooth and the nerve, but still, when you're drugged up, that ain't the shit you want to hear. At this point all I'm hearing is "ROOT CANAL, moose and squirl, ROOT CANAL, moose and squirl." and I'm finding this whole situation HILARIOUS.
So she does it and it works.
But before it does, I present you with the top ten things you DON'T want to hear with your mouth pried open and your dentist reaching in with very dangerous objects.
5. Wow... there's not much left... I think we can rebuild the tooth...
4. This is what happens when you don't floss (cue drill sound)
3. Call James in here, he HAS to see this....
2. I can't believe it's still bleeding...
and the number one thing, you don't want your dentist to say with her hands in your mouth....
1. Oh Shi -- NURSE!!!
But the good news is she gave me vicoden. Score.
So wed night is so much better. Geoff, Zam, Raymond, William and myself go down to Atlantic City and we rock the two-four poker tables at the Borgotta.
And who made three hundred dollars? Oh that's right. I did.
People at the table were scared around me. One dude thought I was a shark he'd played against at the Taj.
There's nothing quite like sitting pretty behind your mountain of chips, enjoying the hateful stares of your fellow players.
I was on cloud nine
Untill I got home Thursday morning and found out my car would probably cost more than I made.
Bullshit.
So after a few days of hellish work, we hit up the Borgotta again last night.
Not so good as wednesday. I sit down at a bad table and in the course of a few well played, but bad luck hands, I'm down 40. Then 60. Then it's off to Mac. Now I'm down 80. now 90. with ten dollars left, I move to the table my boys are sitting at.
I play it safe. Punking out early unless I'm holding a monster or I'm big blind and everyone checks the flop.
I start making it back. Suddenly I'm even. The Boys (zam, Geoff, Bill) decide to leave, it's about 330 in the morning. But I'm not done. I'm on a run now. I'm up 50.
a hundred.
a hundred fifty. I should leave now. But I don't
It's 430 in the morning when it happens.
Pat's rule for poker #123:
When asians in sunglasses carrying bags containing over four hundred one-dollar chips sit down at your table, PEACE THE FUCK OUT.
but I didn't, cause I'm an ass.
These guys all know each other and they're betting like crazy. I'm holding my own, but I'm definitely on the defensive. They were nice guys, they were just damn good players and they knew it.
Now I'm only up a hundred. now fifty. now I'm down ten.
They're saying I'm playing well and not too feel bad, since I'm the only one left and they drove everyone else away (this did NOT comfort me).
I'm down money again. I'm not happy.
After the flop, it's just me and this dude Eli. The only white dude to sit down with this asian duo. They're all friends, but he's the keith of the trio. They make fun of him incessently, but he is a damn good player. (similar to Keith in the making-fun-of part, not the good player part)
So I'm dealt a pair of bullets. The flop is nine-seven-nine.
If this Eli character (I know his name, cause all I heard from the dynamic asian duo was "Get out, ELI. No playing air hold 'em, ELI."
now if he has a nine, I'm fucked. He could also have flopped a flush or straight draw.
The way he's betting, you'd think he had a pair of cowboys and was positive the turn and the river would each be a king.
he raises.
I re-raise.
he re-raises.
It's a showdown so we're just knocking the cap off all bets. This pot is getting huge.
The next card is an 8. not good, since it helped his straight, flush, possible straight flush draw. I'm getting nervous, but I keep raising.
And then comes the river.
and the river was good to me. an Ace.
I'm sitting on a monster.
full boat.
Aces full of nines.
the sledgehammer.
I bet.
he raises.
I re-raise.
he calls...
It was the call that let me know he had shit.
and he did.
I throw my cards, and just nail him with the sledgehammer. The table erupts. The asians are going nuts. The way they were reacting, you'd think David Hasslehoff was performing on the table, with two 10 year old catholic school girl geishas dancing the "rerry honorable dance o' rove" next to him, throwing nintendos everywhere.
They loved that shit.
all I heard was "ELI!... ELI he hit you with the Sledgehammer! He sledgehammered you, ELI! No air hold 'em ELI!"
It's five thirty in the morning, I'm a hundred up, so I decide to leave.
It was a great ending to a tumultuous night, but still, not nearly as profitable as last wed.
Ah well, we're going back tomorrow night, and it'll be the last AC trip before school, so we shall see if the poker gods will shine their magical luck powers on me.
Well you know the old saying, "unlucky at love.....
lucky at cards, douchebag"
anyhoo, I think that catches us up for a while, I have no idea. It's mad early and I got work soon.
Snoogans.