Alive and Well in Vegas

Laying here in my hotel room at The Riviera...where I have once again scored a sick, sick deal ($150 per week) for this road trip, watching the Saints...who have turned the ball over now 5 times and counting...and trail in the 3rd quarter 20-14...but for some reason I have no DOUBT they are going to win this game.

I know most of you were expecting some awesomely hilarious story about my trip on the Greyhound yesterday. But damn, sorry to disappoint you all...but it just didn't transpire. Greyhound has a fleet of new busses, deemed the 'Blue' busses, that are equipped with electrical outlets, WiFi and lots of leg room. Most of them are on the East Coast...but a few have made it out west. I got lucky and got a blue bus.

Waiting on the bus I had a guy plop down next to me who was a sever burn victim. He had like two stubs on each hand...had no ears, and had what looked like hair that was similar to the Chia Pet hair. It was tough to look at...but I also felt really sorry for the guy. How terrible to go through life like that. Then another guy was lurking around the bus station and ended up on my bus. He looked like the Scarecrow in Batman when he took that burlap sack off of his face. Had beat up clothes on and stunk. I don't know what happened to this guy...but I'm guessing heavy, heavy drug use. It was impossible to look at his face. I thought he was just milling around in the bus station, but when we took our 30 minute stop in Barstow he was there. Spooky. Guess he rode on our bus.

There was that one random piece of loose metal that was rattling up above...and was about to drive me nuts, until I put on the BOSE and blasted some music to drown it out. Before I got to the bus station, I looked at my Facebook wall and saw one of Kai Landry's greatest wall posts ever. I will share it with you...cuz it is an instant classic.

"Oh, enjoy my friend. The great petri dish of public transportation filled with Lysol resistant bus folk. It's fitting that your rotting carcass filled with dying, delusional dreams answered the "all aboard" call this morning. As you slowly congeal in that aluminum melting pot of desperation at 71 mph under the lonely desert sky I think you'll find new meaning to the words "sorrow," "lonely," and "repentance." And I think you'll find that as there's no management figure on the bus to actually complain to; save the bus driver who's too busy to deal with your petty ramblings and your nit-picky, hysterical grievances, e.g. my seat's too small, my soda's too warm, he keeps lookin at me, he's on MY SIDE of the arm divider, no fair, etc... that these huddled undocumented masses will bond together in an unholy bacterial ridden mutant alliance and swarm you in unison with canes, shivs, mace, tasers, brass kunckles, fists, knees and elbows. They might even proclaim "let's roll" before they attack you just to demean you. And as they bludgeon you to death, yes, they will be WHISTLING AND HUMMING the NAPA-Know-How commercial tune. Sometimes, Monkey, the entrants log does not equal the departing log. Sometimes they're one short. And you know what? It might be for the best. Their only problem? What to do with 206 overgrown freshly picked bones. They'll probably serve as souvenirs for the downtrodden. Stories. Trophies. Along with all your valuables, including your stupid Glade air-freshner you always bring with you...the one that didn't stand a chance this trip. No chance at all. Good luck."

It doesn't get much better than that. 

I enter today on the 5th day of my 'Lose 30 lbs before Carley Grace is born' diet. According to the program I have entered, I am permitted a grand total of 2163 calories a day...which I have discovered, is not very many. But I have stayed well under for the first four days...and already I feel like my gigantic gut is starting to disappear. Maybe I am just imagining that it's vanishing. But I am going to really stick to this. I last stepped on the scale Monday night at Barth's house...and its one of those kind that is very precise...granted, we had just feasted at City Diner with him and Vanessa...but still! It read 265. Huh!?? That's just unacceptable. Anywhere between 225 and 235 would be great. And all my clothes would fit again!

After I got here last night, I walked down to Venetian and played some cash game. There is a huge convention in town this week...bunch of computer industry dorks. And they were out in full force. The dead money on the table was disgusting. Only problem? I was getting it in good (very good) as usual and taking stupid, ridiculous beats. AK vs A8.... board goes 8-5-8-A-K. Nice!  Lost with trips about 4 times. I won't go into detail...it just sucked. I was in for $800 and was lucky to cash out with $420.

Speaking of talking in detail about hands. To the jackfuck who left the comment that I refused to publish because you are that same dinglefag who responds to my blog about once every three months, and always in very ignorant fashion...lets get a couple things clear. You talk about my 'vacation of spending my backer's money' that I am currently on? Well, tardball, I have no had a backer now since November. We ended our relationship. I have been playing on Monkey Credits now for my last three events...and will for my next two or three. Keep up, caveboy. 

Trying to remember what other stupid statements you made. Something about not revealing my thoughts on hand play because I come off sounding like a stupid poker player? Well...hey, that's cool. If you think I'm stupid, marvelous. Guess what? Don't really care what you think. Was there more? Can't remember. Don't care. But please...go slither back into your hole, or your 9-5 cubicle and wish you could do what me and others like me get to do. Oh! But don't worry, I could very possibly be joining the ranks of the employed come April, when my baby arrives. I will NOT be the road warrior I have been for the past 6 years. And if that means I have to get a job...I will. Whatever it takes to provide for my child, and make sure she has a Dad around to raise her.

So...the last day in LA? It was a real douzy. Played the turbo $345 at noon. Everything was going great. Then came back from the break after level 12 and the wheels completely fell off. Lost like 5 hands in a row....and was out. I was pretty annoyed. Went and played a stupid $80 SNG and that ended early also. Got caught up in a hand where I had pot odds to call a 5x raise with about 7 callers holding A7...and had the misfortune of flopping 7-high with two clubs (I was suited clubs) and check raised all in....into QQ...which held. Whooops. Still, had to like my possible 14 outs to win.

So next up? They have this tourney that is a 7-day shit show. At 1pm and 6pm, you play for $125...and a one-time $100 rebuy/add-on that you can't NOT take...since its good for 7k chips....compared to the 5k you start with. They are doing this for 6 days in a row. Those who make it to the end of the night...bag their chips and come back next Wednesday to play with the other who remain. They are labeling it a $500k guarantee.You can play as many times as you want. Sounds like a good way to lose $2000. Well, I decided I would play it...try to get hot...build a nice stack, bag my chips...then come back next week and take my shot.

Fuck all that. You should have seen the assclowns who turned out for this event. The over-betting preflop was comical. The guys who raise 8x preflop then check-check-check all the way to the river when their AJ thru AK don't hit were the best. Or the guy in the BB who would call a huge raise followed by four callers...then shove all in with K7 on an ace high board. Solid play sir.

I managed to win a couple of decent pots early. Then with 3 limpers behind me for 100...I make it 350 with KQs. I get the virtually the whole table calling. Awesome. Oh wait. I flop K-Q-4. One club. Sweet. Checks to me. I bet 875. Three callers. Huh? Just so you know where I am....I am about to lose to J9c. Yes...he called with a gutshot. A reoccurring theme in LA. The next card was the 6 clubs. He checks. I bet 2200. Other guy folds. He calls. River is the 2 of clubs. He checks again. I bet 2500. He moves all in for 3000. Can't fold. See his flush. Cringe. Table breaks.

Go to new table...with a paltry stack. But still holding my rebuy. So when a guy utg makes it 350 and gets 5 callers...I shove all in for 1900 with 22. The first raiser is the only one who calls, and I ask him to show me a big ace....which he does. AQ. Okay, I'm ahead, and hoping all his face cards are dead with all the other folders. Nope. He flops not one queen, but two. Lovely. REBUY!

Right about this time....I hear this dork chirping about something that obviously had to do with me somehow. I am listening to explicit comedy on Pandora on my iPad and scrolling through emails and Facebook messages. Oh! Guess what we have here? Yep...one of those idiots who clearly doesn't get out much...and is calling my iPad a 'computer' and questions it being allowed at the table. 

Look at this clown. He has obviously gleened his poker image from watching TV or reading Bluff magazine a few times too many. The hood, the aviator glasses...what an idiot. And his game was brutally bad.  But not knowing what a damn iPad was? Really dude?

"I'm not saying I care, I'm just wondering what the rule is...that's all!"

Yeah right joker. Like that weasel bag in high school who didn't care if people were smoking behind the gym...they just wondered if it was allowed, so they asked the principal if it was or not. Dude...please! You are just a douchebag. A whiny ass 50+ year old, trying to be younger...douchebag. If it didn't bother you...than why would you even bring it up?

I get into a war of words with this jerkoff...until finally he lets fly with the ever FEARED EFF BOMB...which in LA is a super big deal, kind of how exposing a card accidentally in New Orleans was. So I look at the dealer and mention that he just broke a rule. She sits there...stupefied, one of their own house dealers...who for the most part...were all pretty stupid in general. Then it goes back and forth a little bit more...and he tells me to fuck off. Really? Now finally, half the table cries out for the floor. Floor arrives...things are explained. He gets a penalty. And is told my iPad is perfectly fine being at and on the table.

So once he gets done serving his penalty and limps in for 150, I decide to call with 5-6off. I am going to try and drop-kick this putz out of the tourney. No one raises. The flop comes A-3-4. Not bad. Not bad. This is where things get...well 2011'ish.

This punk black kid in the big blind...who had been talking shit after winning his last hand against another guy...leads out for 350. It folds to me. I raise it to 1100. It folds back to him. He starts posturing. Then eye-balling my stack. I am picturing him standing on a street corner in Compton when a '65 tricked out Malibu filled with 8 gang members comes screaming around the corner...and starts shooting at him.....

Whoops...get lost in that fantasy...when he asks me how many chips I have. 

"Well, since I just took my rebuy...I guess I started the hand with 7,000." Dipshit.

So he calls. I turn the nuts. A nice little seven. He checks. I bet 1500...then quip "Gee, I wonder if I am fading a flush draw once again." He goes into his little act...and after hearing him run his face for about two minutes I figure out that he isn't on a flush draw at all. So when he raises to 4000, I tell him "now that was a mistake!"

"What was a mistake!??"   Me:  "You're raise. I'm all in."

And he snap calls...turns over A7....then groans when he sees my hand...which the rest of the table who had a clue all knew I had. Just not the idiot. Never the idiot. But what happened all 2011 with the idiot? You know the answer to this one. The idiot would river an ace. Uh huh. Of course he would. And that would result in the triple clapping of the hand...the always popular "That's what I'm talking about"...with a "Yeahhh boyyyy!" mixed in for added effect...and of course, the smirking of the idiot in the hood and glasses sitting next to him.

This is how things in poker are NOT supposed to work. That guy is supposed to lose. I am supposed to get his chips. I am supposed to run over the table, taking Unabomber-wanne-be with me...bag up a lot of chips, leave LA in a good to satisfactory mood, and come back next week to win a bundle of money. Instead...I collected my shit...got the hell out of there, and would like to invite LA to kiss my ass instead.

The score is now 23-17...with 4 minutes left, and the Saints driving. Lets go Saints.

And there goes Darren Sproles for a 44-yard touchdown pass from Mr. Brees. And wow! What a block by Jimmy Graham. Time to play some defense!

I think I have written enough for one day. Not sure what I am going to do tonight. Possibly go play the nightly at Venetian. Maybe another round of cash game. Not sure. Stay tuned....the West Coast Tour is about to start getting good!!!

MONKEY