Thursday, March 24, 2005

Stay Classy

My thoughts on last night's stalled drive toward the top of the tournament leader board/WSOP freeroll, courtesy of (a paraphrased) Ron Burgandy:

"Go fuck yourself, Poker Stars."

Bitter, party of me.

But I shant whine about bad beats, all of which occurred within 15 minutes of each other at Levels 3 and 4. I will, however, present them here without judgement or observation:

1. My AA goes down to TT, him all-in pre-flop, with a ten on the river.
2. My 99 goes down to A5s (who called my pre-flop all-in), despite me flopping a set of 9s because of runner-runner for the straight.
3. My TPTK with AJs goes down to pocket 7s, who calls my flop all-in, and turns a set.

The end result is that I turned off the computer--roughly--and did puzzles with The Boy for the remainder of the evening. It was a good, calming time. He was so appreciative of my attention, in fact, that he climbed into bed with us around 4 a.m. and promptly peed all over me.

It's been a rough 14 hours.

Oh well, my misfortunes pale in comparison to, say, Pat O'Brien, who, in addition to public humiliation, apparently has a fairly limited vocabulary. He's a communications professional ferchrissakes! He can't come up with anything other than "you're so fucking hot" and "let's go crazy?"

So, listening to Pat is definitely a cheering up experience. So is watching the future fighter pilots of America get their groove on. I shouldn't laugh. Who among us wouldn't cringe if a camera caught us doing some of the things we do when we think we're alone? Aw, who am I kidding? This goofball is hilarious. Especially when he sits down at the end, but the rhythm has most definitely got him and he has to get back up again. By the way, C&C Music Factory? Is that REALLY the best we can do for dance music in the 21st century? Not that I'm an expert. I only dance under threat of imprisonment and am therefore not up on the advances in the genre. But surely...

I have little to offer today. I'll leave you with a separated at birth, the perfect hackneyed device for my uncreative self:

Oakland A's outfielder Bobby Kielty
Heat Miser


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