You Either Get It or You Don't
Ah, The Mook. A good ride for me, to be sure. I only got my money in behind once (the last time) and I won every race (six of them, I think) to that point, flopping sets twice. Pause to reflect on that. I. Won. Every. Race. Another 8,000 of those in a row and I'll be statistically normal. I also got AA v. KK and JJ v. TT.
Fear the Cap.
Alas, all was not well. Some people play such fucking bad poker that I can't hold my tongue any longer. Furthermore, all those people are ugly.
It started early. A raised in Level Two with AA. This moron calls me with suited connectors, 98 I think. And then he/she chased their gutshot/pair draw all the way. I stacked 'em, but because of my intellectual superiority and smashing good looks, I could not countenance the play regardless. So, naturally, I let loose on 'em in chat, insulting not only the play, but lineage, musical taste and fashion sense.
That felt good. In fact, it made me feel wonderful about myself, by which I mean even more wonderful than my massive narcissism usually dicates.
Next, I re-raise this dumb fuck with JJ and it pushes with tens. TENS! AGAINST ME! Hilarious. Me, unassailably perfect in all ways. My jacks held up and I launched into a diatribe, though it was mostly aimed at it's spouse, who has a problem with eating boogers. HA! Score one for me.
Down to four tables, and I'm surrounded by mouth-breathers, this one in particular. Whomever this person is, they would not shut their effing trap, so I shut it for 'em. I am I. Do not question me. I am infallable. Also, I have a bigger stack and cock and bank account than you. You wanna play heads up for mortgages? Anytime.
Well, for some reason, my transcendant ability, natural charm and washboard abs were not getting through to these people. Honestly, I don't know from which swamp they have crawled from. But they kept trying to play poker with me. ME! Calling my raises and shit. Hilarious.
I busted a Cro-Mag to make the final table. He typed in 'nh' on his way out and I gave him a kick to help him on his way. "Of course it's a nice hand, dipshit! I am Joe Speaker! Why would you dare question me, let alone attempt to scale the poker fortress which I have lovingly built over the past years with my stellar skills and off-the-charts IQ! Why must I prove it to you people over and over by stomping you with ease and then making sure to point out your ass barely fits in a poker chair?"
Someday y'all might learn. Just quit with the shit and worship me. It will make it a lot easier on you. Whatever I say, just repeat it as gospel. "Yes, master," will suffice, as well. I am not interested in your thoughts. There is only one way to play poker and it's my way.
I finished third. Only because I wanted to. I was irrevocably titled by all you assholes. I just wanted to have sex with my supermodel girlfriends, four of whom who had taken turns blowing me and making me spaghetti during the proceedings. Again, you will never be as good as me. Remember that, tell me how awesome I am in your blogs, do not look me in the eye--EVER!--and thank your personal Diety every night for the good fortune you have to get to play poker against me on occassion.
Do these things consistently and I might let you make me spaghetti.