Session #1
It's around 12:30pm in the great state of (Can't even tell the truth anymore because the future need of plausible deniability.) I woke up early than usual this afternoon with plans to get my life together. I've gotten so fat and pathetic I don't even want to **** much anymore. But with the right combination of Adderral and Cialis I'm still able to put on an all star performance when the opportunity presents itself.
Sans the times I got myself too torqued on the mediocre cocaine that goes around these parts now days. I wish I owned the necessary chemistry equipment to wash all the levamisole off it. While all of you worry about the shortage of food supplies here in Joe Biden's America due to the trucker vaccine mandates. I worry about the quality of cocaine becoming even worse.
If the mandates are held up that means every un-vaxxed driver that was on Paco's payroll to get his cocaine into America can no longer drive his drug route. Which means the supply of cocaine will go down. And in turn, Pookie and Ray Ray have to cut it with more levamisole. So **** you for ****ing up my good times if you support these vaccine mandates.
Anyway, back to getting my life together.
I step on my scale.
It reads 228lb, not kilograms, because I'm a god damn glorious American who refuses to use metrics unless I'm selling or buying drugs.
I also speak American, f*** calling it "English."
And I also write however the f*** I want to write.
Watch me piss n **** all over your college degrees and go back n forth between paste tense, present tense, third person, first person, blah, blah, blah.
You're in my thread now my friend.
My world.
I make...THE RULES.
(See how I made all of that more bold and powerful simply by the use of spacing?)
I am the wave of the future.
The wave that needs to get his weight back down to 199lb so I weeble waddle my fat ass into "The Vitamin Outlet."
I am greeted by a lady wearing a worthless blue mask she bought at Walmart that is not fit to wipe my 228lb ass.
"Was it your choice to wear that or did your boss mandate it?" I ask.
"It's for your protection and mine sir," she says.
I'm too hungover to decipher whether or not she's sincere, but I know no matter how she really feels what I'm about to do is going to leave a lasting impression. I smack a $5.00 USD bill on the counter and say, "Well, whatever the case that stupid blue mask isn't doing anything, why don't you use this to buy a N95?"
She laughs and says, "Sir. I don't need your money."
I say, "No. I insist you take it. But in exchange I ask for the truth. Don't give me no saleswoman on commission bull$hit, I need to know which pre-workout for sale is going to give me the most bang for my buck when it comes to getting all torqued up on caffeine. And I'm not scared of the warm tingles running all over my body. I used to snort a lot of cocaine and pop a lot of "Molly" while in college. So what do you got for me?"
She plays her poker hand well, I can't tell if she likes me or wants to kill me when she recommends "Dr. Hyde."
Because I've tried "Dr. Hyde" pre-workout and it's essentially "Crystal Meth."
WAIT...DID YOU JUST SAY YOU'VE SMOKED CRYSTAL METH?
(You like that? Me breaking the 4th or 5th wall or whatever you art & writing goobers call it?)
(Yeah, when I read your dumb ass thoughts it's in italics, when I respond it's in "("...")"....I'm too high on adderall to remember what they're called.)
Anyway, so I reply, "What are you trying to do? Explode my heart? That $hit should be illegal!"
She laughs again, and I would say "smiles," but I can't tell for sure underneath that stupid piece of toilet paper she's wearing over her mouth that she thinks can stop or slow a virus. However, I stongly feel she gets my vibe when she says, "I bet you would like to get yourself "Bucked Up."
Then proceeds to show me some pre-workout with a big deer and antlers on it that contains probably around 1% of the stuff Ray Lewis had himself all jacked up on in that 2012 Super Bowl when he had the black "Bionic Commando" arm.
(Yeah, I just repped "Bionic Commando," that should get me at least 10% of the $10,000 stake I need right there.)
I say, "Sold to the fat man in Under Armor."
She proceeds to check me out.
And if she's lucky the next time I go back I might ask her for her number.
After my workout and subsequent stairmaster session I decide to weeble wabble my fat ass home because tonight's the big night.
My return to live cash game poker.
I decide to show up wearing a mask with "Scamdemic" imprinted on it.
And no, I'm not one of those who deny Covid-19 exists, I'm just one that has questioned the narrative surrounding it since it first came to America. And I'm also one of those that's going to roll with my 99.9% chance of survival rate instead of take an experimental vaccine that can't stop me from getting the virus or spreading the virus. My mask is more to irritate people and rile the poker table.
(Actually, wait, who am I kidding? I mean to rile the entire room. I don't drive to the casino to make friends. You shouldn't either. And if you need reasons for me stating that, one would be you're going to lose all sorts of money on your value
hands.)
So I arrive to the casino and I sign onto the waiting list as "The Dish Washer."
Why "The Dish Washer?" You ask.
(Because that's the last real job I ever had. Hustling of some sort is all I've ever know. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to work for or underneath any of you people. If I ever had to do it I'd have surely died of an opiate addiction or heart attack in some cheap hotel after I fukked a low grade hooker by now. But fortunately for you all I'm still here.)
While I wait I size up the most move table I'm going to be trapped at for a few hours. It's mostly all dusty ass, crusty ass, musty ass nits sitting on fatstacks and one whale they keep harpooning. By the looks of these nits stacks I'm guessing the whale is down well over $5,000. Finally, the whale goes broke and have to sit at this moldy ass must move table.
"Hit and Run" mode engaged.
I start min raising every $2/$5 Pot Limit Omaha pot to $10 and if anyone raises to $15 or $20 in front of me I just immediately double it and open back up the raising. This infuriates PLO players. It eats at the very fiber that is their soul. It rattles them to their core. But, what's great about it when you do it to deep stacked nits is that they will only 4bet you with AAxx type hands.
So when they do, you can take a hand like Qs8s6d4c to the flop in an $80-$100 to go pre-flop pot, have isolation, and know the NIT is only barreling with a non-nut ace high flush draw or a very favorable flop.
If he's check/calling or betting, then just calling your re-raise he's almost always being stubborn and it's easy to rack these idiots for 1k-2k with just a mediocre two pair. Then when you do they go on super mega monkey tilt and start to play all sorts of erratic. Or better yet, they rack up and leave which opens a seat for a potential whale.
On this night, my plan works to perfection, I go up around $1,000 early and proceed to tell the entire table I'm going to make them wish they stayed home and fukked their wife that hates them. Or spend time with their kids that hate them. Maximum annoyance level. The key to live cash game poker it to always irritate and **** with the Nits, pros, and the moderate winning grinders.
The $hit regs, fish, whales, and action junkies you want to entertain.
This session was played on a Thursday, Friday, or Saturday. A party night where I have other options besides playing poker. So like I said, I planned to hit + run and did just that.
Booked a $1,400 win.
And it's important to do that as well when you're only playing on a $10,000 roll. Any time you have 10% or more of your net poker worth on the table you should always book the win. If you're wondering why I'm on such a short roll it's because when "Scamdemic" took poker away I got into buying, fixing up houses, and re-selling them.
That's all for now young grasshoppers.
