Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Still No Poker Content
I am getting HOSED at work. Details unimportant. Cannot play any online poker lately. Jeezus. Blog still needs to be updated
So instead, enjoy a tale from Hell Week pledging at my Penn State fraternity.
The Nastiest Thing I Have Ever Done, pt 1.
It was during Hell Week when I was pledging. We are continually drinking, stoned, sleep deprived, subjected to isolation, loud music and strobe lights. The effect is downright hallucinatory. Constantly repeating chants and songs keeps your conscious mind occupied, and you're being forced through increasingly insane games to keep you continually exhausted.
Eventually, you get so screwed into a state of WTF that you would do anything: You might even eat poo.
!!!
I am ripped out of the 100+ dB closet, blindfolded, and dragged to the bathroom. My captors throw me on my knees in front of a toilet. I smell shit, sweat, and dirt all around. My 'big brother', whom I have observed being ridiculed/ostracized for doing a terrible job 'raising' me, is hurriedly whispering in my ear, while four of my disappointed nemeses scream in the other:
"REACH YOUR HAND IN THAT TOILET AND GRAB THAT TURD, MAGGOT!!" 'dude, you have to do it, we all had to do it, just take a bite and spit it out' "YOU'RE SHIT AND YOU'RE GOING TO EAT SHIT HAHAHA PERFECT ISN'T IT" 'i've got an apple right here, and a toothbrush, just take a bite and spit it out hurry up do it fast' "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!! DO YOU WANT TO EAT TWO?!" 'don't let them make you eat two, Ogre is holding one in right now, they'll do it, just take the bite'
...until, adrenaline-charged, hackles-raised, and half-crazy, I SLAM my hand into the toilet and root around until I feel the hideously soft dooker rattling around in the bottom. I grab it, take a DEEEEEEEP breath AND JAM THE SHIT INTO MY MOUTH. OMG I AM EATING SHIT. My head almost explodes.
Cheers of victory all around, as I retch and puke into the toilet. My mouth, numb from hours of eating raw onions and lemons, is covered in butt-chunder. I want to wipe it away, but I'm being dragged off again by my arms. Finally, the taste begins to seep into my cracked lips and tongue.
Peanut Butter and Bananas. You Fuckers.
So instead, enjoy a tale from Hell Week pledging at my Penn State fraternity.
The Nastiest Thing I Have Ever Done, pt 1.
It was during Hell Week when I was pledging. We are continually drinking, stoned, sleep deprived, subjected to isolation, loud music and strobe lights. The effect is downright hallucinatory. Constantly repeating chants and songs keeps your conscious mind occupied, and you're being forced through increasingly insane games to keep you continually exhausted.
Eventually, you get so screwed into a state of WTF that you would do anything: You might even eat poo.
!!!
I am ripped out of the 100+ dB closet, blindfolded, and dragged to the bathroom. My captors throw me on my knees in front of a toilet. I smell shit, sweat, and dirt all around. My 'big brother', whom I have observed being ridiculed/ostracized for doing a terrible job 'raising' me, is hurriedly whispering in my ear, while four of my disappointed nemeses scream in the other:
"REACH YOUR HAND IN THAT TOILET AND GRAB THAT TURD, MAGGOT!!" 'dude, you have to do it, we all had to do it, just take a bite and spit it out' "YOU'RE SHIT AND YOU'RE GOING TO EAT SHIT HAHAHA PERFECT ISN'T IT" 'i've got an apple right here, and a toothbrush, just take a bite and spit it out hurry up do it fast' "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!! DO YOU WANT TO EAT TWO?!" 'don't let them make you eat two, Ogre is holding one in right now, they'll do it, just take the bite'
...until, adrenaline-charged, hackles-raised, and half-crazy, I SLAM my hand into the toilet and root around until I feel the hideously soft dooker rattling around in the bottom. I grab it, take a DEEEEEEEP breath AND JAM THE SHIT INTO MY MOUTH. OMG I AM EATING SHIT. My head almost explodes.
Cheers of victory all around, as I retch and puke into the toilet. My mouth, numb from hours of eating raw onions and lemons, is covered in butt-chunder. I want to wipe it away, but I'm being dragged off again by my arms. Finally, the taste begins to seep into my cracked lips and tongue.
Peanut Butter and Bananas. You Fuckers.
Friday, May 2, 2008
When Your Best is Behind You
....fatigue. My bugbear. Being tired puts me on tilt. :D
I wonder how long a session I can pull off with optimal play. Had the conscious realization last night that I was starting to play weak-tight around the 6th hour of live play @ the LongHorn.
After donkeying (I have an OESD!! You're all-in! I callz and winzz LOLOL) into chipleader position in a $60 freezeout, I found QQ in MP with 5 left and limped. Two other players limped, and both shorties in the blinds shoved. My chips left a smoking line on the felt as I rammed them into the pot and tabled Sigfried & Roy. Up against A6o and KT0, my Hoes found a third friend on the turn, and I was the overwhelming chipleader as we broke the bubble.
More interested in getting to the cash game, we split it inequally. Fuggit. It's more +EV to keep playing than battle it out over the final $90 or whatever.
Anyway, I love being fresh. Rested. Creative. Involved. Observant. Exactly the qualities that I lose come the 5th or 6th hour of poker.
I take that back.
It's when I start to become crushed by negativity that I get mopey and fatigued. When I chastise myself internally by making a poor play, or when I'm bored with my 15th hand of Q3sooooooooted.
I hate to say it, but there are times that live poker bores me. Bores the SHIT out of me. Mostly when the table isn't interacting, and people have their shades/iPod plugged in, and are trying to 'outplay' each other, or not give off tells or some other wannabe WSOP shit. Bitch, please.
When I'm bored, I tire faster. When I'm tired, I sometimes play first-level, weak-tight. I don't feel badly admitting this because everybody else follows the same pattern. Limp-calling PF and check-calling postflop increases by 300% after 12am. One play that I would make at 9:30p had a 75% chance of working, and maybe only a 30% chance after midnight as people would get tired, stop thinking and call off their chips in bad spots.
There were a few times I felt frustrated by the table dynamics, but I couldn't verbalize this concept to myself and take advantage of it by adjusting to the game. It's very hard for me to tell when I'm reverting to weak-tight play -- it's almost comparable to a drunk's inability to comprehend his reduced reaction time.
lol.
I spend so much time thinking about this game that I sometimes refuse to admit that I'm getting bored. Subconscious refusal to spit upon a subject so heavily invested in. BUT, there's nothing wrong with admitting boredom or fatigue. Sometimes, your best is just behind you, and there's no shame in getting up from a table -- even when you feel that you're one of the smarter players there.
I wonder how long a session I can pull off with optimal play. Had the conscious realization last night that I was starting to play weak-tight around the 6th hour of live play @ the LongHorn.
After donkeying (I have an OESD!! You're all-in! I callz and winzz LOLOL) into chipleader position in a $60 freezeout, I found QQ in MP with 5 left and limped. Two other players limped, and both shorties in the blinds shoved. My chips left a smoking line on the felt as I rammed them into the pot and tabled Sigfried & Roy. Up against A6o and KT0, my Hoes found a third friend on the turn, and I was the overwhelming chipleader as we broke the bubble.
More interested in getting to the cash game, we split it inequally. Fuggit. It's more +EV to keep playing than battle it out over the final $90 or whatever.
Anyway, I love being fresh. Rested. Creative. Involved. Observant. Exactly the qualities that I lose come the 5th or 6th hour of poker.
I take that back.
It's when I start to become crushed by negativity that I get mopey and fatigued. When I chastise myself internally by making a poor play, or when I'm bored with my 15th hand of Q3sooooooooted.
I hate to say it, but there are times that live poker bores me. Bores the SHIT out of me. Mostly when the table isn't interacting, and people have their shades/iPod plugged in, and are trying to 'outplay' each other, or not give off tells or some other wannabe WSOP shit. Bitch, please.
When I'm bored, I tire faster. When I'm tired, I sometimes play first-level, weak-tight. I don't feel badly admitting this because everybody else follows the same pattern. Limp-calling PF and check-calling postflop increases by 300% after 12am. One play that I would make at 9:30p had a 75% chance of working, and maybe only a 30% chance after midnight as people would get tired, stop thinking and call off their chips in bad spots.
There were a few times I felt frustrated by the table dynamics, but I couldn't verbalize this concept to myself and take advantage of it by adjusting to the game. It's very hard for me to tell when I'm reverting to weak-tight play -- it's almost comparable to a drunk's inability to comprehend his reduced reaction time.
lol.
I spend so much time thinking about this game that I sometimes refuse to admit that I'm getting bored. Subconscious refusal to spit upon a subject so heavily invested in. BUT, there's nothing wrong with admitting boredom or fatigue. Sometimes, your best is just behind you, and there's no shame in getting up from a table -- even when you feel that you're one of the smarter players there.
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