Act II: The Procedure and the Final Table Bubble

By Pauly
Las Vegas

"There are very few people who can handle The Procedure," warned Bad Blood as he spoke very calmly. "You are one of them."

After our fantastic meal at Nob Hill, Bad Blood pulled me aside and invited me to a strip club before the Venetian Tournament. Back home in G-Vegas, Bad Blood had a routine called The Procedure where he got loaded and hit up a strip club before he played poker. He wanted to do the same thing in Las Vegas.

Bad Blood is one of my oldest friends in the blogging community. We had been online pals since the halcyon days at Party Poker in 2003-04 when we played $5 MTTs on Saturday mornings and slummed around the $25 buy-in NL tables. We finally met for the first time at the blogger gathering three years ago. During a late night meal at the Excalibur, I discovered some personal things about Blood that he never revealed in his blog. I guess those were things I never bothered to ask. During the early days of poker blogging, the content was almost all 100% poker and those blogging rarely revealed anything about their personal lives. That philosophy has shifted over the last few years.

Anyway... Blood has been a good friend for the last few years, but one of the hardest part about these gatherings was that you sometimes don't get enough time to chill out with your friends. It always seemed that Bad Blood and I always had the same regret about these functions... that we wanted to spend more time together. And when he asked me to join him in The Procedure, I quickly said yes. Sure I'm a sucker for strip clubs, but the opportunity to spend quality time with an old friend was certainly more enticing.

After a long day of partying on Friday, I honestly tried to go to sleep. It just didn't happen. Around sunrise, I eventually got out of bed and wrote for an hour or so. At 7am, I left the room and went for a walk outside. Then I wandered back into the IP looking for random bloggers. That's what was great about these gatherings... there's always someone up to hang out with... at any hour. The early shift on Saturday were folks who ran out of gas early or were too tired after a long travel day. They crashed early on Friday night and woke up early, ready to gamble and party.

Around 9:12am, I spotted GCox, Mrs. Cox, and Falstaff in the poker room. I grabbed Subway in O'Shea's which happened to be open at that odd hour. That ended up being the "clutch food call" of the weekend since it would be the only food products that I'd put in my body inside a 26 hour period. Of course if I knew that, I would have gotten the foot long inside of the six inch. I returned to the poker room at the IP for some NL with Falstaff and cowboys. We played short-handed for a bit when a fresh StB arrived. We had played together the day before at the same table, when he was engrossed in a serious debate about unions with a local sitting in seat 10.

The Procedure Step 1: Drinking

At 11:07am, I got a text message from Bad Blood, who was awake and drinking at the Sherwood Forest Bar. I quickly cashed out of my 1/2 NL table and bolted out of the poker room. I ran into a menagerie of cowboys on my way to the taxi stand. A light rain sprinkled outside as the cab roared down the Strip. My cabbie must have been the horniest guy in Las Vegas.

"The rain brings out the nipples. I love wet t-shirts on tourists," he said as he pointed to a group of girls walking Las Vegas Blvd. without an umbrella.

"Speaking of nipples," I interjected. "If a guy like me wanted to head to a strip club and check out the noon shift, which one would you recommend?"

"The Rhino," quickly said the cabbie. "At this hour, that's where you'll find the better girls."

"Or the strung out ones," I mentioned.

I gifted my horny cabbie a fat tip and suggested that he get some relaxation therapy when his shift ended. After all, cabbies knew all the best rub and tug places in the Las Vegas valley. He wished me the best of luck. I burst into the Excalibur and passed the longest taxi line I had ever seen. Hundreds of rodeo fans were waiting for a cab to take them to the Thomas & Mack Center.

I found Bad Blood deep into his third dirty Martini. We sat and caught up on life. I really missed the guy and that's the hardest sacrifice that I had to make the last couple of years... to spend less quality time with friends. Grubby was running late, so we waited and waited for him to finish off his craps tournament at Bally's. That is such a Grubby thing. I always found myself waiting for Grubby to finish up some sort of freeroll tournament, or picking up a free gift, or finishing up a quick meal at the Diamond Club lounge.

The Procedure Step 2: Strip Club

"Let's try Seamless," said Grubby.

Grubby was an explorer in a past life. I'm almost 100% positive. He always likes to try new things hoping to find a gem hidden among the rough. Seamless was located just a couple of blocks away from the apartment that I had rented during the 2007 WSOP. In fact, on the way over there, we passed the Redneck Riviera where I lived during the 2005 WSOP.

"Did you hear about that big drug bust?" said Grubby as he pointed to my old housing complex. "Thirty people were arrested."

We arrived at Seamless and wandered inside. It was a lame scene so we quickly left. That's when I suggested The Rhino.

The Rhino is the Bellagio of strip clubs. It's always crowded on the weekends, but shortly before 1pm on a Saturday, it was empty. As soon was we sat down, three strippers from the afternoon shift appeared from the shadows. Two of them jumped up onto the laps of Grubby and Bad Blood as a waitress took our drink order. Redbull and vodka. Breakfast of champions.

A tall blonde stripper sat down next to me.

"I'm Joey," she said.

"That's funny, because my name is Pacey," blurted out Bad Blood.

Blood knew about my morbid addiction with Dawson's Creek. I spent too many hours ripping bonghits and watching reruns of the Creek on TBS. I had an odd fascination with Katie Holmes (before she got brainwashed by Scientology).

"What do you do Pacey?" the stripper asked.

"I'm a hot air balloon pilot," quickly responded Bad Blood.

"Wow! That's so cool," she cooed. "And what do you do, Pauly?"

"I'm a striking Hollywood writer," I said.

"Wow! That's so cool. What have you written?"

"Daddy Daycare 2," I said with a straight face as the waitress handed me a drink.

"Daddy Daycare 2? That's my kid's favorite movie. Wow! That's so cool!"

Grubby quickly left with his girl to get a couple of lap dances and soon after Bad Blood disappeared. Grubby left his car keys and his drink. My stripper, Joey, was an admitted alcoholic and asked me if she could have a sip of Grubby's drink. I said yes, then worried that she might be giving him hepatitis B.

Joey was the cream of the crop circa 1992. But now, her looks started to fade and she's slumming in the afternoon shift. The booze perked her up a bit and she told me the horror stories about the last few days. Cowboys didn't tip and took up all the seats. They liked to look but not pay. The Brits in town were a rowdy bunch.

"I can't tell you how many of them tried to stick their fingers up my cooch and in my ass," she said as Paint It Black by the Rolling Stones blasted on the sound system. "British people are supposed to be polite, but they were animals."

During my lap dance, we chatted about a few things like the most recent famous person who she danced for.

"Do you know basketball?" she asked. "Wally Szczerbiak was here. He was such a nice guy. Very shy. He's so tall too. I asked him if he wanted a dance and he said yes. That's when I felt his dick. Ohmygod! He had the biggest dick I had felt in years. I kept calling my girlfriends over and screaming, 'Ohmygod! You gotta feel Wally's dick!' He was such a nice guy with such a big dick."

That's when someone walked into the VIP lounge and said, "Heya Pauly!"

The last time I was at the Rhino in Melbourne, Australia, I was recognized by a fan. Ah, but that time it was just The Mark, another member of the G-Vegas crew who arrived a little late.

I got my five songs for the price of three since I negotiated a better deal. It was the afternoon shift, and you can barter with the girls especially when it was empty.

Grubby finally appeared out of the shadows with his stripper. I gave him the car keys and pointed to Joey who had stolen his drink. He didn't mind. His stripper excused herself. That's when Grubby pulled me aside.

"She squirted all over my chest," he explained.

"What?"

"She was grinding me in her favorite position," said Grubby. "I heard her moaning really loud. Then she quickly shifted. She apologized and explained that she and her sister were the only squirters that she knew of. She wet herself. Then she pulled up my shirt and sat on my chest. It was all warm and wet. She squirted on me."

Wally Szczerbiak might have a big dick, but Grubby brought a Las Vegas stripper to a climax during a lap dance. That's talent. I was more than impressed. I was in awe.

As we left the Rhino, a faint trail of cheap stripper perfume followed behind as the harsh sunlight burned our sensitive eyes.

The Procedure Step 3: Poker

We stumbled into the poker room at the Venetian for the Holiday Classic tournament. We had about forty-five minutes to kill before the tournament started and I was a tornado twisting back and forth between the bar and the sign in desk. Sean introduced me to Dr. Chako's wife and they showed me the American flag that Dr. Chako sent from Iraq which would be awarded to the winner of the tournament.

The first three hours of the tournament were a blur for me because I was drunk, exhausted, and bombarded with quick conversations from almost a hundred people. A steady flow of people wandered up to my table to chat. Some of them were bloggers I had not seen yet, a few were newer bloggers, and a couple of guys played in Mookie's homegame in Texas wanted to say hello. Ah, and Cactus Jack found me as well too and I met the elusive Kid Dynamite for the first time.

I had a good table with a bad seat. I hate seat 1 but my table was in the corner which was good. I would only get moved once and that's when we redrew for the last two tables.

My Table:
Seat 1: Pauly
Seat 2: RecessRampage (then Johnny Hughes)
Seat 3: Sean
Seat 4: Sweet Sweet Pablo
Seat 5: Dealer Tim (then Julian)
Seat 6: Bam Bam (then Grubette)
Seat 7: Maudie
Seat 8: Pokerpeaker
Seat 9: Tramua
Seat 10: CC

On the first hand, I found 10-10. I turned a set against CC and bet heavily. He folded and I showed my hand. The next hand, I got two black aces. I raised and got no action. I tabled the Aces. The third hand, I was dealt Q-Q. I won a pot against Tramua. I picked up the first three pots with pocket pairs and jumped out to an early chiplead with 8,700. I got Q-Js on the next hand and missed the flop. The deck was hitting me in the face early. With a decent stack, I got up and floated around the room. I checked up on Derek and Change100 and wandered around a bit chatting it up.

I guess you can say that I started out the tournament in a not-so-serious fashion. I hadn't slept at all and opted for a strip club and drinks instead of resting up. I honestly didn't think I'd go far, but I wanted to last to the first break or so. If I busted out then it didn't matter since I'd sit at the bar and chill out with people as they busted out.


The Mark wins Gigli
Then I heard someone shouting my name. The Mark had just been busted. I rushed over and handed him his prize. My buddy Friedman was crippled by Linda on the hand before and he was almost Gigli, but The Mark went out before him.

Since I was in Seat 1, all of my conversation was with RecessRampage, who was a good guy and fun to talk to. We got involved in one hand where I made a move on him. A few minutes earlier, I had made a speech saying that I can't really bluff too much in blogger events because everyone wants to bust me, so they call me down with junk. I was forced to alter my game in blogger events and player tighter. Sometimes, it's simply not fun when you have a target on your back. But that's the way it is and I had to adjust. I gave my speech and everyone felt sympathetic. That's when I made a move on RecessRampage.

Six of us limped into a pot. I held Ad-8d. The flop was 6x-5x-4d. I bet out and ReccessRampage called. The turn was the 9d. I bet about 2/3 the pot and he raised leaving just 2,300 behind. I tanked and thought about my options. I knew that he was ahead, but by how much? I held a gutshot, a nut flush draw, and one overcard. Maybe he hit the flop and picked up a flush draw too? I had so many chips that I just called. The river was a blank. I missed all of my draws and just held Ace high. The only move I had was to bet 2,300 and put RecessRampage to a decision for all of his chips. If I checked, he would have moved all in for sure. The only way I was going to win the pot was to get him to fold, so I bet. RecessRampage tanked for several minutes. If he had anything big, he would have insta-called, instead he deliberated. When he finally folded his hand, he flashed a 6. I won the pot and did not show my hand. I mentioned to him four of five possibilities, but teased him that he'd have to wait for me to blog it. When the tournament ended, I revealed that I had Ad-8d. He said that was one of the more fun hands that he played during the tournament.

On the next hand, I sniffed out a hammer bluff from Sweet Sweet Pablo and increased my stack to over 16K.

By the end of the second break, there were six tables left and all 11 NYC bloggers were still in. Everyone talked smack that G-Vegas had some of the better players, but I knew the NYC crew could hold their own. When action got down to four tables, all 11 were still alive.

My stack was around 25K, but I felt like shit. I had been drinking since the tournament started. With about four tables to go, a hangover hit me. I hate when that happens, when you are in the middle of a bender and the booze finally catches up to you and you get a hangover... while still drinking. I needed food. I needed sleep. I needed to be anywhere except a poker table. By then, all of the joking and clowning around had subsided. With four tables to go, the mood got more serious. With $3K on the line for first place, there was no more time for bullshit.

Had I known I was going to go deep, I would have ate food and consumed less booze. Alas, that was my major obstacle to overcome during the last couple of hours. Johnny Hughes and Karol were moved to my table. Johnny Hughes sat next to me and we got to shoot the shit for another hour or so.

I busted Pablo. He moved all in with a short stack. CC and I called and checked it down to the river. I flopped an ace with A-3 and cracked Pablo's Kings. He gave me a calendar for a bust out prize.

I busted CC a couple of hands after that. He open-shoved with 7-7 and I woke up to Aces. I called and it held up. My stack jumped past the 50K mark.

GMoney (Iggy's buddy) had busted out and wandered over to my table. He recanted the hilarious story about how he picked up a girl from the night before at the Geisha Bar. She was not a pro, just a drunken cowgirl from Montana in town for the rodeo. GMoney got the girl up to his room and they started hooking up. He had gotten her shirt off when Iggy walked into the room by accident. Talk about a bad beat!

Anyway, GMoney wore a Grateful Dead steal your face t-shirt. My dealer saw it and said she dug it. Turned out that she was also a Deadhead.

"My first show was in San Francisco in 1974," she said as a huge smile lit up her face. "Of course, I don't remember much back then."

I lost a big pot against Sean. It was the only hand I misplayed up until that point. I went card dead and decided it was time for a steal. I found 9s-6s and raised from MP. Sean called from the button. The flop was 8-7-2. I bet about 20K and he moved all in for another 5K more. I called with my OESD. He tabled Kings. I missed and he doubled up. The one time I make a move, I run into Kings. Oh well.

I was crippled to about 4K when I doubled up. Then I doubled up again against Karol. My A-6 held up against her A-3. I stole a lot of blinds and got back to about 24K by the break.

Derek, KJ, Miami Don, and JoeSpeaker were moved to my table with 30 players remaining. Derek was short and moved all in against Speaker. Derek lost a race with A-K against Speaker's pair. I gave Speaker tons of shit because of his scarf.

"Does that scarf come with a small gay Italian boy attached to it?" I joked.

MiamiDon was super frustrated since he was short and Johnny Hughes and myself kept jamming pots before the action got to him. He stole enough to stay alive, but could not add to his stack. I busted KJ when my J-J held up against his K-3. I increased my stack to 48,000 when the TD asked us if we wanted to pay out the top 20 instead of the top 10. Places 11-20 would essentially get their money back. We agreed.

With 20 players left, I had about 48K. I was the chipleader at my table by a slim margin. I dunno if anyone had more than 50K on the other table.


My table with 20 to go...
Here's the final 20...

My Table:
Seat 1: The Rooster
Seat 2: Johnny Hughes
Seat 3: Pauly
Seat 4: Drizz
Seat 5: Miami Don
Seat 6: Schecky
Seat 7: CK
Seat 8: Mary
Seat 9: Speaker
Seat 10: Brian

Other Table:
Seat 1: Biggestron
Seat 2: Kuro Kitty
Seat 3: Columbo
Seat 4: Blinders
Seat 5: Falstaff
Seat 6: Otis
Seat 7: Change100
Seat 8: Sean
Seat 9: Grubby
Seat 10: Julian

Poor Columbo had a flight to catch and had to get a later flight since he went deep. With the final two tables left, we all made the prize money. Several NYC bloggers were still left in the mix. On_thg was on the rail sweating the pool that he was running. I found out that only three four people picked me. Thanks to Bam Bam, AlCantHang, Penner, and California April's dad!

CK moved all in with a short stack from EP. I found A-5. I figured that I had the best hand and called. She tabled K-7. I knew what was coming. I've been playing poker long enough and have been covering tournament poker long enough to trust that feeling you get in your stomach. Like on the final hand when Jerry Yang beat Tuan Lam heads up. I knew he'd get there on the river. It's a weird sixth sense that comes and goes. That moment I had that sick feeling in my stomach where I knew I was going to get beat. I stood up and walked away from the table. I didn't want to see it when it happened. I walked to the middle of the poker room and listened for the outcome. CK was the loudest person in the room for the entire tournament and as soon as the King fell, she went nuts. I knew that I had lost the hand and slowly walked back to the table.

I can take a bad beat. But it's not easy acting cool and calm when someone is still in full blown celebration mode gloating about their double up. I counted out my remaining chips, folded the next hand, and walked away from the table completely unimpressed. Otis and Change100 saw from the look on my face that I was not happy about the level of unprofessionalism.

I took a short walk to cool down and the TD showed me the payout list. When I saw $3K for first place, I quickly got my shit together. I went back to the table completely focused. I stole the next three pots to get my stack back up. A few more players busted and I could smell the final table.

With 11 players left, we were short-handed and down to five players at my table. It was the final table bubble and the ideal time to steal some pots since everyone wanted to make the final table. Grubby raised from the button. I put him on a steal. I had 10d-9d in the big blind and shoved. He said he thought about folding, but he made the call with K-Q since he didn't have too much behind. He flopped a King and I was done. I bubbled off the final table in 11th place. I won my money back, but must have dropped $50 or so in tips to waitresses and buying beers at the bar on breaks. Just seven hours earlier, a striper squirt all over Grubby's chest, and now he advanced to the final table.

Here's the final table:

Seat 1: Kuro Kitty
Seat 2: Otis
Seat 3: Schecky
Seat 4: Drizz
Seat 5: Sean
Seat 6: Columbo
Seat 7: The Rooster
Seat 8: MiamiDon
Seat 9: Change100
Seat 10: Grubby

When Change100 busted out in 9th place, we ran to the food court in search of any sort of food stuffs. I returned and the final table was still going on.


Three of the Final Four: Kuro, Otis, & Schecky
Once it got down to four three, Schecky, Otis, Rooster, and Kuro Kitty decided on a four three way chop with 600 or so going to first place. The Rooster was the chipleader at the time, but with the blinds going up so fast, it was still wide open. Schecky was probably the most experienced player at the table and was fresh off his victory in a Poker News Cup event in Australia. But Schecky went card dead and finished in 4th place. KuroKitty seemed the most relaxed at the final table. It didn't matter if he was shortstacked or had chips, his expression never changed. He seemed to be the least irritated and busted out in 3rd place.


Serious Otis


Cagey Rooster
Otis and the Rooster looked super tired and hungry and hung over. I felt their pain, but they all continued to slug it out. It would be a battle for the ages. The Rooster vs. Otis. NYC vs. G-Vegas. Mexican vs. Whitey.

I gave the Rooster a few words of advice. Nothing about strategy. Just simple stuff like telling him to stay focused and that he had lots of heart and that's what was going to help him win. The Rooster used to be a boxer, so it felt like I was his corner man and after he'd get roughed up in a pot, I'd whisper stuff into his ear to keep his head in the game. He continued to play hard, but even he admitted that he needed that extra edge, especially against Otis who is a super tough NL player.

The poker gods must have been smiling upon The Rooster because he came from behind to beat Otis on the last hand. It was an amazing tournament and the Venetian treated us very well. The asswizards at the Orleans treated us like vermin in June, so I made sure I thanked as many of the staff at the Venetian for helping us out. And of course, don't forget to thank Falstaff for arranging the event. Aside from the first event at Sam's Town and the 2005 event at the IP, the Venetian event was one of my favorites.


The Winner's Photo with Mrs. Chako
The Rooster was touched when Mrs. Chako handed him the American flag courtesy of Dr. Chako. The Rooster also got Iggy's trophy (an upside down hammer). As he walked down the Strip back to the IP, I had not seen the Rooster that happy in a very long time.

It was way past Midnight on Saturday in Las Vegas, and we had been playing in the tournament for almost nine hours. Amidst a sea of cowboys and drunken Brits mourning the Ricky Hatton knock out, it was time to celebrate the Rooster's victory at the Geisha Bar. Hijinks ensued...


Original content written and provided by Pauly from Tao of Poker at www.taopoker.com. All rights reserved. RSS feeds are for non-commercial use only.

Act I: Cowboys, Brits, and Bloggers

By Pauly
Las Vegas

I've crisscrossed the globe this year and visited dozens of cities. Nothing on Earth quite compares to Las Vegas. If there are aliens spying on us, I'm sure they are monitoring our degenerate behavior in Las Vegas. And if/when Jesus Christ returns for Judgment Day, I'm sure he'll stop off in Sin City to roll the bones before Armageddon commences.

Las Vegas is the world's playground. And with the US dollar sinking to a record low, plane loads of foreign visitors are arriving in Sin City to get their yeah-yeahs out. It's where anyone can run rampant down the Strip jacked up on a fifth of booze and knock down a line of porn slappers as they tumble one by one like dominoes... and no one would blink an eye.

Las Vegas is the perfect place to unleashed repressed childhood memories. For those of us who had hard or humble beginnings, it's an opportunity to live the elegant and baller lifestyle. For those of us who grew up in strict households, it's a rare opportunity to unleash your inner wild child and drink bourbon for breakfast, cuss like a sailor, and shower strippers with $20 bills. And for those of us who all of a sudden woke up one day with a ton of responsibilities including a mortgage, a family, and a career... it was a rare opportunity to blow off some steam and rage solo.

Long after Jerry Garcia stopped dropping acid, he admitted in a Rolling Stone Interview, "I do mushrooms every once in a while to clean out the pipes."

I think that everyone needs to go to head to Las Vegas for one weekend every year to clean out the pipes. Open up. Let it rip. Just get weird, act silly, and enjoy life for what it is. And a lot of you do just that... you leave your normal lives at home, board a plane bound for Nevada, and embark on a bender of epic proportions.

As I mentioned to my brother, I have been to all seven of these gatherings. I dunno if that makes me incredibly cool or totally pathetic. Perhaps I'm somewhere in the middle. For almost a decade, Derek and I have made a trek out to Las Vegas in the first weekend in December to gamble on football. Once we caught the poker bug, we added poker to the mix.

Flashback to 2004... we befriended a few bloggers and invited them along for the ride. BG and Bobby Bracelet were the first to agree to tag along. What I thought would be a "brothers retreat to Las Vegas" ended up being the origins of the blogger gathering in Las Vegas. Once other bloggers and my friends in NYC found out, that small retreat of four swelled to over 30. The first ever Holiday Classic included a handful of locals (like Felicia & Glenn, Linda, the Prof and Flipchip), a few from LA, those crackers from G-Vegas, and my NYC crew. A few others made the trip like Maudie and Iggy, and including Grubby who quit his job and moved out to Las Vegas after the gathering.

Flashforward to 2007... I spent the better part of the year outside of the country on assignments because I was trying my hardest to avoid working in Las Vegas. But I was finally looking forward to the trip since I took the last two months of the year of to write. For the first time in a while, I was a tourist in Las Vegas looking to blow off a lot of steam from a pressure-cooked 2007. Lucky for me, lots of friends were along for the same exact ride. Hijinks ensue.

* * * * *
I flew out to Hollyweird for a few days last week before Change100 and I drove to Las Vegas on Wednesday. We loaded up the car and it wasn't much. Since we have both been traveling a lot, we're light packers. Change100 used to bring several bags to Vegas for a weekend jaunt. Those days are over. However, since she is a California pothead, she totally spaced on a few things. As we pulled out of the driveway and drove about ten feet up the palm tree lined street, she screamed, "Awww, shit!"

She forgot her cash, which is a necessity in Las Vegas. We drove back to the apartment.

Take 2. We gassed up the car a few blocks from the freeway entrance. That's when she realized that she forgot her coat. Sigh. We drove back and got the coat.

Take 3. We finally got out of town on the third try. It wasn't a smooth start to the trip, but things picked up for us. We avoided any LA traffic and made it to Las Vegas in less than four hours including one piss stop in Baker.

We checked into the Bellagio. Change100 had won the media tournament at the WPT Championships in April. Part of the first place prize package was a free room at the Bellagio and one free diner at any of their restaurants. The deluxe room was super swanky with marble floors and a bathroom bigger than most NYC studio apartments. That night, we ate at Craft Steak (in MGM), where we had a $600 credit. We went to work right away with an expensive bottle of wine and then dug into an $110 kobe steak.

We stopped for a drink at one of the bars at the MGM and I heard a lot of thick British accents. That's when I remembered the big fight (Mayweather vs. Hatton) that was scheduled for Saturday. Ricky Hatton was British and a slew of his countrymen made the journey to cheer him on. They arrived early and were getting their drinky drink on. That's when I mentioned to Change100 that things could get ugly later on in the trip. The Rodeo Finals were starting and thousands of cowboys and rodeo fans would flock to Las Vegas to soak up the events. Some of those fellas are the rough and tumble sort. Add a slew of soused Brits to the mix and a hundred shitfaced hammer wielding bloggers, and you had a potential melee on your hands.

I always thought that the December gatherings were a little more fun because of the cowboy element to the adventure. During the summer, the Strip swells with conventions, the WSOP, and people on vacation with a lot more kids running around. But in December, the city is not as crowded and the only big convention in town are the cowboys mingling about. They were easy to spot with their hats, boots, and their Wranglers jeans. And the Brits were easy to spot with the accents. So if you didn't have a cowboy hat on and didn't speak in a weird accent (aside from a few of you Canucks, Irish Jim, and Aussie Garth), chances are you were a blogger in town for the gathering.

On Wednesday night, we met up with Maudie, Gracie, and Sweet Sweet Pablo. By now, we're all veterans of these trips and know that you need a day or so to get acclimated to Vegas before the entire weekend kicks off. We had a drink at the Geisha Bar at the IP when we ran into Irish Jim. He seemed impressed that I remembered him from the last trip. But like I just wrote in the last paragraph, he was easy to spot since he wasn't a Brit, a cowboy, an Elvis impersonator, or a hooker.

* * * * *
We started Thursday morning with brunch at the Bellagio. I won my first prop bet when I ate broccoli. I almost puked on a small piece, but managed to keep it down. Everyone snapped photos and made fun of me, but I walked away a few bucks richer.

AlCantHang and Derek arrived at the same time and we partied at the Bellagio for a bit. I joked around that you didn't see too many cowboys at the Bellagio. That place was a little too pricey for those folks. I was fairly certain that any type of impending rumble between cowboys and hooligans would not be happening inside the Bellagio. We were safe... for the moment.

The gang checked out our room. Gracie and Maudie were infatuated with the big comfy bed. They would not get out of it.

"You know the rule, right?" Derek said. "If there are two girls in the same bed in this state, they have to kiss."

We met up with Otis and the G-Vegas crew at Caesar's Palace. We stopped for a drink there around 2pm. SoCo was $11.50 for a shot! I bought the first round and strongly suggested that we migrate to the cheaper Geisha Bar.

In the last couple of years, we started drinking on Thursday nights and stayed up until dawn. Since we started early this year, we tired out. Here's why... a random blogger strolls by the Geisha Bar with luggage. They drop off their stuff and start drinking. Either they buy me a drink or I'm buying them. OK, now repeat that process forty-five times.

By 6pm, AlCantHang had three leaning towers of empty shot glasses sitting in front of him at the Geisha Bar. Several of my friends arrived and I met a handful of newer bloggers. I had a long chat with Buddy Dank about Iowa and another chat with the Fat Guy about living in Texas. I was happy to see him for this trip. He went to the second gathering. We've been playing together online for three plus years and reading each other for even longer. He loves the fact that so many different people from all walks of live gather together. I also drank with GCox who introduced me to his lovely wife Mrs. Cox. She was a cool lady that held her own in the heat of battle.

Then a gentleman with a big white beard and a long white ponytail saddled up. It was the legendary Johnny Hughes. We must have talked for about 90 minutes straight which is nearly impossible at these trips. We had never met before, but we had been writing emails back and forth for the last few months. Johnny Hughes had been a contributor to Truckin' and sent me an advance copy of his novel Texas Poker Wisdom. He also dispatched tons of advice to me about life, gambling, and writing. He convinced me to curtail my daily painkiller intake and I've been clean since the trip to the ER in Sydney.

"You only need one drug, one girl, and one gambling vice," Johnny Hughes said. "Anything more than that and you're in trouble."

I dunno how many of you had the chance to chat with Johnny Hughes. Those of you did, got a special treat. Meeting him was one of the highlights of the trip. I didn't expect that we'd spend a lot more time together during the weekend.

I drank heavily through the afternoon before I wandered across the street to meet up with the Poker Prof and Flipchip for dinner at Trevi. It's got tasty Italian food for an affordable price. We talked about our epic year and had a similar conversation that I had with a few folks that had been to the first couple of ones. They said something to the effect that it's bigger and bigger every year. The Prof helped me set up the first private tournament at Sam's Town. We were excited that 30 people showed up. Now, it's not rare to see 100-150 people at these things.

After dinner, we returned to the Geisha Bar and AlCantHang had not left his seat. We drank more, met new bloggers, mingled among cowboys and Brits, listened to the dealertainers, and chatted with the hookers working the early evening shift. One coquette took a liking to Derek. I told him that I saw her the night before. You couldn't miss her since she had a tattoo of the sun surrounding her belly button. Derek knew she was a pro and she knew that he knew that she was a working girl.

"So do you want to be my first customer of the night?" she said. I'm sure she says that to all of the guys.

I played only one hand of Pai Gow on Thursday while I sat in an empty seat which was reserved for Bad Blood. I won the hand and cashed out up $9 for the day. Aside that and the eating prop bet, I was up for the day.

I wandered back to the bar where Iggy was pounding greyhounds in between a couple of cowboys and a group of drunken British boxing hooligans. Bad Iggy made an initial appearance at 12:24am according to my notes when he unleashed a waterfall of hilarious Lenny Bruce-esque social commentary. We needed to get Iggy sober before he ignited a brawl between the cowboys and Brits. Disaster averted.

* * * * *
I'm glad that I went to sleep on Thursday (well really on Friday morning) because I would not sleep until Sunday morning. On Friday, I played 1/2 NL at the IP with the Rooster, StB, Change100, Johnny Hughes, and VinNay. It was a fun table and I had a great time, especially because I walked away a winner. I pushed Johnny Hughes off a pot with A-K, even after I missed horribly. I got to sit next to him for several hours. Not only did I have position, he told me several colorful stories about gambling in Las Vegas in the 1960s.

The Rooster showed up with his luggage and went right to the poker room. I practically felted him when I flopped a set of 6s and sprung a trap. He's a cagey mofo and I managed to win our first battle.

The most profitable hand of the weekend was flopping a set of 4s on a board of 8-4-2 in a seven-way pot. VinNay fired out $60. One horrible player (a term I dubbed many years ago called the cowboyfish) moved all in for $71. I moved all in for another $100+. VinNay went into the tank and reluctantly called. He had 2-2 for bottom set. The cowboyfish held K-8. My set held up and I dragged a big pot.

A couple of hands later, I chopped a $1,000 pot with Q-8. On a board of 8-8-5, I flopped trips and got check-raised on the flop. I called and had a bad feeling that he might have me outkicked with A-8. The turn was a Queen and I was convinced that I had the best hand and hoped that he held A-8. He checked and I bet $100. He moved all in and I quickly called. I tabled the Q-8. So did he. Unreal. We both had the same hand and chopped the $1,000 pot. Oh well.

For dinner on Friday, I headed to a fantastic dinner at Nob Hill with Derek and Change100. The rest of the crew were some of my closest friends (many of which I met for the first time at the original gathering) including AlCantHang, Otis, Dr. Jeff, Marty, Iggy, Maudie, BG, and Bad Blood. I only ate at Nob Hill once before and that's right after Ryan cashed in the 2006 WSOP main event and treated a bunch of us to dinner. That meal with Ryan, Spaceman, April, Otis, Change100, and Wil Wheaton was one of my top 5 of all time. I couldn't wait to return.

The food was magnificent. The conversation was stellar. I mentioned my theory about life being either heaven, hell, or purgatory. Sometimes, I consider that our current life is not a life... rather we're experiencing an afterlife. We're either in heaven, hell, or purgatory depending on the circumstances or your point of view. At that precise moment, I was in heaven, because I always imagined heaven being a large table surrounded by a group of your closest friends and eating a fantastic meal.

At one point, Derek and Dr. Jeff were discussing how many vibrators he had to remove out of the rectums of his ER patients. Fun stuff.

We managed to bet on several things. Otis and I had one prop bet on the O/U on how many people in our party would order the signature item of Michael Mina's menu which was the lobster pot pie. The line was set at 4 and I took the over. I thought I was good because Change100 and Derek were going to order it. Then at the last second, Derek pulled out. The bet was on the line, but Iggy ordered the lobster at the last second to save my ass. I won the over. Ship it.

We also bet on whether or not the bill would be O/U $2400. I took the over against Marty and it was way under. I won a coinflip against Otis on the last digit of the bill. I had evens and he had odds. It was even and I finished the meal a few bucks richer on prop bets.

We headed to the MGM where it was flooded with Brits. In the past, we had taken over the bar in the sports book, but this time, we were outnumbered. I hung out with Kat a bit and she looked elegant. I scribbled down in my notes... "Kat is a sophisticated lady with her outfit." She still grabbed my ass though and I popped half-a-wood.

I drank heavily and hung out with Schecky and Jen Leo. I wandered out into the poker room and I bumped into a fan named Ben from Galveston, TX. He asked for a photograph and Karol took one for us. I thought someone paid him $20 to do it, but it turned out that he was a genuine fan.

I met a couple of other bloggers for the first time like Dave Yestbay, Schaubs, and RecessRampage. They played mix games at a table with LJ and Grubby. Except they didn't know it was Grubby. They just thought that he was one of my friends who I kept coming over to chat. As I walked away, Derek walked over and said, "What's up Grubby?"

I heard LJ shriek, "Ohhhhhhh! You're Grubby!"

My friend Dave was there too. We worked together for Poker News this summer covering the WSOP. I convinced him, Mean Gene, and California Jen to join us at the Excalibur for some drinking and Pai Gow. A group of us headed to the Castle and went right for the Sherwood Forest bar, the scene of the crime three years earlier.

ESPN had the rodeo on and we figured out a way to prop bet on the action. It was one of the events where the cowboys jump off a horse, rope a calf, tackle it to the ground, and tie up the legs. We'd set the O/U for nine seconds and bet that for a good hour.

We spotted Shane Nickerson playing Let It Ride with Texas April and Maigrey. I won a prop bet with Grubbette. She was convinced that Nickerson was in Toy Soldiers. I knew he wasn't and she had confused him with Wil Wheaton. She insisted on betting and I yelled over at Nickerson to settle the bet. He told Grubbette the bad news and she paid me.

A bunch of us played Pai Gow on two different tables. I had Change100, Dave, Mean Gene, and Grubbette at my table, while the G-Vegas crew, Grubby, and Maudie played next to us. Otis was betting heavily. He had gotten comped at the Castle for his excessive Pai Gow binges and he was pushing the action. At one point, he won a sick amount and jumped up while pounding on his chest.

"This is why I'm great at this game!" he screamed.

Me? Not so great. I was even for the session and bet all of my chips on the last hand. I lost $100 on a paltry pair of threes and J-7 for my second hand.

Before we left the Castle around 4:20am, I made plans with Bad Blood to visit a strip club before the blogger tournament on Saturday afternoon.


Original content written and provided by Pauly from Tao of Poker at www.taopoker.com. All rights reserved. RSS feeds are for non-commercial use only.

The Rooster's Video

By Pauly
Las Vegas

Somewhere around 10am on Sunday morning, I interviewed the Rooster about his victory. I must have watched this 100 times and at the end I almost always piss my pants because it's so friggin' hilarious. Check it out...


Click here to view the Rooster interview via RSS or Bloglines....
Congrats again to the Rooster.


Original content written and provided by Pauly from Tao of Poker at www.taopoker.com. All rights reserved. RSS feeds are for non-commercial use only.

The Rooster Wins WPBT Holiday Classic

By Pauly
Las Vegas

In one of the most dramatic final tables in the history of the WPBT, The Rooster beat Otis heads up for the 4th annual Holiday Classic championship. It was held this year at the Venetian. I dunno the exact amount of players. I'm guessing over 120. The top 20 places paid.

Of course, I finished in 11th place and bubbled off the final table courtesy of Grubby.

Final table results:
1. The Rooster
2. Otis
3. Kuro Kitty
4. Schecky
5. Columbo
6. Grubby
7. Miami Don
8. Instant Tragedy
9. Change100
10. Drizz

And here's the rest of the money winners... Pauly, Johnny Hughes, CK, Mary, JoeSpeaker, Brian (from Poker Atlas), Biggestron, Blinders, Falstaff, and Julian.

The Mark was Gigli.

I will write more later and post some pics. And yes, a couple of us went to the Rhino to check out the afternoon shift before the tournament began.

That's it for now. Stay tuned for more.


Original content written and provided by Pauly from Tao of Poker at www.taopoker.com. All rights reserved. RSS feeds are for non-commercial use only.

Losing a Legend

By Pauly
Las Vegas

By now, you have heard the news that Chip Reese passed a way earlier in the week. This was a shocker to many folks in the industry. At the time of his death, Chip Reese was still at the top of his game. He was considered one of the best all round poker players of all time and his peers regarded him as the best cash player. Period.

For thirty years, Reese crushed the games. Young guns and high rollers alike showed up in Las Vegas over the last three decades looking to take him down. He never ducked a game and was always willing to take on any challengers. And you know what? He almost always prevailed.

Reese didn't play too many tournaments because like most high stakes cash game players, tournaments are too time consuming. Simply put, they make more money playing cash games in a couple of orbits than you could in winning an entire tournament.

So when Reese played a tournament, it was a big deal. At least for me. After covering the poker circuit extensively the last three years, you see the same old faces. But Chip Reese was a face you did not see very often. I got to watch him play for the first time during the WSOP main event in 2005. Flipchip often mentioned that he was the best player that the public never heard of.

In 2006, Chip Reese won the inaugural $50K HORSE event proving to the world that he could win the biggest buy-in event in the history of the WSOP. Since he rarely appeared on televised poker programs, that was his coming out party. His final table will also go down in history as one of the toughest of all time.

The most amazing thing about his victory was that it was a game that he wasn't the best at. At the 2006 WSOP, the HORSE final table was changed to NL Hold'em. It was switched back this year, but the suits at Harrah's and ESPN felt that NLH was better for TV. Reese was an exceptional mixed game player, but NLH was not his best game. With Doyle and Ivey at his table, they were more favored to win the bracelet than Reese. Despite playing a game that was not his best, he emerged victorious during a marathon heads up match against Andy Bloch.

I fell asleep a lot during that magical night. I passed out in my car. I passed out in the media room. I passed out in the stands while sweating the final table. Reese did not tire one bit and eventually won.

Poker lost a legend this week. I was fortunate that I got to see him play live on a few instances. He always carried himself with class. Never trash talked. Never mugged for the cameras. He never berated his opponents. He never bragged about his abilities. He just played poker.

* * * * *
Flipchip posted a Chip Reese photo gallery. Feel free to use them, but please be kind and give Flipchip a linkback and attribution. Please include the following credit line: photos by flipchip • lasvegasvegas.com.


Original content written and provided by Pauly from Tao of Poker at www.taopoker.com. All rights reserved. RSS feeds are for non-commercial use only.

Pusherman

By Pauly
New York City

Fourteen years ago today in 1993, Pablo Escobar was shot and killed by a Colombian police unit as a menagerie of bullets rained down upon his chubby body. The billionaire, who was once listed on Forbes Top 10 list of wealthiest people in the world, tried to escape a raid by running on the tiled roof of a safe house without any shoes. Unlike Phil Hellmuth, Escobar could not dodge bullets and died instantly on the spot. The cocaine kingpin was no more.

The majority of the parties involved on the War on Drugs felt that the death of Escobar was the crowning achievement in their constant war on illegal drugs. They believed that the death of Escobar would cripple of the drug trade. And of course, nothing has changed. Cocaine is still readily available and in some areas of the country, it's actually cheaper than it was during the heyday in the 1980s. There's so much of it flowing around that prices had to be lowered in order to move the product.

According to an article in Rolling Stone:

"All told, the United States has spent an estimated $500 billion to fight drugs - with very little to show for it. Cocaine is now as cheap as it was when Escobar died and more heavily used. Methamphetamine, barely a presence in 1993, is now used by 1.5 million Americans and may be more addictive than crack. We have nearly 500,000 people behind bars for drug crimes - a twelvefold increase since 1980 - with no discernible effect on the drug traffic. Virtually the only success the government can claim is the decline in the number of Americans who smoke marijuana - and even on that count, it is not clear that federal prevention programs are responsible. In the course of fighting this war, we have allowed our military to become pawns in a civil war in Colombia and our drug agents to be used by the cartels for their own ends. Those we are paying to wage the drug war have been accused of ­human-rights abuses in Peru, Bolivia and Colombia. In Mexico, we are now ­repeating many of the same mistakes we have made in the Andes..."

Sure the suits in DC and the DEA thought they killed the Michael Jordan of drug dealers in Escobar, but what they failed to underestimate was the voracious appetite of drug consumption. It didn't matter if Mickey Mouse or Escobar was providing the product, the public wanted to get high. (And the biggest question - one which will be discussed at a later time - is what is wrong with people's lives that they feel the need to escape the reality in which they live in? Why are people so lost and sad and afraid?) Regardless, people wanted to get high, and it didn't matter how, whether it was a construction worker knocking back a few beers after a shift, or a hippie dropping acid in the woods somewhere, or a distraught housewife popping a happy pill, or a Hollyweird starlet ripping gagers of blow in the bathroom of a suite at Chateau Marmont.

In the late 1980s, cocaine was king. Its origins began as a high class drug. Only the rich could afford to do it, so it quickly became the drug of choice for the celebrity jet set. Lorne Michaels, creator and producer of Saturday Night Light, once said "Cocaine is God's reminder that you have too much money."

The cocaine was produced in South America and shipped to Europe and smuggled into America by air, land, and sea. The DEA figured out what was up and eventually blocked up most of Caribbean routes. The Colombians focused on the porous Southwest US border to fulfill the demand. They paid off Mexican cartels to smuggle the drugs across the border.

Once Escobar was killed and the members of the Cali cartel were either killed off or jailed, the cocaine business continued, as the trade splintered into smaller cartels and spread out. The Colombians continued to supply the cocaine, but it was the Mexican cartels that swooped in and seized control of the distribution responsibilities. After all, they had the advantage of being a border country to the largest abuser of cocaine in the world.

In the border town of Juarez, across the river in El Paso, TX, Amado Carrillo Fuentes built up an empire. He bought a fleet of planes that would fly down to Columbia to pick up the cocaine and bring it back to Mexico. That continued for years as he accumulated more wealth and power. After a while, the most feared man in Mexico was known El Senor de los Cielos, or the Lord of the Skies.

With the introduction of Nafta, it became easier to smuggle cocaine onto trucks that freely crossed over the borders. In addition, the cartels paid off thousands of mules to carry it over the border, either by walking or driving it over. Sadly, the violence that plagued the streets of Colombia shifted to the streets of Mexico as turf battles raged in Juarez. The outskirts of the city became known as the killing fields and it was not uncommon to discover mass graves. Gangs would kill rivals in public. In one of the most gruesome incidents, one gang walked into a crowded club and executed several of their rivals on the dance floor by cutting their heads off. Just a few more casualties of the drug trade.

At some point, the Mexican cartels started producing crystal meth. It was cheaper than importing cocaine and much easier to make. After a while, cocaine's demand simmered down while crystal meth became more and more popular with almost every aspect of American society. The demand was growing exponentially every day.

The cartels cut deals with biker gangs in the Northwest and in California, who were responsible for distributing the drugs into cities and rural areas. The DEA eventually figured out what was happening and tried to focus on the suppliers. Unlike cocaine or heroin which are both grown, crystal meth is manufactured. They nailed a lot of the American drug companies that were selling bulk ingredients and powder to the Mexican cartels. That didn't stop production. The Mexicans found Chinese companies that would give them the same chemicals and for a cheaper price. They also imported ephedrine directly from India and Thailand.

The result was a crystal meth epidemic that swept across America as tweakers popped up all over the map. The entrepreneurs came out of the wood work and homemade labs sprung up over night in order to cater to their newly addicted clientele. It was easy to make your own crystal meth, since most of the main ingredients could be purchased at local retail stores.

If your neighbor sprinkles a couple of pot seeds in his backyard and grows a marijuana bush, there's very little danger in that. But if your neighbor is cooking up a fresh batch of crystal meth, there's a chance he'll blow both everyone up on the block.

The DEA eventually banned purchases of bulk cold medicine that contained ephedrine and pseudoephedrine. Tweakers would buy up every bit of cold medication they could find at a local drug store, then spend endless hours ripping open the packets and crushing up the pills. They were after the pseudoephedrine, which is a form of speed. That's what keeps you awake when you pop non-drowsy cold medication.

When I was in college, we used to pop trucker's speed or ephedrine, which you could buy at any gas station along North Dectaur Road. It allowed us to stay up all night and party. And by 4am the hair on your arms stood straight up and you were bouncin' off the walls and shaking harder than Parkinson's patient.

When I played hockey, we abused those little red Sudafed tablets. It was a nice buzz and pick me up before you'd hit the ice. Heck, I still abuse Sudafed today. The last two weeks of the 2007 WSOP, I had a nasty head cold and popped Sudafed like they were Pez. That extra boost, coupled with Red Bull, kept me functioning during those 20-hour work days. One of the advantages of being overseas a lot this year was that foreign manufactured cold medications had a higher dosage of pseudoephedrine than American counterparts.

We're a nation of pill poppers. That's going to be the biggest shift in drug abuse over the next decade or so. Our future is something out of a paranoid-induced skin-scratching Philip K. Dick short story, where the fat cats at the pharmaceutical companies reap all the profits from our citizen's dire urge to get high. There's a reason why marijuana is still illegal and that's because if doctors prescribed pot for certain anxiety disorders, it would drastically affect the profits of various drug companies. People would rather drag a few hits off a joint instead of popping a Xanax or Valium to make them feel more relaxed. Or how about those social anxiety drugs? What a crock a shit. So you're shy. It's nothing that a good old fashioned shot of Jack Daniels wouldn't cure. It's called liquid courage for a reason.

Here's a perfect example of the hypocrisy that runs rampant through our suburbs... I have friends of mine that are adults who have jobs and are functioning members of society. They have mortgages, coach youth soccer, and have country club memberships. Shit, even a few of them voted for Bush. And you know what? They're pill poppers. Hardcore. They love Ritalin. I know what you're thinking... "Ritalin? That's what I give my kid for ADD." Guess what? Adults figured out that if they pop Ritalin, that it gives you the same effects as cocaine. Mommies across America are swiping little Johnny's ADD pills to get a quick high. Cocaine in a pill, baby.

If well balanced people take anti-psychotic drugs and anti-depressants, they get super stoned. Kind of like drinking a six pack of beer and smoking fourteen bong hits at once. Doesn't matter if it's Vicodin, Fentanyl, Codeine, Oxycontin, Valium, Darvon, Demerol, Klonopin, Diazepam, Percocet and Percodan. People who don't necessarily need it, are taking it to numb their senses. And it doesn't leave track marks and it doesn't leave a lingering smell like marijuana.

Shit, there were hundreds of poker players juiced up on Adderall at the 2007 WSOP. That drug helps combat adult ADD patients and allows people to focus. Perfect for poker players in pursuit of millions of dollars.

So was it worth spending $500 billion on the War on Drugs, when going after the bad guys did nothing to stop the flow of drugs, nor the demand? Or would have cocaine, like most drugs, run its two decade cycle and fizzle out while another new and more popular drug takes its place?

I'm not using this as an example to legalize all drugs (although I think some drugs should be legal, some with prescription only, and some continued to be outlawed, of course with a percentage of the taxes levied on the legal regulated drugs used towards treatment and rehabilitation centers). Rather I'm trying to illustrate a point, that once something that is popular among the masses is deemed illegal, it opens up more problems as resources are wasted policing the matter and it strengthens criminal elements that reap the benefits of the blackmarket involving the product.

Prohibition did not work. People still drank in the 1930s and criminals like Al Capone got rich running booze over from Canada. Even Joe Kennedy, the father of our beloved President, amassed his fortune in bootlegging. Bathtub gins sprung up all over America while diehards did what they could to secretly sip a drink.

Poker is legal in some states and illegal in others. In some areas of the country, if the cops aren't raiding the games, they are getting robbed by gun wielding thugs. While our government continues to outlaw online poker, it's putting the future of the game in jeopardy, allowing criminals to lurk in the shadows beyond the reach from the long arm of the law.

If you are reading this post, you must have some sort of addiction, fetish, or morbid fascination with poker. Or you're actively seeking distractions or entertainment while at work. Perhaps today it's poker, but tomorrow it will be something else. People juggle addictions. Former junkies switch to booze or cigarettes. Former smokers switch to eating. Former drug addicts switch to deviant sex. Former drunks switch to Jesus. I spent most of my twenties jumping back and forth between different addictions. We all have them. An addiction is an exposed character flaw and weakness that seems to control the rest of your emotional well being.

Religion is a powerful drug. It gives hopeless people hope in a hopeless world. It gives people a sense of belonging and self-worth and approval that so many of them have been seeking their entire lives. It also promotes a sense of stability and a set of laws to live by. There's good and evil and you know which way you should act or think. Religion and spiritually are important and positive things in life, but at the same time, religion is often corrupted by people who are far from pious and are just power-greedy scumbags that prey on people in trouble. Sadly, it's those fanatics that give religion a bad name. And they hijack religion and manipulate their teachings as an excuse to kill their enemies. Religious disputes has killed more people in the history of Earth than any other dispute. And sadly, it will continue to do so.

Some people are addicted to falling in love. I have friends that cannot be single. The second that they break up, they are with somebody new. I know a few of them who are on their third and fourth marriages. Love releases some of the same endorphins as cocaine and chocolate. It can be an intoxicating feeling and nothing is quite like the warm fuzzies that you get when you're walking on clouds basking in the warmth of your new found love.

Love can be dangerous and people crash hard when they fall out of love. Scorned lovers don't write hit songs or make movies or write books about losing their job. They write about having their hearts ripped out on their chests and stomped on the ground or having their fragile self shattered into a millions tiny little pieces that takes decades to pick every single one up and put back in place. People kill because they are in love or they kill because the object of their affection is in love with someone else. Love damages more lives than marijuana and online poker. Maybe the government should outlaw love? After all, you can't tax love like you could do to online poker transactions.

We worship addicts in America. You become a cultural icon if you fuck up, become a drunk or druggie, crash your car, go to jail for possession, check into rehab, and turn your life around. You get an instant E! True Hollywood Story and become enshrined into the Ex-Junkie Hall of Fame with some of your favorite musicians, actors, politicians, and sports heroes.

Poker. Drugs. Sex. TV. Internet. Booze. Cigarettes. Church. Love. Food. Power. Starbucks. Shopping. Sports. Narcissism. Anger. Misery. You name it. Vices surround us at every moment. And hedonistic dens like Las Vegas cater to every addiction and craving that your heart desires. William S. Burroughs said it best, "Whether you sniff it smoke it eat it or shove it up your ass the result is the same: addiction."

Welcome to a new world order of addicts. Children laughing. People passing. Meeting smile after smile.


Original content written and provided by Pauly from Tao of Poker at www.taopoker.com. All rights reserved. RSS feeds are for non-commercial use only.

Truckin' - December 2007, Vol. 6, Issue 12

By Pauly
New York City

And we're back with the year end issue of my literary blogzine!

Truckin' - Decemer 2007, Vol. 6, Issue 12

1. Santa by Paul McGuire
Santa nodded off on the subway. He did that often, always after he copped. Friends would often tell him that they saw him passed out on the subway. They’d try to get his attention, but he was in his own world... More

2. Christmas Eve Dinner by Betty After Dark
Her legs still weak and her stance a bit wobbly, I wrapped my arm around her and led her out of the restaurant. The hotel was just a few blocks away. She was shivering. Was it the cold air or the orgasm?... More

3. Kelso McQuire by Johnny Hughes
The gamblers always stand in the back at West Texas funerals. In the middle of Kelso McQuire's funeral, Ice House Henry was whispering around and telling this fifty-year old story about Kelso, that not one living, breathing soul had ever heard before... More

4. Scared Santa by Dwayne Williamson
This amorphous blob of blood red fabric and snow white hair would release these grunts from its maw that shook my rib cage, causing me to tremble even more violently than before. Because Santa Clause scared the holy hell out of me... More

5. The Hunt by Gary Cox
When the son was young, the Father went deer hunting every year for a week at a time, right before Thanksgiving. The boy badly wanted to go with him, but was never considered old enough. He saw in his Father’s eyes how much he enjoyed that time, whether it was the actual hunt or the solitary time spent out there in the woods... More

6. Monday Evening LIVE in Theater! by Sigge S. Amdal
A middle-aged, disillusioned, smack-ridden woman in a wheelchair bemoans her disability when the subway seems one step too far. By the touch of a button she whirls off into the distant tunnel like the depart of an ancient ghoul... More

This issue has a couple of holiday themed stories including a spicy tale from Betty After Dark. Johnny Hughes returns along with everyone's favorite Norwegian writer Sigge S. Amdal. This issue also features the debut of two new authors Gary Cox and Dwayne Williamson. And I have a little Santa story as well.

If you like this issue, then please tell your friends about your favorite stories. It takes a few seconds to pass along Truckin'. The writers certainly appreciate your support. Thanks again to everyone for wasting your precious time month after month with Truckin'.


Original content written and provided by Pauly from Tao of Poker at www.taopoker.com. All rights reserved. RSS feeds are for non-commercial use only.