I'm through with this game. Ever since Ken Dodson first proposed a hand of 7/27 a few years ago, I've been at odds with one of the most drawn-out, unimaginative poker games ever dealt.

In fact, I've adopted an early exit strategy for this game which I regrettably veered from when my brother-in-law Tony called 2/22 at a poker table this past weekend. This "reds only" version promises all the frustration, chip reduction and stolen moments of 7/27 and then multiplies it all by 2.

Nevertheless, I caught a red 5 down and a red 8 up off the deal. My adversaries' hands lent themselves more to playing for the 2 rather than the 22 for the most part, so I thought I'd stick around and see another card or so. After a black face card, I landed the other red 8. Hmm... I think that gives me 21, which is close enough to 22 to start hammering the pot and expressing supreme confidence in my high hand. Eventually, my competitors folded and half the pot was mine - or so I thought. Turns out I was too occupied with my disgust for this game when the dealer announced the rules that I didn't catch the "without being under" addendum.

I was still given parts of half the pot, which in hindsight I realize I had no business accepting. But please understand, if you're playing cards with me and either 7/27 or 2/22 is called, I am only staying in the game if I am dealt exactly 7 or 2. If I'm betting, you better be going high!

Labels: poker, rants, threats

Let's swing by The 700, where Pat Robertson has this to say about Dover, PA:

"I'd like to say to the good citizens of Dover: if there is a disaster in your area, don't turn to God, you just rejected Him from your city."

Such a kind, warm, sparkle of happiness that Pat Robertson. I just wish he could be more specific. Living in the same county as Devilish Dover, I have a few concerns. Should I trade in my Focus for a blizzard-friendly SUV? Should my dad and I finally connect permanent piping to my hurricane-handling sump pump? Should I stick velcro to Toto's, I mean Macy's, paws in case a tornado touches down on Lakeview?

Labels: news, politics, threats

I was greeted at work this morning with the following voice mail message left by a voice best described as the female version of Pedro from Napoleon Dynamite:

Dude, I heard you kickin' my dog.
I see you walkin' down the road, I see you kickin' my dog.
You kick my dog again, I will rip your (expletive) heart out and feed it to my dog, okay?
So don't kick my dog no more.
Peace.

That's it, word for word. I must admit I was a bit alarmed. After all, this is no way to do business. She didn't leave a name or number! I need to call this person back so that she realizes the dude kickin' her dog didn't receive the message and would unfairly have his heart ripped out and fed to said dog since the threat failed to reach it's intended audience.

For the record, I don't kick dogs. I pet dogs. Peace.

Labels: threats