I Will Fly One Day: The Brandi Hawbaker Story

I gotta say something. Capt. Tom's penis? Are you shitting me?

Iggy wrote about the infamous 2+2 thread. Over the weekend I started getting random emails from people asking me about Brandi and if I knew the URL of her blog and what the deal was with her and Capt. Tom's penis. What the fuck?

Just when I thought I was completely bored with poker, this nugget falls out of the sky like that coke bottle in The God Must Be Crazy. We've been knocked on the head with a message from the poker gods. There's a behind the scenes freakfest going on that even I couldn't make up if I was locked in a hotel room for three straight days and fed half a sheet of blotter while Wagner's Ride the Valkyries blasted on the stereo. I mean... you can't make shit up like this. Or can you?

The WPT crew should stop filming the tournament at the Bellagio and should follow around Brandi, Capt. Penis, and Dutch Boyd for the rest of the month. That maelstrom of drama is better than The Real World, The OC, and Survivor all rolled into one. In the last 40 hours, the masses have been entertained with the thread of the year on 2+2 and possibly of the century. Tournaments are passe. Poker reality shows are the future.

Everyone's involved. Trust no one. WPT Champions. WSOP Bracelet winners. Anal sex. Bathroom meltdowns. Dutch Boyd. Missing passports. Late night penis to back action. Nervous breakdowns. Texas Dolly. Shaniac?

It's a Hollyweird wet dream and I've already written forty pages of a spec screenplay which I've tentatively titled I Will Fly One Day. It's got Oscar written all over it. Drugs. Sex. Dutch Boyd. What more can you ask for? It's better than a late night Skinemax flick. It's like The Bell Jar meets Rounders. It's like Prozac Nation meets The Big Deal. I'm already talking to Claire Danes people and we're working out a film deal as we speak.

I got get back to work, but thanks again to Iggy for pointing out the Never Trust Anyone thread.

And the dudes over at NeverWinPoker have posted a couple of NSFW photos of Brandi, just in case you dig nipple shots.

Seven Deadly Sins Part III: Greed & Sloth

The series continues...

Greed

Greed is, like Lust and Gluttony, a sin of excess. However, Greed particularly applies to the acquisition of wealth. Thomas Aquinas wrote that Greed was "a sin against God, just as all mortal sins, in as much as man condemns things eternal for the sake of temporal things." In Dane's Purgatory, the penitent were forced to kneel on hard stone and recite the examples of avarice and its opposing virtue. Avarice is a blanket term that can describe many other forms of sinful behavior. These include disloyalty, deliberate betrayal, or treason, especially for personal gain, as when someone lets themselves be bribed. Scavenging and hoarding of materials or objects, theft and robbery, especially by violence, trickery, skulldugery or manipulation of authority are all actions that are inspired by greed. Such misdeeds include Simony, where the sinner feels the urge to make money by selling things within the confines of the church.

I wouldn't be in Las Vegas if I didn't want to win money.

I didn't go to Las Vegas to act like an angel and a good Catholic. I went to gamble and raise hell. And as the pussification of America is slowly happening before our eyes, Las Vegas one of the few places on the planet you can still go and get yer rocks knocked without the self-righteous nitwits raining down sanctimonious barbs at you, while you let loose on a gold old fashioned bender.

The millions of visitors who fly into Vegas every year from around the globe to unleash their inner deviant moments after touchdown at McCarran Airport. And part of that degenerate behavior is a psychological urge to win money. Lots of it. And the sinister fuckers in Vegas even plotted to have slot machines in the airport. And why? To get every last cent out of you before you leave town because anyone who's stuck will tell you they're itching to get unstuck and will gamble on almost anything. Hence the rows of slots at the airport.

Money is the root of all evil and I-15 to Las Vegas is also known as Greed Freeway. No one drives to Las Vegas with thoughts of leaving Sin City a loser. Everyone thinks about the cash they are going to win. About walking to the cage with a security escort and racks and racks of chips. About walking around with enough money in your pocket to buy a brand new car. About raking in that monster pot in a juicy NL cash game...

Nobody thinks about losing. Even when we're losing, we're thinking about winning. They got you by the balls in Las Vegas. You're either pressing a win or chasing a loss. Regardless, you're gambling and playing with house money or digging deep into your pockets and sheepishly pulling out rent money to get unstuck. You can't help yourself. Greed is too strong to overcome for weak minded individuals.

"I'll bank," Maigrey announced to the dealer.

"This game is called 'Take Maigrey's Money'," I joked to the rest of the players at the Pai Gow table as I counted out my remaining chips.

Normally I don't like taking friends money. I shouldn't say that I don't like it. Money is money. But I feel a tinge of remorse when I know I won a big pot off a friend. And in that instance, I was chasing a loss at the Pai Gow tables. I had to get unstuck and it didn't matter to me that I'd be winning Maigrey's money or the IP's money. The greed clouded my judgment. I should have walked away and came back after I calmed myself down. I didn't and the slide continued.

Greed is a powerful entity capable of taking over all of your decision making processes along with denying yourself sleep, food, and relaxation. I was not content with the status quo. Being in Vegas with friends and having a good time gambling was not sufficient for me. I needed more. I needed a win. A nice score. A big hand. Something positive. Anything. Desperation set in and the only moments I felt any stimulation was when I won something. And the more infrequent that happened, the more numb I became to the rest of reality.

I was losing. I was conscious of losing. And I didn't care.

I became an accomplice in my own downfall as I spiraled into the darkside of Las Vegas where hopes and dreams cease to exist and your soul is quickly nibbled on by the voracious gambling demons who love to feast on fresh meat.

"A push is a win!" Maigrey yelled to the table.

They were all happy to push in Pai Gow. Not me. I needed to get unstuck. To me, a push was a loss. I didn't get off on a push. Like Lou Reed desiring that spike in his veins, I needed the rush and excitement of a win to get me out of that mud pit infested with the rest of Las Vegas losers. Like a pestilence on this land, the Losers were easy to spot. Their soulless bodies wandered through the casinos, with their negative auras howling at you as they trudged past you at 3am with the 100-yard gambler's stare and look right through you with their mind focused on one thing... getting enough money to help get them unstuck.

The Las Vegas valley is inhabited by over a hundred thousand of those zombies. Some of them are jacked up on crank just to help get them through the 72 hour gambling binges, when people's paychecks and dreams evaporate under the scorching Nevada sun. The rest of them are awake on the Loser's Adrenaline. Or what casino suits describe as "degenerate behavior that pays our salaries."

Winning at poker is easy for me. But it takes a lot longer. Blackjack is instant. As is craps. Sports betting is a two or three hour sustained high and if the game is close and you come out a winner, the high is better than cocaine and heroin combined.

That's why overtime games cause more heart attacks in gamblers than any other illness. Nothing is worse than having your team cough up a double digit lead in the four quarter while some flunky journeyman who couldn't even put on jockstrap correctly three weeks earlier is all of a sudden playing out of his tits like an all star and destroying your hopes at getting unstuck. In three weeks, his pro career is over and he'll be back to bagging groceries at the Safeway in Renton, but the damage has been done. He came off the bench and dropped 20 points in the 4th quarter as I lost yet another game at the buzzer as the worst case scenario quickly became my reality.

There are at least a dozen or so names on my Sportsbook shitlist. Those are guys that if I ever meet in real life, I'm gonna kick them swift in the junk.

Whack! "That's for missing the back end of a one-and-one and not covering against Old Dominion in the 2005 NCAA tournament, fucktard!"

Crunch! "That's for missing that field goal against the Vikings in the playoffs and costing me $500, you fucking burro!'

Stomp! "You assclown! Why did you throw that interception in the endzone of the Sugar Bowl when you could have thrown it away?"

I should know better than to bet large sums of money on horses (animals injected with speed) and pro athletes (humans imjected with animal growth hormones), when I know myself at the poker table is the best bet in town. Yet, I do it anyway and bet on -EV games. Because I'm an action junkie. And I'm greedy.

Live poker is so fucking slow sometimes and I usually get stuck next to a drunk idiot with bad breath who won't stop fucking bragging about how great of a poker player he is, or I'm stuck next to the most dreary person on the planet who incessantly prattles on about bad beat after bad beat so much so that I want to slit my wrists right at the table in a public display of total agony.

If I could two-table live poker, I'd have more fun running back and forth between tables, elbowing waitresses and banging into other degenerate junkies who are also two-tabling it in the same poker room. But with my luck, I'd get stuck to the smelly guy at both tables or the potential serial killer in Seat 3 who keeps wiping his snot on his chips.

I wish I could find a way to stop and stand up to Greed. I get plenty of opportunities to walk away, but like my prayers to God to help get me unstuck... they go ignored.

* * * * *
Sloth

More than other sins, the definition of Sloth has changed considerably since its original inclusion in the list. It has been characterized as what modern thinkers would describe as apathy, depression, and joylessness - the latter being considered a refusal to enjoy the goodness of God and the world he created. Originally, its place was fulfilled by two others, Acedia and Sadness. The former described a spiritual apathy that affected the faithful by discouraging them from their religious work. Sadness (tristitia in Latin) described a feeling of dissatisfaction or discontent, which caused unhappiness with their current situation. When Aquinas selected Acedia for his list, he described it as an "uneasiness of the mind," being a progenitor for lesser sins such as restlessness and instability. Dante built on this definition, describing Sloth as being the "failure to love God with all one's heart, all one's mind and all one's soul." He also describes it as the middle sin, and as such is the only sin characterized by an absence or insufficiency of love. Modern interpretations differ from either of these, and portray Sloth as being simply a sin of laziness, of an unwillingness to act, and of an unwillingness to care. For this reason Sloth is now often seen as being considerably less serious than the other sins.

My inherent laziness creates more problems than anything else. My laziness occurs the most when it comes with dealing with the other six sins. Every sin that I commit is coupled with laziness and sloth, which means I'm constantly committing double sins. If I wasn't so lazy, I'd get off my ass and do something about my greedy and lustful nature. But I have too much fun appealing to my inner Hedonist. Like a corrupt beat cop on the take, I look the other way.

Sloth is a terrible disease. The casinos profit on your laziness and want you to stay on their property so much so that they'll give you free stuff and cheap food on site so you don't wander off into another casino and donk off your bonus check at their table games.

Because you were too lazy to walk across the street and play at a different casino, your sloth has made Steve Wynn a wealthy man, so much so that he didn't even sneeze at dropping $700 million to build a new casino in Macau. That seems like a fair trade... you get a cheap buffet and free towels and Steve Wynn gets another brand new casino.

Of course, the worst trait of sloth is the unwillingness to change my behavior when I'm in Las Vegas. It's easier to surrender to the flow than to fight the tough fight and stand up to the other psychological liabilities that I tend to experience during stints in Las Vegas. My lazy nature to address my problems paralyzes my ability to rationally think. That's why I stay unstuck.

The worst episode of sloth that I've ever heard in Las Vegas had to be the story that Grubby told me where he sat down at a slot machine and discovered that the seat was drenched in urine. The previous occupant was so lazy and glued to the slot machine that they'd rather suffer from utter public humiliation and piss their pants than rather stand up and take a bathroom break.

That's an ugly and smelly secret that the Vegas casinos don't want you to know... that at any given time, hundreds of seats at various slot machines in Las Vegas are covered in urine by addicted gamblers who ignored their bladders and pissed in their pants in order to keep on gambling. Urine junkies. And if you know people are urinating on themselves, a few unlucky fuckers are shitting their pants while waiting for a Mr. Cashman bonus round.

At the same time, those stories are hysterical and sad. But that's the harsh reality that you don't get to see under the bright lights of the Strip, where dozens of shameless addicted gamblers are currently sitting in warm pools of their own urine.

... to be continued.

* * * * *
Read the other installments...

Seven Deadly Sins Part I: Lust and Gluttony
Seven Deadly Sins Part II: Wrath

Sunday Pimp

A couple of friends are busy covering two big tournaments. Check out:

1. Flipchip's coverage and Bellagio Five Diamond Classic photos.
2. Spaceman's coverage of the WSOP Circuit event in AC.

And yes, I'll be ending my tournament hiatus and going down under in 17 days to cover the 2007 Aussie Millions.

Truckin - December 2006, Vol. 6, Issue 12

1. 12 by Paul McGuire
"Hey, let's go to ten hash bars today." Nicky shrugged her shoulders and motioned, "OK." I didn't think we'd actually do it and when the night was over, we'd go to twelve in all. Twelve hash bars in twelve hours? I'm glad I did that because records are meant to be broken... More

2. Zippers Come Undone in Vegas by Grubby
At the club, Maya chatted me up. She said she'd moved from Fremont, CA, and has been living with her mother for three weeks. She's been working at Rhino for half that. I believed all of it... More

3. Fugue in Geek Minor By Falstaff
I had torn off down to New Orleans for Fall Break, gotten drunk at Wet Willie's, pissed in a public park under a streetlight and gotten front row seats at Big Daddy's Topless & Bottomless, where a Eurasian chick with a black pageboy cut and three tattoos did things to Jason's hat that made him swear he would never do laundry again... More

4. The Man John Never Knew by Nick Cantwell
John spent all day with one eye on the latest share prices, and his other eye fixed on the neighbourhood - and when his job became second nature to him, it was this other eye that he found much more captivating... More

5. Grounded by Sean A. Donahue
I just wanted to rest. But Dad would have none of it, from the yard work being done to taking me out to lunch, we did everything but sleep... More

Welcome back to another issue of Truckin'. The December and final issue of 2006 features the return of Grubby with a hilarious gem about a recent trip to Las Vegas. Fellow bloggers Sean A. Donahue and Falstaff are back. I Also penned 12, which is a recap of twelve different hashbars that I visted one day in Amsterdam. And I'm happy to introduce a new writer and fellow poker blogger from the mix, Nick Cantwell from London.

If you like these stories, then please do me and the rest of the writers a huge favor: Tell your friends about your favorite stories. It takes a few seconds to pass along the URL. I certainly appreciate your support. Feel free to shoot me an e-mail if you know anyone who is interested in being added to the mailing list or writing for a future issue.

Derek's Vegas Trip Report

By the way, you have to go read my brother's Las Vegas trip report. It's one of the best I've ever read. You can find out how he managed to smoke 15 packs of cigarettes and get only a few hours of sleep. Enjoy!

Seven Deadly Sins Part II: Wrath

The non-linear Las Vegas trip reports continue...

Wrath

Inappropriate feelings of hatred and anger. Denial of the truth, both to others and in the form of self-denial. Impatience with the law, or seeking revenge outside of justice, such as with unnecessary vigilantism. Wishing to do evil or harm to others. A modern definition would also include anger towards others for no good reason, such as their race or religion, leading to discrimination. 'Minor' sins born of Wrath are some of the most serious, including murder, assault, discrimination, and genocide. Wrath is the only sin not associated with selfishness or self interest. Dante described Wrath as "love of justice perverted to revenge and spite."

I was pissed off after I got stuck 1K. I was once told it's "better to be pissed off than pissed on." But that mantra could not change the mean streak that illuminated my eyes as I grew increasingly more livid when my putrid gambling losses rose over 2K.

"I gotta get unstuck."

Nothing is worse in Las Vegas than desperately jumping into the deep end of the abyss while trying to chase a loss at a -EV game... by playing more -EV games. Behavior like that is what makes casinos super profitable and allows guys like Steve Wynn to punch holes into a $139 million Picasso painting without blinking an eye.

I fell victim to my own weaknesses of greed as I lost self-control. The pit games sucked the life out of my bone marrow and crushed my soul like a bug's ass going through his brains on a windshield at 85 mph on a California freeway.

"Greed is good," echoed the sentiments of Gordon Gekko from Wall Street, my favorite movie of all time.

Greed might be good, but it makes you do horrible things underneath the bright lights of Las Vegas. Once its spell has been cast, you have no other choice than to ride out the poison as it rushes through your veins. The true darkside of human nature is just once impulsive act away from distinguishing a story from being a comedy or a tragedy. In my case, it started out a comedy than took the wrong turn.

"I gotta get unstuck."

Dawn witnessed the darkside. I unleashed it at 2am early Monday morning. The beast had been lurking in the shadows until I snapped and all the frustration and anger spewed out of me. I had been drinking excessively. My gambling losses were racing towards 3K. I lost control.

Dawn described it as:

I then watched Pauly go on extreme Pauly tilt and threaten to beat Snail Trax in the face for talking about him behind his back.
"But we did it right here. Where you could hear us. And we're just trying to cheer you up."
Pauly was having none of it and slammed his remaining stack of red chips and his single gray chip into the betting circle.
"Going for broke, eh?" F-train commented looking at Pauly.
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I said a light bulb illuminating over my head.
"HA! Wow, I totally just now got that saying." I said.
F-train laughed.
Pauly pushed.
And? A push is a win! Win-Gow!
F-train went on tilt cause when Pauly went all-in, he was gonna go all-in, but it was too late... and since he won his hand, he would have gotten the Doble.

Yeah, Daddy and Change100 wee trying to figure out a way to cheer me up. And anyone who's been stuck knows that there's only one way to feel better... and that's getting unstuck.

The run got so ugly that I pissed away $500 at a $15 Pai Gow Table inside of an hour. What the fuck? That was today's Tao of Poker's What the Fuck Moment? Talk about getting cold decked. One female dealer from Korea smacked me around so much that I forgot how to play the game for a few minutes as I blankly stared at my hand, caught in a haze of Pai Gow amnesia.

At one point I was betting almost $100 on a single hand and lost all semblance of discipline. I had a Zen-like moment as I glimpsed into Otis mind for a few moments during his tumultuous run at the Pai Gow tables at the Gold Coast this past summer where he was betting $800 on a single hand.

"I gotta get unstuck!" I screamed at the dealer... at the cocktail waitress... at my brother... at anyone.

Shortstacked, I moved all-in four times in a row at the Pai Gow table. I chopped once and won three other times. I went from short-stack to a decent stack but promptly donked it off in true fashion. I woke up wearing the prototypical "Las Vegas Loser" shirt that day and my anemic poor luck lingered with me all day like an atrocious case of the clap. Yes, I was stuck so badly my penis hurt every time I had to go pee. I was bleeding so much cash at that point, I would piss Twenty dollar bills into the urinal.

The NFL games on Sunday killed me. Killed. Me. I started out hot after nailing two picks from Miami Don and then the action went spiraling out of control. I lost the next two big bets by close margins. Vince Young scored a TD in over time which sent me on mega-tilt for the rest of the trip. That would become the flashpoint for a mudslide of loses. Craps. Pai Gow. NFL. NBA. Prop bets. Ugliness.

I felt like Philip Seymour Hoffman in Owning Mahoney. My descent into degenerate madness was disturbing. Haunting. Chilling. Adding liquor to the mix kept the inferno raging as every one hundred dollar bill in my wallet slowly evaporated. I keep my gambling money separate from my bankroll and I was tempted to start peeling Benjamins off of my poker roll to help get unstuck.

"I gotta get unstuck."

That's what Sunday and Monday Night football are for. Those are the two most heavily bet games in Las Vegas. Why? Because degenerates like me have to get unstuck. But they don't and that's how people lose their spouses, houses, jobs, cars, and their dignity.

Maybe I really want to lose? Losing gives me something to get angry about. I had been in a relatively good mood the last few months. Maybe I'm addicted to anger, which often gets me fired up.

I'd eventually drive out of Las Vegas back to Hollyweird uttering those exact words, "I gotta get unstuck. Thank god for bookies."

Grubby and I have often talked about addiction and greed and the psychology of becoming addicted to losing. We both agreed that nothing sums that up better than what Dan Gilroy wrote in Two for the Money when Al Pacino's character crashes a Gamblers Anonymous meeting and gives the following soliloquy:

You're a lemon. Like a bad car. There is something... there is something inherently defective in you, and you, and you, and me, and all of us. We're all lemons. We look like everyone else, but what makes us different is our defect. See, most gamblers, when they go to gamble, they go to win. When we go to gamble, we go to lose. Subconsciously. Me, I never feel better than when they're raking the chips away; not bringing them in. And everyone here knows what I'm talking about. Hell, even when we win it's just a matter of time before we give it all back. But when we lose, that's another story. When we lose, and I'm talking about the kind of loss that makes your asshole pucker to the size of a decimal point - you know what I mean - You've just recreated the worst possible nightmare this side of malignant cancer, for the twentieth goddamn time; and you're standing there and you suddenly realize, Hey, I'm still... here. I'm still breathing. I'm still alive. Us lemons, we fuck shit up all the time on purpose. Because we constantly need to remind ourselves we're alive. Gambling's not your problem. It's this fucked up need to feel something. To convince yourself you exist. That's the problem.

You know, the best part of the best drug in the world isn't the high. It's the moment just before you take it. The dice are dancing on the table. Between now and the time they stop, that's the greatest high in the world.

... to be continued.

Seven Deadly Sins Part I: Lust and Gluttony

There was something peculiar about this gathering of the tribes. Maybe it was the fact that the majority of bloggers have attended and experienced more than two or maybe the planets were aligned in such a way that it added an extra layer of weirdness to the last few days.

Regardless of the cosmic influences on everyone's aberrant behavior, there were more epic stories, misadventures, and tales of debauchery on this trip than in previous gatherings. A high water mark has been set after this assemblage of nefarious souls who all traveled long distances and called in favors with spouses, family members, and bosses so they could get the necessary time off to delve deep in the mischievous under world of Las Vegas.

Excess. That could be one word to describe the weekend. Excessive use of profanity. Excessive gambling. Excessive narco/alcohol consumption. Excessive horniness. Excessive use of the words "Dick Bro."

We descended upon Sin City to do just that, as almost a hundred of us dove head first into an orgiastic binge of the Seven Deadly Sins.

Lust. Gluttony. Greed. Sloth. Wrath. Envy. Pride.

The worst deviants among us managed to spiral into a frenzy that included all seven, while a handful mustered up enough courage to dabble in one or two.

Most of the "no fuckin' way I can't believe he/she did that" stuff that went down between the hours of 2am and 8am is not blogworthy. For now. So for a few of you (names withheld) that engaged in sophomoric behavior, you're secrets are safe with me... until I go completely broke or lose my entire poker bankroll and decide to blackmail you to help get unstuck.

I must say that I'm equally freaked out and proud of everyone's hijinks. If we could get medals for doing stupid shit and acting like soused sleep deprived wankers... than we'd all be walking away with gold medals. But then again, doesn't everyone get a medal who participates in the Special Olympics? Because when you are special... so very special... everyone's a winner.

* * * * *
Lust

Lust is best described as depraved thought, unwholesome morality, desire for excitement, or need to be accepted or recognized by others. It also includes obsessive or unlawful sexual desire, such as desiring to engage in excessive sexual appetites. Bestiality, rape, and adultery are considered to be extreme forms of Lust. Dante's criterion was "excessive love of others," thereby detracting from the love due to God. However, Lust and love are two different things; while love involves mutual appreciation, trust, deep friendship, and willingness to sacrifice, Lust is little more than extreme sexual arousal. In Purgatorio, the penitent walks within flames to purge himself of lustful thoughts.

Moments before the tournament on Saturday at Caesar's Palace, AlCantHang stumbled over to me and said, "I think that I broke rule #20."

AlCantHang rolled by a hooker? Yikes. Yes, the ladies of the night were crawling all over the Geisha Bar at the IP. Derek caught them in action as pimps and hookers converged upon the bar looking for tricks.

"Dammit bitch, I told you to get over to Casino Royale!" one pimp screamed at one of his girls in front of Derek.

Sex in Sin City comes at a price and if you want to bang a working girl, it's going to cost you anywhere from $300 to $3,000 depending upon your fetishes and the quality of the girl. Sure there are crack whores down at the Redneck Riviera that will blow you for $20, but that's the difference from eating something off the Dollar Menu at McDonald's and feasting on a Kobe steak. You get what you pay for.

The depravity of humankind is epitomized by Las Vegas. It is the modern day version of Sodom and Gomorra with an all-you-can-eat buffet and 99 cent shrimp cocktail.

Thursday night at the Geisha Bar was the best night of the trip. Hands down. And it's not because of the hookers that infested the bar. I'm glad that I picked the Geisha Bar because it was strategically the best place to have an informal meeting place since most of us were staying at the IP.

Sure the IP might be a gem compared to anything downtown, but for a Strip property, it was very ghetto. A tinge of seediness filled the air with plenty of campiness from the Dealertainers. That suited my friends perfectly. We don't need gaudy casinos to have a good time. All we needed was a bar with a fast bartender and it didn't matter if we were at The Plaza, The Castle, The Borgata, or the Geisha Bar. We were there to see each other.

I figured only a handful of people would show up from 10-Midnight. I was wrong. The drinking lasted way into the morning hours and almost everyone who showed up on Thursday night was there including Otis who came in at the last minute.

Most of the people at this trip were veterans and knew that Thursdays were always a fun night an decided to come in early. Everyone who had a hangover when they woke up on Friday (or Saturday depending on when you eventually slept) can attest to the excessive binge drinking that eventually led to a phenomenon that I would refer to in my notes as "bloggers groping other bloggers."

Most of the sexual banter among the bloggers was jaw dropping, comical, and in a few instances outright pathetic. But hey, it's Vegas. And I hope people used protection, like what Bobby Beer Goggles said, "What happens in Vegas... gives you herpes."

Supposedly your punishment in hell for lust is being bombarded with fire and brimstone. Sounds like every bad session I had online at PokerStars this year.

* * * * *
Gluttony

Modern views identify Gluttony as being associated with an overindulgence of food and drink, though in the past any form of thoughtless excess could fall within the definition of this sin. Marked by a refusal to share resources and unreasonable or unnecessary consumption, Gluttony could also include certain forms of destructive behavior, especially for sport, for example substance abuse or binge drinking. The penitent in the Purgatorio were forced to stand beneath two trees, unable to make use of the food hanging there and giving them a starved appearance.

The sound of my cellphone ringing ended up waking me up Friday around 9:30am after crashing an hour after sunrise. AlCantHang had arrived in Las Vegas and I found him raging solo at the Geisha Bar. I couldn't let my wingman down and started drinking as the first batch of Friday arrivals began trickling in. Daddy stumbled off his plane and headed right to the bar at the IP with GMoney as I ordered vodka and vitamin C drinks with on_thg. It got you drunk and was healthy for you.

Mostly everyone was shocked when they found out I lost 20+ pounds and started eating salads and exercising daily. I did it for a reason. Survival. I knew that I had a seven week bender scheduled that included two trips to Las Vegas (Vegoose and the bloggers) and jaunt to Amsterdam with Change100. I'm getting older and it takes longer and longer for me to recover from those long parties that last for several days.

The four day bender at the Bash at the Boathouse and my birthday in late September nearly destroyed my liver but it quickly crushed my soul after I was hungover for almost a week afterwards. And that happened after only four days of partying. How would I be able to handle 50 brutal days of the rock star lifestyle if I couldn't even lasting a long weekend without puking and waiting to crawl up in a ball and die? I had to get in shape.

Running up to five miles a day gave me the endurance that I needed to survive a music festival with Professional Keno Player Neil Fontenot and the Joker, a trip to Amsterdam (where we walked everywhere), and running with the bulls (AlCantHang) in Las Vegas. I knew that I could handle the intoxicants. That was never an issue. What worried me was the cumulative affect of lack of sleep and having to constantly ward off hangovers by staying perpetually drunk.

When my immune system is low due to lack of eating and too much partying, I'm susceptible to colds and infections and my body suffers. Plus since I travel so much, I'm constantly flying on germ-infested planes and in contact with many different people who are surrounded by random illnesses. I had to boost my immune system and getting in shape and changing my diet was the quickest way to do that.

Instead of giving up bad foods and drinking, I found a way to continue my overindulgence.

Sure, I had a few bad mornings over the past seven weeks, but I feel great physically considering the kind of torture and rigorous traveling that I put myself through. I only added five pounds and my bum knee feels great. Conversely, the days after the completion of the Boathouse bender were utter torture. My liver and my soul has since recovered.

In Las Vegas, my body felt like I was 24 again instead of 34 just from running a few days a week. I finally figured out a way to keep partying into my 40s. As long as I work out and eat healthy for brief periods of time, I can continue to enjoy the gluttony of eating whatever I want and partying like I used to when I just got out of college.

Last Thursday before the drinking binge at the Geisha Bar, I managed to have an excellent meal at The Palm, one of my favorite steak joints with locations in LA, Vegas and NYC (where the original is located) where Derek and I celebrated life with the Poker Prof and Flipchip.

Of course on Friday, I shrugged off my hangover and headed to the buffet at The Wynn where Gracie held court. She expected less than 20 people to come and over 30 showed up. The Wynn's lunch buffet was better than expected and rivaled the Bellagio's. I feasted on the Jerk Chicken and Kobe meatballs. I made several trips to the buffet stations and managed to eat dessert halfway through my meal as I stuffed my face with sorbet, cookies, and other pastries.

Sadly, that would be the only meal that I ate on Friday. Twelve hours later, after consuming enough booze at the MGM to keep the entire town of Sheboygan liquored up for a month, I would regret not eating another meal. Food is the perfect fortification for booze. Without it, you're pretty much going to get blitzed and saying stupid shit like a shitfaced Michalski offering to lick my balls... for free.

Of course, there was no shortage of excessive drinking on both Friday and Saturday nights. Poor Drizz jumped out to the early lead for the Lewey Award after passing out in the bathroom where it took a couple of security guards and a wheelchair to get him back to his room safely. It was his birthday and I know things got fuzzy for me after I started drinking Kamikaze shots with Drizz.

The word moderation randomly disappears from my brain and my vocabulary when I'm in Las Vegas. The inner demons that haunt me have an unquenchable thirst for food, drink, drugs, excitement, sex, gambling, and adventure. It's easier to just give in than to do the right thing and quell those urges. The Dionysian lifestyle appeals to me.

In the city of excess, there was only one thing to do... surrender to the flow.


... to be continued.