I played online poker this morning at JFK airport at 7am as I waited to board a flight to Burbank. My opponents included a German, a Canadian, and a Dutchman. Sounds like the beginning to a crude ethnic joke, right? Sadly, it wasn't. No one said a peep in the chat, even when I put a wicked beat on the German. Silence.
I quit up $5. That barely paid for my greasy biscuit at the food court.
$5. What can you buy for $5 these days?
Beers cost $7.14 at the various bars in the Bahamas. Shit, I can't even get a dime bag for $5. But seriously, what am I going to do with $5? Just smile and book the win. At least I completed a winning session. I had been bogged down in the middle of a rough losing streak and even a $5 win can be a slight ego boost.
I watched women's luge the other day and all I could think about is how the hell can I bet on it? I really think that after an hour or so of watching the Women's Luge World Championships that I have it all figured out to the extent that I know I can turn a profit predicting winners.
I became fascinated and enthralled with luge. Chicks on sleds. I think it's the whole Nordic blondes in slippery latex outfits fulfills a certain fantasy of mine that gets me all hot and bothered. One thing for sure, the Germans and Austrians fembots dominated the world championships save for one Norwegian hold out.
I have been betting small on the NFL playoffs. The home dogs in the opening round were too good to pass up. I turned a small profit. I just bet enough to keep my interest in the games. If I don't wager on a game, it becomes utterly meaningless like one of those no-name college bowl games. The Clitoris Bowl.
Going into this weekend, I have no idea who to pick. I might just go with some advice I heard from the old Jewish guys who sit in the back booth at this Greek diner that I frequent in the Bronx. They're calling for an Arizona vs. Pittsburgh Super Bowl. I think they are biased because those guys are hardcore Giants fans and they can't stand to see Philly one up them.
Ever have a belch a couple hours after a great meal and the taste of the belch is so good that you get to re-live the savory meal for just a second?
Here's the Bahamas belch... or stuff that I forgot to include in a previous post.
Bahamas is on the fringe of the Bermuda Triangle and infected by Island Time where the locals and service people shuffle along at a snail's pace whether it's checking you into a hotel, or bringing you food, or while waiting in various lines at the Nassau airport. The first line was to check into JetBlue. That was the fastest moving line of the day. Next up was a first round of security. I managed to cut the lengthy line by sheer accident. I took advantage of the situation and ended up jumping in front of EPT hostess Kara Scott.
"You cutting me, Pauly?" she said with a smile.
I shot her a hungover look and she winked and let me pass. I survived two lines and then came the dreaded customs/immigration line which you have to clear before you get on your flight so when you land in the States, you can simply exit. Immigration was held back by all the international passengers who needed to have their palms scanned. I saw one of Benjo's colleagues get harassed by the overzealous border guards.
Lucky for us, someone figured out that they needed to open a US Passports ONLY line. Lucky for me, I was one if the first persons picked out of the long line to get funneled to the new line. I saved a good forty-five minutes.
The immigration guy grilled me about how much money I had. He kept asking if I had more than $10,000.
"How much do you have?"
A couple of grand.
"How much exactly is a couple a ground?"
Two or three.
"I'll ask you one last time, how much exactly do you have on you?"
$2,870. I failed to mention the Euros I had on me, but he never inquired about those.
I stood in a second security line and when I survived that I was finally inside the departure area. I wandered around the small and crowded gates. I spotted a handful of poker pros heading out. Some where off to the next stop on the tour whether it was Mississippi, Atlantic City, Los Angeles, or even Las Vegas. Greg Raymer, Bill Chen, Chad Brown, Ylon Schwartz, Brian Townsend, and Marcel Luske milled around the dozens and dozens of hungover and sunburned souls who were on the tail end of their vacation.
I wonder if those guys were grilled about how much cash they had on them?
Everyone wanted to know if I engaged in any degenerate lime tossing with Otis in the Bahamas. The answer is a resounding... no.
Not once. Sincerely. This was the one time of year we do not partake in our favorite past time. First of all, limes are out of season. Nothing is worse than tossing a non-ripe lime. It doesn't bounce quite right.
And secondly, I have been getting a steady stream of hate mail from pro-fruits activists who have been getting on my case for my many documented instances of cruelty to citrus fruits.
For fuck's sake people, lighten up! Once I buy a lime (or a Corona which happens to be accompanied by a lime 97.6% of the time in North America), the lime ceases to have any rights. I own and retain all rights to said lime.
And if I want to drown the lime in warm piss and shove it into the mouth of my beer, then so be it. And if I want to meaninglessly toss limes for competitive prize money, then it's my God-given right as an American to do so. Thomas Jefferson would not have stood for an of that bullshit.
With that said, I'm looking forward to a new season of lime tossing with Otis. I heard that he's getting Tommy John surgery this off season, so I'm feeling good about my chances.
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