Seven Deadly Sins Part V: Pride

The Seven Deadly Sins and Las Vegas Series concludes with this final chapter.

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Pride

In almost every list Pride is considered the original or most serious sin, and the ultimate source of all other sins. It is identified as a desire to be more important or attractive to others, failing to give credit due to others, or excessive love of self (especially holding self out of proper position toward God). Dante's definition was "love of self perverted to hatred and contempt for one's neighbor." In Jacob Bidermann's medieval miracle play, Cenodoxus, Pride is the deadliest of all the sins and leads directly to the damnation of the famed Doctor of Paris, Cenodoxus. Pride was what sparked the fall of Lucifer from Heaven, and his subsequent transformation into Satan. Vanity and Narcissism are good examples of these sins, though both imply a more empty feeling of Pride, with little to back it up. In the Divine Comedy, the penitent were forced to walk with their heads bowed while they were whipped in order to induce feelings of humility.

"Fuck pride!" Marsellus Wallace said in Pulp Fiction.

I wanted to get unstuck and Pride was fucking me in another one of those abusive relationships. Pride is a fickle thing. There's a fine line between being confident in who you are and crossing that line and acting like a narcissistic baboon. Pride is the root of all assholes on the planet. Pride is what prevents you from admitting you made a mistake. Pride is what makes you belittle the short comings of others in order to make you feel better about yourself.

My most embarrassing moments happen to occur when several of the deadly sins are dancing and cajoling the guy inside my head who calls most of the shots. Pride is the ring leader and parades Gluttony and Greed and Lust in front of me like scantily clad nubile lingerie models. It's impossible to look away and I'm immediately distracted. And when I'm paying the least attention to life, Pride takes control and things start falling apart.

I wanted to get unstuck, but I couldn't accept defeat and walk away a loser. Instead of a small loss, I chased and my losses grew bigger and bigger. Pai Gow? Loser. Craps? Loser. NBA? Loser. NFL? Loser. The hole got deeper and my mood got darker. I became pathetic character in a Raymond Carver short story... somber, desperate, and intense.

Pride was making me chase my losses when at best under optimal conditions, I was a long shot to break even. I hadn't slept well in days. My mind was frazzled. I had been drinking an increased amount than I normally do when I gamble (to ease the pain of the heavy losses). And my decision making abilities were clouded due to Severe Mega Pai Gow Tilt (SMPGT). I was lucky enough to make it out of Las Vegas alive without having to dig into my poker bankroll to cover my losses in the pit and at the sports book.

"You wanted to lose so you bet on the Rams against the Bears," Change100 said in a hushed tone.

"I love home dogs, especially on Monday Night Football," I blurted out trying to justify my losing pick.

I sounded like the poor guy who bet on the Washington Generals every night they played the Harlem Globetrotters. I was pissed at her because she was right. Where the fuck were you when I made the pick to try to get unstuck?

Sometimes you do the wrong thing even though you know fully that you're about to do the wrong thing. Yet you do it anyway. Gambler's suicide. It happens every hour on the hour in Las Vegas, synched up to the Bellagio Fountains. Everytime the fountains spew water thirty stories into the air, a gambler somewhere on the Strip decides to end their misery. They "go for broke" and bet it all on the Pass Line. They push all in with a questionable hand. They toss the rest of their redbirds on one last hand of Pai Gow. The bet it all on the Rams. They know the result before they made it. They were born to lose that day and wanted to end the slow torture.

No wonder that more people come to Las Vegas commit suicide than any other city. I think the other one is San Francisco, so people could jump off the Golden Gate Bridge. There are no big bridges to jump off of in Las Vegas but there's plenty of other ways to kill yourself under the bright lights. Most fugitives end up in Las Vegas on one final bender before they get caught and go to jail. Vegas was where the Ohio highway sniper ended up before he was caught by the federalies at a sister property of the Redneck Riviera if you can believe that.

America's most desperate souls flock to Las Vegas for one final bender before they off themselves in one of those no-tell motels in North Las Vegas with a vague suicide note written on the back of a $10 off coupon to the Thunder from Down Under. Or how about the tenebrous souls who spiral into a fit of morbid depression and jump out of the Excalibur? Those are the stories that get covered up the most... the suicides on the Strip. The powers to be don't want you to know that someone either did a drug deal, nailed a hooker on the bed spread, or tried to kill themselves in your $79 room with a Strip View.

We call it Sin City, but like the fallen angels who left God's side eons ago, they encircle the city and prey on the weak. They whisper words encouraging deviant behavior to you while you sleep and the city that you thought would be the place to fulfill your dreams is nothing more than a mirage in the dessert with an all you can eat buffet that crushes your dreams after getting your Aces cracked by Jack-Shit.

Las Vegas is a sham, a fabricated city and nothing more than an adult Disneyland with single deck blackjack and $300 hookers. Part of the charm is that we know it's a rouse, but like Hunter Thompson said, "Buy a ticket. Take the ride."

We know we're supposed to go to Vegas and do things we normally wouldn't do in our 9 to 5 lives. If you were playing cards with a guy who just got released from prison while drinking at 10am on a Wednesday... without a doubt, your wife would divorce you and your boss would fire you on the spot. In Vegas, that's the least weird behavior you're going to see that day.

That's what's supposed to be the allure about Las Vegas that the mobsters who started the town envisioned it to be... a place in the middle of nowhere away from the cops and the federalies where they could drink, gamble, fuck, and have a good time without anyone breaking up the party.

The suits took it over and turned it into a shopping mall with slot machines. Thank God for the hookers. At least they give Las Vegas a semblance of purity.

It's when you lose sight of what Vegas is supposed to be about and project other romantic and unrealistic notions that the dark side sets in because you were not prepared for it blindside you. You're supposed to go to Las Vegas and lose money and drink too much and do stupid shit. And if you win some money in the process.... then that's awesome because you got paid for your degenerate behavior.

It's when Vegas doesn't meet your expectations that Pride sets in and ruins the trip. Instead of surrendering to the flow of Las Vegas, you fight the fallen angels. You flirt with the deadly sins. And that's when the town turns you on your head and you wake up at odd hours clutching the porcelain god wondering where it all went wrong.

Las Vegas owes you nothing. You flew into town with your sole purpose to use Las Vegas perhaps looking for a quick score and a shortcut to financial success. You wanted to get laid, get fucked up, and totally use and abuse anything in your path including the locals, the other tourists, and the casinos itself.

And when Vegas kicks your ass, takes all your money, and puts you in your place... you can't get pissed. You can't sue Las Vegas. You were dumb enough to tackle on the darkside of human nature and lost. Man loses against nature every time they go to battle. What makes Las Vegas and you any different?

Pride makes you think you can beat The House. Pride lulls you into a false sense of security that your poker acumen far outweighs the short term luck that seems to be wedged up the assholes of the luckboxes on the Strip who suck out flush after flush on the river. Pride makes you think that you can move to Las Vegas and tame the wild beast by going pro. Eventually your pride gets you in enough trouble that you put that ugly fucker to sleep and you get your shit together and leave town.

Las Vegas is an awesome place to party, but it's one hellacious of a town to live in.


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Read the other installments...

Seven Deadly Sins Part I: Lust and Gluttony
Seven Deadly Sins Part II: Wrath
Seven Deadly Sins Part III: Greed and Sloth
Seven Deadly Sins Part IV: Envy

Seven Deadly Sins Part IV: Envy

Seven Part IV: Envy

The Seven Deadly Sins and Las Vegas Series continues...

Envy

Like Greed, Envy is characterized by an insatiable desire, however the two sins differ for two main reasons. Firstly, Greed is normally associated with material wealth, whereas Envy can apply to other concepts, like love or success. Secondly, those who commit the sin of Envy desire something that someone else has. Dante defined this as "love of one's own good perverted to a desire to deprive other men of theirs." In Dante's Purgatory, the envious have their eyes sewn shut with wire, because they have gained sinful pleasure from seeing others brought low.

Over the long term, I'd rather be good than lucky. But over the short term, particularly on a weekend in Las Vegas, I'd take ephemeral luck over skill or competence in a heartbeat. Las Vegas can be frustrating because you see complete jackoffs walking away with huge sums of cash. Some have stacks of black chips that they're spilling on their way to the cage that they scored after a hot run at the black jack tables. Or the push monkeys that bad beated their way to poker tournaments with hyper-accelerating blinds that are throwing a rubber band over a wad of Benjamins. Or the chain-smoking blue haired octogenarians that pocketed $30K on a single slot pull.

I want their money. I want those intoxicating looks on their faces. I want their luck. Badly.

Just take a walk down the Strip on any random week night at 2am and you'll see the hiccups of modern society dodging the porn slappers and filtering into the IP at odd hours to gamble their dreams away like an overzealous rookie bluffing off half his stack with a gutshot that never fills in.

The capitalist pigs of big business prey on your envious ways. The majority of good citizens like you and me are insecure about some aspect of our lives, which makes us easy prey for marketing. Turn on the TV and watch a few commercials and you'll see that if you are not already insecure, The Man will do anything possible to make you feel like shit so you will go out and buy their product to make you feel better.

Feel like a crappy husband? Buy diamonds. Losing your hair? Buy this drug. Can't get it up? Pop this penis pill. Have a small penis? Buy this Hummer. Want to hide those homosexual tendencies? Drink this beer.

But if there was a product to increase your luck, I'd be the first person in line to buy it. Cyndy Violette has her lucky stones and I'm very close to asking her where I could score some lucky rocks. I've done everything possible to attract good luck. Nothing. I avoided $50 bills. I avoided a few bloggers who have been known to have "Cooler" abilities. I gave money to homeless people on the subway the last time I was in NYC. I adopted fourteen Malawian children and even backed one of those wastrels on PokerStars sweating my table begging for $5. I said the Our Father in Latin before every Pai Gow deal. I even sacrificed three virgins in The Rooster's room with a Haitian witch doctor sitting in the corner drinking Wild Turkey. And I still got fucking cold decked by those demagogues in Hawaiian shirts at the Pai Gow tables.

I know why I'm prone to fits of crappy luck at the tables... it's the karmic balance of all things in my life. At any given time, there has to be at least one thing completely fucked up going on with regard to my career, family, friends, relationships, health, finances, and my personal self. When most of those things are flowing smoothly, the powers to be decide to fuck me at the tables. It's a Philip K. Dickian struggle between good and evil as I develop a paranoia that everyone in the gambling industry is conspiring to get all of my money. I think the origin of my psychotic paranoia was all of those bad things I said about Harrah's during the WSOP. Sometimes those suits will go to the extremes to make field goal kickers with lots of vowels in their names miss chip shots so I lose my bet at Caesar's sportsbook or they set up cold decks at the Pai Gow tables at the IP just to drive me insane.

How else can I explain my horrible run of bad luck? Was it just a coincidence that guys with 2-2 flopped a deuce against my Pocket Aces. Or when I had a straight and Kings up in Pai Gow, the dealer miraculously has a higher straight and A-A?

There something called the Envy Bonus in Pai Gow and for $5 you're gambling that someone at the table is going to hit a bonus hand. Grubette is a staunch proponent of betting the Fortune Bonus at the Pai Gow tables, so much so that she gets visibly upset if you don't play the bonus. She'll furiously tap the table and question your manhood until you throw your $1 chips into the circle. F Train and I refused to give in and that set Grubette on Fortune Pai Gow Bonus Tilt. She had to get up and walk off the steam spewing out of her ears.

The best cure for envy is to repeat that stupid fucking ubiquitous mantra that's been repeating itself in my head continuously since 1986.

"The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence."

I knew some hippies from my Seattle days that used to say, "The grass is always better, when you smoke your neighbors' grass."

The "grass is always greener" mantra is about understanding that there no absolute perfect place or moment in life and that if you examine everything you will find some faults and come to the conclusion that the alternative is better. Sure sometimes it is, but the entire point of the saying is accepting the Zen philosophy of being in the moment.

That reminds me of an old saying from Lao Tzu, "To not want is to be."

By eliminating desire, you have a better chance at living completely in the moment. To think about having other things (material or non-material) makes you lose focus on the now and instead of living in the present.

Being able to live in the moment in Las Vegas became impossible for me when my mind started drifting and I began desiring the luck of the other gamblers. I was soon coveting my neighbor's wife and my neighbor's oxen. I wanted that winning hand. I wanted to be betting on the winning team. I wanted to be betting on anything that won. The number 23 at craps. The under in the Suns/Bobcats game. Anything.

I knew it got ugly when I was offering to shoot Odds or Evens with F Train in the lobby of the IP. I didn't think it was possible, but I fucked that up too. It was 33% less difficult that Roshambo. I had to only pick one of two numbers. Cold decked in Odds and Evens.

Humiliated, I peeled a bill out of my diminishing bankroll and paid my debt to F Train. My bankroll used to look like Fat Elvis. At that point, it looked like the ever disappearing Nicole Ritchie.

When people in recovery talk about the moment they decided to turn it all around, they speak about the flashpoint where you hit rock bottom. I had been at that destination too many times before in life. Like a bus station in the middle of nowhere that smells like cat piss and desperation, you know you've been dropped on Death's doorstep and only you can find your way back. It's when you having nothing left to cling to... that's when you decide to take the first step and improve yourself.

That's why I understand how people quickly trade addictions and find religion or God or spirituality after dabbling in booze, gambling, drugs, sex, and capitalism. As humans, we need to get off for one reason or another. Either it's for excitement or to dull the pain, whatever the root of the problem... it's there. That thirst has made many men and women wealthy. Depravity and decadence is profitable. And as long as there's that urge... that want... that desire... a place like Las Vegas will always make money.

I finally got my shit together when I realized that I envied those lucky folks who were at the airport ready to get on flights to go home. I don't have a home per se, but I wanted to get the hell out of Las Vegas before I lost any more of my money, my hair, and my sanity.

... to be continued.

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

Seven Deadly Sins Part I: Lust and Gluttony
Seven Deadly Sins Part II: Wrath
Seven Deadly Sins Part III: Greed and Sloth

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.

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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

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.