I used to be addicted to poker. During my last two years of college I spent much of my time playing poker on the internet, in Atlantic City, and in seedy home games, instead of getting drunk and sleeping with easy college girls. And the rationalization I sold to myself was pretty shitty in hindsight. It went something like, “The people skills you learn playing poker will bring you many benefits in your future dealings with jobs and women, because you will be able to read people very well.” God I was such an idiot.
Now think about the type of person that has to sit at a casino poker table for 12-hour stretches at a time, calculating his win ratio while keeping statistics at home in Excel spreadsheets. That person has to be cheap… real cheap, someone who would do anything to get comped $6 for a crappy sandwich. The number of fights I’ve seen at the poker table for pots under $30 made me realize that true gamblers are miserable people who choose to dedicate their free time to a card game because it offers an escape from reality.
As graduation approached - and losses from $5-10 Hold Em piled up - an uneasy feeling started to gnaw at me during hours playing with old men in Atlantic City, who start whining like a little bitch when their “solid” AK offsuit gets rivered by 34 suited. This feeling finally hit me square in the jaw: everyone who plays poker is really really ugly. I’m talking circus-freak ugly.
It brought a man down to play cards for hours with social rejects. Have you ever been to the Taj Mahal poker room in Atlantic City? That’s where producers from Extreme Makeover and The Swan go to get people for their show. If you’re a genuinely ugly person the only thing left for you to really do is be a gambler; your looks will never be judged as long as you have a bankroll that keeps feeding the complex.
Here are some pictures of past poker champions:
It looks like this year will be the peak of poker as media saturation kills the trend. I plan on hitting Atlantic City before all the fish choose another game, so I started practicing saying things like “OMG HOW CAN YOU CALL MY RAISE WITH THAT?” and “OLD MAN, STOP TALKING TO ME YOUR BREATH SMELLS”. I loved the guys who would do straddle bets because they wanted to “have fun”; taking their money was almost erotic… homo erotic.
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My Pick-Up Guide:
“Now think about the type of person that has to sit at a casino poker table for 12-hour stretches at a time, calculating his win ratio while keeping statistics at home in Excel spreadsheets. That person has to be cheap? real cheap, someone who would do anything to get comped $6 for a crappy sandwich.”
man you seriously described my roommate