Forgive me, Bloggers, it's been 28 days since my last confession.

Er, post.

So, what have I been up to? Not that you care, but I'm going to tell you anyhow. That's how lucky you are, you sexy people, you.

I have played exactly one tournament in the last two weeks, and nothing else, and the only reason I played in that was because it was a $7k freeroll on Dream Poker. I like $1k+ for nothing, but unfortunately I got nothing for the 3 hours I wasted trying to outwit the knuckledraggers and mongoloids on that site. Obviously I'm not better than they are, because I came nowhere near making the money.

I still have the 2nd job, the girlfriend, and the unseasonably warm November weather keeping me away from the computer, and right now I'm fine with that. At least I'm making a little extra money, I'm getting fairly frequent sex without being badgered by talks of babies and engagement rings, and being outside keeps me svelte. I'm giddy to be 3 for 3, even though I spend the extra dough as fast as I make it on all things booze and food, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that all the booze has made me sterile. A man with the maturity of a boy can dream, can't he?

I know what you're thinking. Well, besides "Who in the fuck are you and why do I continue to read this drivel?". The answer to that is "because I've been in the presence of greatness.

Yes, I'm talking about Bob

But besides that, you're probably thinking, "but are you going to Vegas, Chad?"

I ain't. I isn't. I am not.

This will be the first time in years that I will be missing a WPBT event in Vegas, which is technically the truth, even though I'm making it sound like a more significant amount of time than it really is. These things have only been going on for, what, two years? I've only missed the inaugural event, though.

I'm not that disappointed to be missing out. I mean, it's not like I like hanging out with any of you fuckers. And it's not like I'd have fun anyhow. How much fun is it to watch Bob get kicked in the taint, repeatedly, by a blackjack dealer at the stanktastic Excalibur before noon on a Friday after being told by the pitboss "Hey, are you sure you don't want to take a break by the pool to look at the pretty ladies?"

A lot.

And ew. I'd rather claw my eyes out with a serrated edge of a scotch tape dispenser than witness those that patronize the Excalibur pool.

I need say no more on that subject. All I ask for is, perhaps, a dial-a-shot, and please make it between the times of noon and midnight CST. Thanks.

And a hooker named Cloe in my Christmas stocking.
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I'm obviously at a crossroads in my poker "career". I find myself getting bored easier and easier by online play, but there really aren't any viable alternatives to breaking that boredom. Minnesota has a stupid law that restricts cardrooms from spreading NL, and to bet sizes smaller than $60. Live limit poker is no way to break up the monotony of playing online, especially considering I'd have to pay for drinks at Canterbury.

Fuck that.

And on that note, I've reached my been-typing-for-an-hour-but-only-have-300-words limit for today. Good thing I didn't attempt Nano.