Thursday, August 30, 2007

Poker is a Strange Game

It seems as though everytime we gather around the coffee table (or down at the pub) for a game of hold'ems, the exact same thing happens to me. I lose. But not only that, I lose in the exact same way every time. I start off slowly loosing all my chips, a few minor wins here and there, then going all in on a no-hoper and winning several bucketloads of chips in the process. This invariably leads to over-confidence, and what do you think happens over the next 5 minutes to my collection of chips? I shall explain in pictorial form:

What keeps me going back week after week is the neverending hope to break out of this cycle. It's still the best game ever of course!

Onto more pressing matters at hand. I firmly believe that the tenants down the road who partied late into the night on Tuesday night should be charged with terrorism. Seriously, who parties on a TUESDAY? The week is still going uphill? And poor me, who has to endure 3 hours of multivariable calculus at 9am the next day, is forced to lay in bed and listen to drunken merriment all night long. I wouldn't mind so much even if the music was decent... but I think I heard the likes of Pink and Britney in the mix, which wanted me to drive a toothpick into my ears and turn my eardrums into chutney. Having said that, my friend deciding that the music for our last party being "the 80s", could have qualified for such chutneyfying of the eardrums.

Speaking of aural torture, I proceeded to take photographic evidence of the lunar eclipse the other night, only to be surrounded at the park by a coven of pagans, ceremonial dress and all, banging bongos, shaking tamberines, and blowing random notes on their 2nd-grade freebie recorders, all the while dancing in circles singing incoherantly. Now, tolerant as I may be of other peoples beliefs, it was damn well amusing to watch. So amusing i nearly missed the slip into totallity. Drove the dogs crazy too. Alas, I headed home when I realised that a gang of Catholics wasn't going to storm the ritual like a holy crusade. One of these days it will happen, and my smirky wishes for a Catholic vs Neo-Pagan bloodbath will ensue. I think I might open my own backyard fighting circle, kinda like cockfights, but without the birds. I'll put $50 on the reconstructionists to win over the roman sect, thanks! But then again, not only am i nearly certain that bloodsports are against my tenancy agreement, but I do not want some Wiccan council or the Vatican [eh, same difference really] raiding my domicile. But it might amuse the Mexicans.

Alright, I am going to make like a tree and get the fuck out of here!