Hello, friends.
It’s been 13 days since my last post. How many Hail Iggy’s is that?
Lucky for me, I was never that attracted to the tenants of Catholicism. What does it mean, then, that I digs me some voodoo? Likely, it indicates nothing more an inner desire (known, acknowledged, or otherwise) to spit rum on a rooster and then kill it. And have a cigar afterwards. Well that doesn’t sound very good now either, does it? Maybe I just like the way voodoo sounds.
Dee Bones. Day nevah lie.
Work work work, blah blah blah, too tired too busy, I miss poker and can’t fucking wait for Vegas, smack my ass.
You’ve heard all this shit before. Except for maybe that last part. Not sure why I said that, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time (I know, both seconds ago). If you’re one of the folks that has heard that last one before, count yourself a lucky one. It’s a poor and misused existence to not have heard (or said, for that matter), “Smack my Ass!”
And then call me silly.
What’s silly is how fuckin’ long it takes for me to get 4.5 miles at 4PM. If I leave at 3:58, I’m cool. 4PM? It’s like a goddamn cartoon. In my mind it plays with the slightly worn look of an old Looney Toons short where, one moment you have empty street with character looking both ways to BAM! In the blink of an eye, packed. What the fuck just happened?
Ridiculous. (Stop smirking LA/NY people)
Also ridiculous is how long it’s been since I’ve played any poker. I don’t give a damn how tired I am. I give two shits how hard I’ve been going at work. Friday evening will find me sitting at a poker table, come hell or high water. (In the interest of full disclosure I should say here that if hell does actually come there won’t be any poker. High water will likely have the same effect, as insurance concerns will take priority plus the fact that if there is indeed high water in Phoenix will flabbergast me to the point of paralysis.)
It’s gonna take something pretty big to keep me away. I needs to get my gamble on. Gots to start the Vegas training, the weeks are flying by.
It dawned on me just now that I’m still entirely too juvenile. Man, I hope that never changes. The reason? I can’t watch a commercial about joint pain without giggling and laughing. I can’t help but laugh at the senior actors who almost convincingly convey their sadness at having to quit their favorite sport because, “I just can’t take the pounding.” Oh God, I’m laughing again.
I better add some Hail Mary’s to those Hail Iggy’s.
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