NSXT2 Sucks

Chris, the guy I share an apartment with are thinking about starting a joint blogventure. The working title is "NSXT2 Sucks, but Mel Gibson Rules." It's basically going to be a running diary of why online tournament poker pro Todd "NSXT2" Arnold- Paradise Poker's ambassador- sucks, with the occassional inappropriate Mel Gibson quote spliced in. Admittedly, he's not too keen on the latter half of the venture, but I'm convinced he'll come around.

Background:

Chris is a sweet No Limit player. If he were a superhero or X-man or something, he'd be an "empath." He's got an innate ability to get inside somebody's head almost immediately at a poker table, and intuit exactly what he's doing any why. Like all gifted NL players, he can figure an opponent out quickly, and completely dismantle him in moments, usually with a well timed call down or by hyper-aggressively pushing a big hand, knowing he's going to be looked up.

More than anything, Chris hates tournament players. He's a member of the Barry Greenstein school of poker: "If you can beat a cash game, why are you playing in tournaments? Answer: because you can't beat a cash game, and you're foolishly hoping the increased variance of escalating blinds will allow you to negate certain skill advantages good players hold over you." I agree. Tournaments are- as far as equity goes- usually a waste of time. Tournament players, therefore, are pretty fucking stupid. If a player can beat a cash game, he can make exponentially more money playing in cash games than he can playing tournaments. It's just common sense.

(I'll admit, there are certain tournaments where a good player's EV is high enough to MAYBE justify playing in them. For example, big online rebuy tournaments where most of the field has qualified via satellite. These satellite players are less prone to rebuy, and some even refuse to add-on at the first break. This creates a huge overlay for the good player willing to play properly and accumulate chips who plans to rebuy/add-on; there's so much dead money at the break that any solid player's EV is HUGE. Even so, the circumstances have to be almost perfect, and they too rarely are. Also, the quality of play in big satellites that have super-satellite qualifiers is usually SO atrocious that playing is worthwhile if you want to qualify for a big event, like the WSOP ME or a WPT event.)

Paradise Poker's resident "Ambassador" is a guy named Todd Arnold, who plays under the handle NSXT2. He's a pretty good tournament player who has had very good results on various sites. Chris hates him. He hates everything about him. He hates his blog, he hates his name, and most of all he hates the fact that he plays tournaments and still thinks he's a superior player. Half the time Chris gets drunk, he just starts railing on and on about how stupid NSXT2 is. I might have him write a guest blogentry here so you can understand the white-hot-hate he feels for the man. It's pretty telling that one of the 2 or 3 most common jokes heard around the house is some randomly disparaging comment about Todd "NSXT2" Arnold.

So, in order to prove how much tournament players suck, Chris plays a tournament or two a week. He's considering going on a tournament rampage, just to prove any good cash NL player can slaughter the tournament circuit, and that he's better than Todd Fucking Arnold. To prove his point, he joined a 100 person 125+15 WSOP qualifier. He lead pretty much wire to wire, and won a prize package consisting of a $1500 WSOP buy-in, a 10K WSOP ME buy-in, and $2500 pocket money. (Sweetly enough, second place earned exactly nothing.) If Chris gets off his ass and starts playing the online tournament circuit with a vengeance, I'll start blogging his results, and making fun of Todd "NSXT2" Arnold as much as possible. If it happens, it should be up within the next month or so.


Fun Mel Gibson quote for the day:

"I want to kill him. I want his intestines on a stick. ... I want to kill his dog."- Mel Gibson, referring to NY Times columnist Frank Rich. Frank Rich does not have a dog.

Wouldn't Lethal Weapon have been so much better if Martin Riggs had been not just a semi-suicidal and crazy police officer, but a violent anti-semite as well? Imagine the possibilities...

Martin Riggs: Well, what do you wanna hear, man? Do you wanna hear that sometimes I think about eatin' a bullet? Huh? Well, I do! I even got a special bullet for the occasion with a hollow point, look! Make sure it blows the back of my goddamned head out and do the job right! Every single day I wake up and I think of a reason not to do it! Every single day! You know why I don't do it? This is gonna make you laugh! You know why I don't do it? The prospect of waking up in the morning and eliminating the entire fucking Jewish population in this country! And the idea of escalating conflict between the Middle East and Isreal, and the outside chance that some crazy fucking Islamic despot might blow Israel right off the fucking map!!

Gee, Mel, tell us how you REALLY feel....

Ready to Run Shit

Whoa. I'm the worst...

My internet is finally up and running. I wish I had an excuse blaming a nefarious cable company or roommate or something, but I don't. Instead, I merely couldn't find the 3ish hours it took to build a desk and hook my computer/router up in my busy schedule. Just so you know, my busy schedule involved reading Robert Ludlum books, spitting on Chris for his bad puns, and spending at least 4 hours thinking of a name for my Fantasy Football team. I ended up settling on "Pulling Kiergegaards." In answer to your inevitable question, I was actually completely sober. Yes, it was the best I could come up with. In 10 seconds Chris decided "Big Apple Hegel would be so much better." He's right. It is much better. I decided for Halloween this October I'm going to make him dress up in New York tourist paraphenlia, and carry around German philosophical texts while muttering with a bad German accent about laws of contradiction and laws of the excluded middle. He's a pussy, so he won't do it. But if he did we'd give out 100 bucks to the first person to correctly identify the costume-cum-pun.

I'm reasonably certain that hundo-spot would be safe in our pockets.

In order to make up for my absolutely TERRIBLE month of August, I'm going to try to get something down here at least once every other day. I promise that what I make up for in quantity of entries will be compensated by exponentially lower-quality entries.

One quick thing that I saw at the bookstore yesterday.

I was sitting at a table in the back near the kid's section (because being around other adults makes me feel even worse about myself), reading a collection of old Orson Scott Card works, when I witnessed the following exchange:

(Enter, stage left, harried mother and 2 small children)

Mommy: "Okay, guys, let's go get a snack. Put that down. You could use a snack right? Mommy needs some Irish coffee!"

Kid: "But mommy this is about Jesus."

Mommy: (examines Christianity picture book) "Well... can't argue with that."

Kid: "Jesus! Jesus!"

Mommy: "Okay, honey... put that down and let's get a little snack."

Kid: "But I want to read about Jesus." (plaintively, whining) "JE-SUUUUS!"

Mommy: "Well" (pauses for half a beat) "would you rather read about Jesus? Or get a candy bar? I'll get you a candy bar!"

Kid: "SNICKERS!!!"

At this point the kid just flung the Jesus picture book in a heap on the ground, and started sprinting towards the snack bar.

Mommy: (rolls eyes, sighs) "Oh, Christ...."

At that point I just started laughing my ass off. She smiled at me and said, shrugging and adjusting her daughter on her hip, "Whatever works, right?"

I made up the part about the Irish coffee, but the rest is verbatim. I've been trying to prove this formally for years, but now I can say resolutely:

Chocolate > Jesus

I'll be back later.

"Motherfucking Bjorn Bjorg and shit..."

The "Mothafuckin' Swords and shit? SWORDS AND SHIT?!" is gettin completely out of hand. I'm obsessing. I've found myself staring at a wall and laughing uncontrollably more than a handful of times over the last few weeks. The following things have caused me to lose it:

-"Motherfucking Bjorn Borg and shit."

-"Motherfucking Traci Lords and shit."

-"You think we in here? Wearing wide wale motherfucking cords and shit...?"

-"Motherfucking Tort Reform and shit?"

More to come

A New Low in Personal Hygiene

I feel compelled to confess that I'm by no measure a clean man. My room is usually cluttered, at least, and horrifyingly messy at worst. Once, I woke up hungover in my room, and realized I'd managed to fall asleep with my face in 3-day old pancake syrup. It was a low point.

When it comes to matters of PERSONAL hygiene, however, I'm usually on the ball. I shower daily, brush my teeth 1.33 times/day, and wash my face obsessively. But lately I've begun to slip.

A few years ago, a man I knew in Ann Arbor named Elliot Harik introduced me to what he referred to as "reactive bathing." In the summer, he bathed 10+ times/week. In the winter, however, he'd routinely mention that he'd gone 5 or more days without showering. What gives, Elliot? He explained.

"I shower when I need to." I didn't get it. He further explained that he only cleaned himself when it was absolutely necessary. In the summer, he would sweat, so he would find himself soaping and sudsing more than once-daily. In the winter, however, he would do only the basics: teeth, face, deoderant, and leave the full-body cleaning on the backburner until he could smell himself. I was shocked at the time, but now I'm starting to see the light.

If I stink, I shower. If not, I don't. Hell, I keep the AC on full blast and keep physical activity to an absolute minimum, just so I won't "break the streak."

And my life manages to reach a new and depressing low.

"...Mothafuckin' Fjords and Shit."

The Birchman said...

"Help me god...Where is my life going?
Signed,
The younger more likeable Wang?"

1) Meet my younger brother. Or, as I like to call him when I'm feeling ungenerous, BabyWang. He's 6'6", and the logical extension of my 5'10" father's idea to marry a tall (6'0") woman in order to have taller children, more suited to athletic competition. Just like the saying goes: "Marry first for strategic breeding purposes, second for money, and if you're still around and physically capable, thirdly for love."

2) Keep in mind, everyone, the level of extreme dedication my continued blogging shows. Think about the terrible and awful things I reveal about myself here weekly. Then think about how you'd feel if your (relatively) innocent younger brother was reading about them. Yeah, I know: I'm an Impressive Hobgoblin of Foolish Consistency in a Roiling Sea of Rational and Oft-Inevitable Change.

3) I'm a bad older brother, but a protective one. So no talking shit about LittleWang, unless you wang the brutal wrath of ElderWang called down upon you. You know, unless he deserves it or it's pretty funny.

4) In answer to your question, brother, hope and pray your life isn't on the same path as mine, or you'll end up an unemployable loser whose notable accomplishments over the last week can be summed up in a list including only "managed to keep caloric intake below 1000 in 6 of the last 7 days."


I had a dream last night in which the Swedish Chef from the Muppets asked me angrily when I burst in on him in the sweltering Perry Center bathroom, "You think we in here, playing motherfucking fjords and shit? FJORDS AND SHIT?!" Even in the dream I can remember clearly thinking, "Wait a second, aren't fjords and shit notable in Norway?"


I rule

"Mothafuckin' swords and shit?!"

First, let me apologize for the lack of recent entries. I was in Vegas for a week and wasn't in the mood to sacrifice Life Equity by dicking around on the internet, and I just relocated to a new apartment in Kalamazoo with my buddy Chris. I should be completely set up in the next couple of days, and will resume my regularly scheduled intermittent blogging.

I'll write up a Vegas trip report soon, but for now I don't have a ton of time so for now a brief anecdote from a few years ago will have to do. Anyone reading this should know I probably spend at least a few hours a week thinking about this, or talking to Chris about it. Which is sick.

Background:

When I was in highschool, there was a slight overcrowding issue for a few years, so we had to send kids to the Perry Center campus for various classes. I had an English class there sophomore year, and it was brutal. The facilities were ancient (generations upon generations of Grand Blanc kids have had preschool classes, there, including yours truly), and stupid-uncomfortable. The worst was the bathrooms. Since Michigan gets frigidly cold during the winter season, schools have to be equipped with blaze-capable heating equipment. For some reason, the 2nd floor bathroom at the Perry Center was usually about 110 degrees when the heat was on. After my first trip the 3rd day of class there, I vowed never to return. A friend of mine once confided that he wasn't feeling well, and- though he was making a Yeoman's effort to keep it together another hour- was going to have to take a more-than-brief detour to the Perry Center combination Bathroom/Sauna.

He turned his back to me, and walked down the hall towards the restroom, head hung and shoulders slumped, like an inmate walking down deathrow. He emerged a few minutes later, sweating fiercely, hair matted to his head, looking like he'd just given birth. (I later learned this wasn't far from the truth.)

Chris's little brother Zazz was desperate one afternoon, unable to hold himself together any longer. He flew into the bathroom, and slammed open the nearest stall door...

Inside where two of my classmates, Alvin and Stanley. Alvin whipped his head around, looking 1-part abashed, and 2-parts furious. According to reports, he was dressed like Samuel L. Jackson in "A Time to Kill," complete with sweat-soaked wifebeater. Zazz stared in shock for a few moments, before Alvin exclaimed:

"Hey maaaaaan! You think we in heeah, playin' mothafuckin' swords and shit... SWORDS AND SHIT?!"

I first heard that story a year ago, and haven't stopped thinking about it since. In my mind, the funniest part is that Alvin actually REPEATED the "SWORDS AND SHIT?!" phrase. "Well, Alvin, the thought had never crossed my mind, but now I cannot stop thinking about anything else."

This story recently got new life a few months ago when I started having dreams about it. Instead of Alvin and Stanley, new characters were in the stall, including Samuel L. Jackson, the Dad from Friday, a pair of beat poets (one of which, I believe, is Bart Simpson from the episode in which he fantasizes about steal Homer's Miracle Hair Growth solution), a polar bear and a grizzly bear, two midgets (dwarves?), erstwhile USC Offensive Coordinator Norm Chow, and most recently (and my personal favorite) Minh Ly and Chau Giang.

Just imagine Chau (or Minh), speaking their particularly confounding versions of broken English, saying "...mothafuckin' swords and shit... SWORDS AND SHIT?!" If you don't laugh, you're probably normal, and I'm the weird one.

There's a group of us who can pretty much consistently bring a room of the others to a screeching halt if he just walks in and shouts, "Swords and shit? SWORDS AND SHIT?!" My life is so awesome.

Wang's Body says, "Fuck it: I QUIT"

Dutch said...

If you don't update soon I'll turn The Dutch Factor into a generic poker blog. ...It's gonna' be horrible.

I just flew in from from Vegas, and boy is my liver tired! I'll have an update soon, but for now I need to recuperate a little. Fear not. I have at least one blowjob story.