7th Anniversary Post: Remembering the Hard Rock Hooker

I publish this post on the seventh anniversary of this blog's debut.  Yes this is a reprint of the very first post I ever published (well, sort of, read on).

You see, a few weeks back I suddenly realized I was coming up to the anniversary of the blog, and I got the idea of commemorating it by reposting my first blog post.  But why do this for the seventh anniversary?  It's not like seven is normally a big deal.  I guess i should have done this two years ago for the fifth anniversary--but the truth is I didn't think of it.  And why not wait for the 10th anniversary?  Well, because I might not remember then.  Also, who knows if I'll still be doing the blog three years from now.

Anyway, technically, this isn't quite the first post I did.  On September 20, 2011, I actually published two posts, just a few minutes apart.  You see, I wanted to make sure I had enough content ready so that this blog wasn't going to just be a one-post wonder.  I published two that first day and two more the very next day.  Then after a day or two another post, and then another day with two more posts.  By the end of September, I had nine posts up.

The actual first post was a review of my previous experience staying at the Excalibur.  Since that experience dates back to like 2010 it has almost no relevance today.  In fact, I should take it down, but I don't want to diminish my actual post-count. I guess I thought I might periodically review hotels in Vegas, but I never did that again.  It was just a mindless rant.

Besides, this post below is a hooker story--obviously the first one of many to appear here.  What better way to kick off the blog?  As you know, hooker stories are a staple of the blog.

For the record, I was able to research this and figured out that the actual incident I describe below took place in the summer of 2008--so this is like the 10th anniversary of the story taking place..  I can't vouch for things being the same over at the Hard Rock.  Perhaps the place is hooker-free.  Perhaps they've replaced the hot female bartenders at the pool with senior citizens (I rather doubt that).

I must admit, when I reread this post to publish it again, I sort of cringed.  I feel that if I wrote this today, it would be a lot different in terms of writing style, word usage, sensitivity (ie, a bit more PC) and even grammar.  I was tempted to change a few words and some phraseology.  But I decided to present it in all it's original glory--I didn't change a thing.  But I feel I'm not the same person today who wrote this seven years ago.

Oh, I did change one thing.  Back when I started the blog, I didn't add pictures to the posts.  I didn't start doing that for a few months--in fact, I didn't even know you could do that.  I'm sure you will all agree that the blog is better with the pics.

I'm sure this post, like a lot of my early ones, was adapted from an email I sent to my friends relating this story to them (using those emails was one of the reasons I was able to post so much material right out of the gate).

Hope you enjoy this trip down memory lane!


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A few years ago I decided to go to Hard Rock (not a pseudonym) to check out the pool.  I told the guy I wanted to play blackjack but he didn't seem to care.  Not sure if it was because it was a weekday or not, but all he was there for was to make sure no one took anything glass into the pool area and to make sure they didn't take any bags there (I guess they don't want anyone smuggling outside food and drinks in).  Anyway, I got into the pool area and looked around.

Oh my gosh.  This is the place I wanted my ashes scattered when I die.  The female employees who work in the pool area--all of them wearing bikinis with very tiny sarongs wrapped very tightly around their bikini bottoms--are nothing short of sensational.  I mean they all have killer bodies. Unlike the cocktail waitresses inside, they all seem to be natural on top.  Basically, they don't hire girls for the pool unless they make the average Sports Illustrated Swimsuit model look like Rosie O'Donnell.  I'm not kidding, these girls were unbelievable.

Of course, the clientele in and around the pool isn't bad either.  About 80% of the girls there are various degrees of hot.  Every now and again you see a girl in a bathing suit and you wish she was covered more but that's rare.  This is eye candy at its absolute best.

I eventually made my way over to the bar/casino area.  Behind the bar, there were two female bartenders in turquoise bikinis with virtually perfect bodies.  Don't ask me what their faces looked like, I never got there.  They could look like Greta Van Sustern for all I know.  They not only had one swim up blackjack table but three blackjack tables next to the bar for people NOT in the pool.  These were manned by two awesome looking bikini -clad dealers and one guy, who, sorry ladies, was wearing a shirt.  The minimums for the BJ were $15, $25, and $100.  Frankly, the girl dealing at the $15 table was so hot that I was tempted to play there even at $15 a throw just to get a better view of this gal, but there was no room.  And as hot as the other dealer was, I wasn't quite prepared to play BJ at $100 a hand to get close to her.

But I decided that, while it might not be worth a hundred bucks or so to hang around, it was definitely worth the price of an overpriced drink.  There was an open spot at the bar which I took, which offered a pretty good view of the pool, a great view of the two awesome bartenders and a nice view of various hot girls walking right past me to and from the bar, the casino area and the ladies room.  Also the hot waitresses getting drinks to deliver poolside.  It's pretty much the best experience a guy could have without taking off his pants.

So I sat at the bar and waited to order a drink.  I knew the drink would be ridiculously expensive but I figured it was worth it to buy me, say, 1/2 hour at this venue. I decided to order a Bud Light Lime that I had seen one guy at the bar drinking....in the always stays cold aluminum bottle.  I had heard a couple of guys at poker the day before raving about how great these new bottles were.  And I figured domestic beer would be cheaper than a Corona or a mixed drink.  However, the bartender was totally ignoring me, like she didn't see me.  Not really a problem, gave me more time to enjoy the view.

Which I was.  But then at one point I noticed a few feet from me a girl drying herself off who I definitely did not want to see in a bikini, even though she was indeed wearing one.  This was an example of the one in five patrons who wasn't hot.  Oh, I guess her face was nice enough, but she was definitely too heavy to get away with wearing a bikini.   I wouldn't call her obese, but she was a million miles from being "trim."   Even though she did have big tits that were natural because her bikini showed a lot of cleavage and they were quite sagging.  Hey, if a girl is showing lotsa cleavage and I want to turn away, you know there's a problem, right?

So it didn't take me very long to look away from her and go back to looking at the hot bartender who was ignoring me.  But, within five seconds, the girl I was just describing came over to me, rubbed up against me and said hello.  She was actually getting me a little wet--and not in a good way.  She started chatting me up and since I wasn't born yesterday I immediately realized that the gal was a hooker.  So, they don't just work on the Strip casinos at around 1:00AM, it seems.

She asked me my name and gave me hers (which I immediately forgot) and asked where I was from, what I was here for, what I like to play, was I going into the pool, etc.  And constantly rubbing up against me.  She even complimented my shirt, which was just a plain old pocket T like I usually wear.  I lied to her and said I was leaving town in a couple of hours but it did not deter her.  In hindsight, I know I should have said that I didn't have a room at this hotel to see how she would deal with that, although I thought that was implied by my saying I was leaving town soon since this was around 3:00PM and I would have been checked out of my room by now.  Subtlety was wasted on this girl, apparently.

I was annoyed because she was just a total distraction from what I was really there for.  I mean, even if I was open to the idea of hiring a hooker, this was not the girl I would ever hire.  I probably shouldn't admit this but if I'm being totally honest, if this gal had looked like one of the bartenders, it's not outside the realm of possibility that this story might have a totally different ending.  And one I wouldn't be putting in a blog post. But this girl?  No way.  She would have to pay me, not the other way around.

Now here's the most embarrassing part.  She asked me if I was going to order a drink.  I said that I was trying to but that I was being ignored.  Then she asked if I would buy her one.  I just didn't know how to handle this situation.  I guess my instinct was not to be rude and say no.  Or to tell her to get lost like I should have.  Or make up something about meeting my girlfriend any minute.  So before I knew what I was saying, I said yes, I would buy her a drink.  Such a gentlemen!  Such a putz!

She immediately flagged down the bartender who was ignoring me.  She ordered something, I couldn't hear what, and I ordered the Bud Light Lime.  I really didn't know what it was called so I had to point out the guy who was drinking what I was talking about.  The bartender went to get the drinks.  I got out a twenty figuring that there was no way two drinks could be more than that, including tip.

What I didn't realize was that this slut ordered two drinks.  The bartender put two drinks in front of her (one was huge bottle of bottled water and I didn't know what the other one was) and gave me my beer.  Then she said the tab was $33!  Thirty Three dollars!  I gulped, reached back for my wallet and took out another $20.  You have to tip a buck a drink, right, so that's $36 this little adventure is costing me.  I looked at the receipt.  My beer was $7, so was the bottled water (Large Fiji water).  Now the seven bucks for the beer is outrageous enough, but how do they have the balls to charge the same price for the goddamn water?  And the other drink?  That was a "Red Bull Tiki" and the cost of that was $19!!!!!  Yikes!.  What the hell is a Red Bull Tiki anyway?  For $19 it better be one awesome drink.

Well, it was an expensive lesson but I was trying to figure a way out of it.  I didn't really want to sit there with this chunky hooker and chat with her.  Fortunately, after she had the drinks, she asked me if I was going to be  there that night.  I reminded her that I was leaving in a couple of hours.  She asked I was sure and if I might be interested in joining her for a hot tub party instead.  I insisted that I was not staying long.  She then started to pack up her stuff and said she was taking off but told me, "Don't go anywhere, I'll be back."  Screw that.  As soon as she was out of view, I grabbed my overpriced beer and got the hell out of there!  Back inside the casino.  I didn't think she'd be trolling inside, not in that bikini that was revealing much too much flesh.

I do wonder if this gal has some kind of "arrangement" with the hotel.  She was definitely in the pool and the pool is for guests only.  I doubt she has a room at the Hard Rock.  Does she sneak by or does she have a deal with the hotel?  Perhaps the hotel gets a cut, or maybe the hotel is just okay with it because it brings in customers?

Anyway, it was a pretty annoying experience, and not just because of the $28 I was out (I was willing to spend $8 for the beer I ordered for myself).  It cost me a good half an hour or more of eye candy viewing.  Because there was no way I was hanging around the pool and risking having to deal with her again.....or perhaps some other hooker who was working the pool.

The saving grace is that, at least I got a great story out of it.  By the next day it almost seemed worth it for the story.  And now, I can honestly say that I have spent money on a hooker.  And also, that I got screwed by one.  Just not in the way you'd want to.

"He Was Playing Like a Dick"

This story actually predates my timing blogging.  In fact, I've already told this story to you way back in the very earliest days of the blog.  But I think it's worth a repost, especially since when it ran originally virtually no one was reading the blog.  So unless you're one of those rare folks who has gone back and read every blog post I've ever posted since the beginning, this will be new to you.  And I'm just getting behind in my writing, always seem to have too much going on to get myself to crank out a new blog post for you. Today I finally finished up my taxes and you all know how much fun that is.  So hopefully this will hold you for a few days until I can get some new material to you.  But again, it's highly likely you've never read this.  So enjoy!

A couple of years ago I found myself playing in the 6PM tournament a not to be named locals casino..  I hadn’t played a lot of tournament poker at this point, and really have only recently started playing tournaments semi-regularly.  I played in it mostly because there was no 2/4 limit game going on there (the place was dead) and I didn’t feel like getting back in my car to find another game.  Besides one of the dealers I was friendly with at the time suggested it, and I was thinking they may have sent her home early if they hadn’t needed a second table for the tournament.  So I was playing as a favor to this attractive lady dealer as much as anything else.

As the tournament was about to begin, an extremely attractive young girl took the seat to my immediate right.  She was barely old enough to be in a casino, I assume she was carded before being seated.  She was way beyond cute and had a killer body.  Unfortunately, despite this being summer in Vegas, she was not wearing anything skimpy.  Too bad.  She had on fairly tight shorts (but not that short) and a very tight t-shirt.  It was obvious she had a terrific figure, very thin waist and plenty of curves elsewhere.  But she was probably the only girl her age that I saw on this entire visit to Vegas that wasn’t showing any cleavage, sadly.  

Note:  the famous actress above kind of resembles the memory I have in my mind of what the girl in my story looked liked.  I added the cleavage for your enjoyment.  Because I know my readers come to this blog looking for cleavage.

Her outer-beauty, however, sadly masked a not very beautiful woman on the inside.  She had come to the table with a guy her age who apparently she had just met playing slots.  They sat at opposite sides of the table and talked to each other incessantly during the tournament.  From the conversation (and from reading her players card upside down), I learned the girl’s name was Abigail.  Abigail clearly thought of herself as the world’s greatest poker player.  

From the moment she sat down, she was bragging that she was going to win the tournament.  She said this not just to her friend but to all of us around her.  At first I thought this was just good-natured banter, that she was just kidding around.  But as the tournament progressed, she kept repeating it, and any hint of fun or sarcastic bravado left her voice.  It was clear she meant it.  I’ve heard tournament players kid about winning before and since, but never have I heard anyone this adamant, this serious, and this obnoxious about it.  I began to think that if I looked up the word “arrogant” in the dictionary, I would see her picture.

She wasn’t restricting herself to bragging about winning or her poker expertise.  She started criticizing the other players, and guessing what cards they had from their bets and what they would do….and what they should do….as a result of her guesses.  In hindsight, I have to assume these comments were not said loud enough for the dealer to hear because otherwise she should have gotten warned for talking about the hands, especially hands she wasn’t in.  But out of the blue, if a player raised 3-4 times the big blind pre-flop, she might whisper, “He’s got Jacks” or “She’s got Queens or Tens” or some such.  

The sheer amount of words coming out of her would have been annoying no matter what she was saying.  But as she started criticizing players, it got really off-putting.  And every third sentence of hers was something along the lines of, “I’m gonna win this thing….no one here knows how to play.”  After about half an hour of this, and hearing all of it since I was sitting right next to her, I started to think to myself that she could be sitting there stark naked, look every bit as good that way as I suspected she did, and I’d still would have wanted her to leave.  

Early on I got a personal taste of Abigail’s obnoxiousness.  I had AK suited and hit a King on the flop.  I made a good bet, and she went all in.  She had me covered.  As I mentioned, I didn’t have a lot of tournament experience under my belt.  She could have flopped two pair or even a set.  Did I want to risk my tournament life with top pair/top kicker?  I thought about it for a good 5 or 6 seconds.  My gut told me that she had read me as a timid player (basically true) and that the bet would get me to fold a better hand than she had.  I decided to call thinking I probably had her beaten already and if not, I could still outdraw her.  So I called.  She turned over a medium pocket pair that the board had not hit.  I turned over my AK.  She knew she was in trouble, but wasn’t mad at her luck….she was mad at me!   “Shit, you have AK? What the hell took you so long to call?”  In other words, I was an idiot for not calling her all-in bet instantly.  I of course she have known that my top pair was good and that she hadn’t hit her set. I didn’t bother to respond to her criticism.  Nothing that helped either of us hit on the turn or river and I won the pot.  As I said, she had me covered so she was still alive in the tournament.

Now there were two middle aged guys sitting next to each other at this table that were friends.  And they were even bickering with each other like an old married couple.  They actually joked about being married to each other but it was just in fun, they both mentioned that this was a guys night out from their wives.  One of the guys got into a hand with Abigail and folded pocket Queens to her all-in bet….she showed a fairly weak hand like K-10.  She was quick to criticize the guy’s play.  She wasn’t gloating, she was actually critical of the guy for folding.  Because she knew exactly how to play every single hand properly.

Just a few minutes later, the two of them got into another hand together.  Abigail pushed all in pre-flop, and the middle-aged guy thought long and hard.  He had her covered, but not by much. He would be crippled if he called and lost. While he was thinking about it, Abigail offered that she had a pocket pair….and not a big pocket pair.  The guy thought long and hard…..about 30 seconds if not more, before finally calling her.  She flipped over a pair of fives.  He flipped over a pair of Jacks.  

Abigail was pissed.  Not because she was way behind, but because the guy had taken so long to call her.  By now her buddy had busted out and was standing next to Abigail, watching.  So Abigail said to the player who had called her, “What took you so long?  That’s an obvious call there.  I even said I had a small pocket pair!  Why were you hesitating?”  Of course, no one ever lies at a poker table, right?

The guy actually started to tell her what he was thinking (like it was really any of her business).  In the meantime, Abigail’s friend was agreeing with her that the guy was a fool for taking so long to make the call (probably because he thought that was a good way to get into her pants).  He said something like, “Yeah, what was the big deal?  Why did he need two minutes to call you?”

Abigail had an answer for that, “Oh, he was just acting like a dick.”  If the guy was upset over that, he didn’t show it…instead he continued his explanation, which no one (including me) was listening to.   But the dealer, an older guy who always struck me as quite humorless, definitely heard what Abigail said.  Rather than continue the play of the hand, the dealer held up the action and said to Abigail, “Excuse me.  You just said something not very nice to one of our players.”

Abigail wasn’t interested in the dealer’s comments.  She told him, “Just deal, please.”  But the dealer wasn’t buying.  “No.  I’m running this game, not you.”  He called the floor person over and told him that Abigail had called another player a “dick.”  The floor person lectured and warned Abigail.  Abigail protested.  She said she didn’t call the player a “dick.”  She said he was “playing like a dick.”  OK, big distinction, right?  The floor person didn’t care and said it wasn’t nice, and insisted that she apologize to the player and warned her that next time, she would be asked to leave.    She apologized to the player and the rest of the players too.  But she made a show of looking at the name badges of the dealer and floor person, as if she was planning to report them to some higher authority.

The floor person left and the hand continued.  The turn and river cards didn’t help Abigail, leaving her busted.  As she got up, to her credit, she again apologized to the guy who busted her out.  

She was walking out of the room with her friend, but for some reason stopped at the cashier.  Thinking she was heading straight out of the room, I said to the entire table, “Wow…she was a piece of work, wasn’t she?”  The entire table cracked up, and she looked back from the cashier.  Not sure if she heard what I said or was just reacting to the laughter.

We all agreed that it was a great thing the guy did, busting her out.  The dealer mentioned that she had criticized my play just a few hands earlier.  I had almost forgotten.  We talked about Abigail for quite a while after she left, enjoying her absence. One of the players joked that he thought the player who busted Abigail out was actually named “Dick.”  I had overheard her say that she was a dance instructor and mentioned this.  So someone asked what kind of dance she taught.  I said, “What, you think it might involve a pole?” Everyone had a good laugh at that.

At break, as I left the Men’s Room, I saw “Dick” talking on his cell phone, presumably to his wife.  I overheard him say, “So far, it’s been a pretty bad night.  I’m not doing well in the tournament.  And I’ve already been called a ‘dick!’”

Just a short time after the break was over, I busted out myself.  I didn’t cash in the tournament, but I scored a good story and an unforgettable character.  Thanks, Abigail.

Go Dodgers!

Sure, Houston may have Kate Upton, but that doesn't exactly leave the Dodgers flat!

Enjoy the Series!

P.S....This crazy little blog just passed a million and a half pageviews.

Show One, Show All (Revisited)

Recovery update/explanation:  This is a repost of one of my earliest posts, dating back to my days playing 2/4 limit.  I figured that that for the only way for the time being I could keep you convinced that this is really a poker (and Vegas) blog is to do some reposts from earlier times.  It was posted over four years ago so even those of you who read it may not remember it and can enjoy it again (or not, you are under no obligation to enjoy my posts).

To update you on my recovery, well today I actually worked a few hours for the first time since I was hospitalized.  I must be feeling pretty good.  And I hope to get back to some writing tonite after dinner so that I can have the latest installment of my surgery saga for you in a few days.  In the meantime, here's a blast from the past...

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Before I start, I need to explain to those readers who aren’t poker players the rule, “Show One, Show All.”  At showdown, if a player shows his hand and the other player (or players) still in the hand see that they are beat, they do not have to show their cards, choosing instead to just muck their cards. They can show their cards if they want, and sometimes a player showing a hand he thinks is a losing one can be surprised and discover the pot is actually pushed to him, having misread either his hand or his opponent’s.  But he can certainly muck his cards if he wants.  The reason for not showing your cards is simple; if you have lost the hand, showing what you had gives free information to the other players as to how you played that hand and will give them insight into how you play in general.

Sometimes a player will fold his cards but feel compelled to show the person sitting next to him what hand he is folding, either because he’s making such a tough lay down he simple has to show somebody or he is friendly with that person sitting next to him.  This is where the “Show one, show all” rule comes into play.  A player is not supposed to show his dead hand to selective people at the table.  He is offering valuable information, and it is unfair that only one or two people get that information.  It’s a mild form of collusion.  So if/when that happens, someone else at the table who didn’t see the hand (and usually, it’s me), will tell the dealer, “Show one, show all” and if at all possible, the dealer will take the cards the player just mucked and flip them over so that all the players at the table see what was folded, and everyone gets the same information.

OK, so if you play poker for several hours, you will usually hear a player call out “Show one, show all” several times, especially if I’m at that table.  Just keep that phrase in the back of your mind for later.

Anyway, this particular story dates back almost a year, back to the days I was strictly a limit player, playing in a 2/4 game at the BSC.  I’d been there for awhile when two middle aged guys who were friends took the two seats immediately to my left.  They were really chatty, and obviously they had come to town have a good time first, drink a lot second, and play some poker third.  Within a few minutes I learned that they were from back East, they were old college buddies, and once a year they did a guys’ trip to Vegas together, leaving their wives back home.

I first described these guys in this post here  as BSC regulars.  They knew a lot of the dealers, or at least remembered a lot of them, and were particularly interested in having Ginger deal to them, remembering her as a particularly attractive woman.  Ginger was dealing that night but she never made it to our table.  They mentioned her name a few times before they got too drunk to care.

Early on they started giving every player at the table their own nicknames based either on their appearance or how they played.  One guy was “Raisy Daisy” because he raised pre-flop so much. Another guy looked like some character from Spongebob Squarepants and named him that (don’t ask me what it was, you won’t find anyone who knows less about Spongebob Squarepants than yours truly).  Some guys had names because they looked like people they knew.

Did I have a nickname, I hear you asking?  Of course. They called me “Phil” because of the strong physical resemblance I have to famous professional poker player Phil Ivey.

Heh heh.  The truth is, I don’t look anything like Phil Ivey, and they didn’t call me Phil.  But I have been told, at least a dozen times in a poker room (and once or twice elsewhere), that I do have a strong physical resemblance to someone who is a fairly well known poker personality, someone who appears on televised poker, who is also famous (or was) in a different, non-poker related field.  No, it isn’t Jennifer Tilly, though she fits that description.  Believe me, I don’t look anything like Jennifer Tilly.  If I did, I’d never leave the house.

But in keeping with my desire for secrecy, I won’t say who this poker personality is that I supposedly resemble, to help keep my identity a bit more secure.  But tell you what, when you folks meet me in Vegas, as most of you probably eventually will, if you guess who it is I’m told I look like, I’ll tell you if you’re right and who it is if you’re wrong.  No prizes will be offered for getting this “right.”

So for now, we’ll say they called me “Phil.”  I didn’t mind, these were good-natured, here to have fun guys.  But soon I did ask him if they had their own nicknames we should use at the table.  They said it was up to others at the table to nickname them, so I thought for a bit and tried to come up with appropriate and silly names for these clowns.  Finally I came up with “Heckle and Jeckle” and told them of my decision.  They laughed and were fine with it.  Heckle was on my immediate left, and Jeckle was on his left.

For whatever reason, I had a very good night at poker while these guys were laughing, drinking and losing chips.  They weren’t bad players at all, pretty reasonable for the 2/4 game, but it wasn’t their night.

One time I had J/10 and the board was 9-8-7-6-5.  Jeckle had pocket Jacks and had to call my river bet because If I didn’t have a 10 we’d chop it. But I actually had a seven card straight and took the pot. He was not amused.

Then in the big blind I had 10-7 diamonds, no one raised.  Flopped a flush draw and a gutshot straight draw.  The turn gave me a straight.  The river gave me a flush.  I actually didn’t want the flush, figured my 10 high flush might not hold up but I thought my straight would be good.  But it turns out that Heckle had the exact same 10-7 I had, but his was unsuited!  If I hadn’t made my flush, we would have chopped the pot, but the flush gave me the whole pot, and it was a big pot for a 2/4 game!  The dealer said he’d never seen anything quite like it.

I was quite amused but Heckle was extremely pissed. He bitched and moaned about that for quite some time. Of course, what I didn’t point out, because I’m no table bully or asshole (see Gary’s blog post here and my comment on it below), that the guy had only himself to blame.  What the hell was he doing calling pre-flop with 10-7 unsoooooted?  Under the gun, yet?  I was the big blind, that’s the only reason I saw the flop.  But I failed to point that out to him, because that’s the kind of guy I am!

One more hand of note.  I had A/J of hearts and called a pre-flop raise by “Raisy Daisy”.  Heckle only called the raise (remember, this is limit, the raise pre-flop can only be two bucks).  Ace on the flop, plus two hearts.  Turn is a blank but the river is 8 hearts, which is the second 8 on the board.  So I had to be a little concerned about a full house beating my nut flush, especially in a limit game.  Heckle bets the river, pre-flop raiser calls, I raise.  Heckle and other guy call.  Pre-flop raiser had pocket 9’s and should have gotten out a long time ago.  Heckle showed AK and was really upset.  He said I was behind the whole way and said I sucked out on him….I “chased it down.”  He said he wished he was playing No Limit so he could have bet me off of it.

I tried to point out that not only did I flop top pair, decent kicker but I flopped the nut flush draw.  I wasn’t going anywhere.  He wouldn’t listen. This was another really big pot for a 2/4 game.  He wouldn’t stop pissing and moaning about it.  Again, I reminded him I flopped the nut flush draw, and then he got mad because he said I didn’t have the nuts.  He’s right, I didn’t have quad 8’s.  I told him I had the nut flush and tried to make the distinction, but he was too upset to listen.  I even asked the dealer to confirm that I was right, I had the nut flush even though I didn’t have the nuts.  But Heckle wasn’t in a mood to listen.

I guess I’m making it out like these two guys were bad guys but really they weren’t.  At least 90% of the time they were laughing and joking.  It was only when they lost a big pot that they turned sour.  Especially since every time they lost a big pot it was to me.  At one point, when they were back to being jovial, they looked at all the chips in front of me (most of which I got from them) and one of them said, “Well, with your winnings, at least you can get laid tonight, Phil.”  I just laughed.

The whole table was chatty and fun, led by Heckle & Jeckle.  One topic of conversation was movies, and there was a debate about what Natalie Portman’s first movie was. I neither remember nor care about the answer—a cell phone was used to confirm—and Heckle said something to the effect that Portman was a beautiful woman but she had absolutely no breasts whatsoever.  He made several comments to the effect that she had gone far as an actress without actually having any breasts.

A bit later, Heckle & Jeckle started bitching about the waitresses refusing to serve them shots. And then he made the rather bizarre statement, “Not being able to get shots in Vegas is like getting in trouble for showing tits in Vegas.”  Suddenly I was getting the impression that Heckle was “obsessed with bosoms,” (unlike me).  Especially when soon thereafter I heard him brag, “My wife has the world’s greatest tits.”  Jeckle confirmed this.  He said “they are real and they are spectacular.”  Brent was dealing at this point and he said, “Oh, like Terry Hatcher on Seinfeld.”  Yes, they agreed, except Mrs. Heckle’s breasts were truly spectacular.

Jeckle said that not only had he seen Mrs. Heckle’s tits, but he had actually had the thrill of motor-boating them.  And this was with the encouragement of Heckle.  Heckle pointed out that his wife will go “topless or even naked in public” at the drop of a hat.  He insisted that was true, and then, to back it up, he took out his cell phone and started looking for some pics.  He indicated he had no problem with his wife doing this at all, he had no problem with anyone seeing his wife’s tits, just as he had no problem with his friend not only seeing his wife topless (at least) but motor-boating her.

First he showed a pic of two naked women, and after insisting that this was his wife and her best friend, admitted that he was kidding and that this was just a porn pic.  But then he showed me a close-up of a huge tit, completely out of a dress, completely exposed (yes, I could see the nipple, plain as day).  Heckle insisted, and Jeckle backed him up, that this was really his wife’s bare breast.  After he showed me, he passed the phone around for all the guys at the table to see. Even Brent (our dealer), got a peak.

When he got the phone back he was involved in a couple of hands, then began to start fumbling around with his phone again.  He said he was going to find a fully nude pic of his wife that she sent him this morning from a girl’s night out that took place the day before as he and his pal arrived in Vegas!  However, before he could get the picture, somehow, a female floorperson, had somehow gotten wind of him passing around the prior topless pic and came over to him.  She said that he had to stop doing that.  She didn’t say what “that” was but it was clear that she somehow knew about him passing around the topless pic, and perhaps the pornstar pic before that.  She said that such activity might “offend” someone.
Interesting.  There were no women at this table, and I don’t think any of the guys would be upset, and if they would be, they could have passed on it.  But, I can see from the casino’s point of view that they might not want such activity at the poker table.  Whatever.  So he had no choice but to put the phone away.  If he really was about to show us a totally naked pic of his wife, I’ll never know for sure.

A down or two later, Samuel came to deal.  Samuel is generally one of the less talkative dealers, but every once in awhile he snaps off a wickedly witty comment.  So somehow, the discussion turned back to Heckle and his wife’s allegedly amazing breasts. Of course I had to tell Samuel that Heckle had actually shown most of us at the table, including Brent, a picture of his wife topless. Samuel of course was interested in that, and asked the guy if he could see the picture.  But he refused, telling him that the “mean” floorperson said it was offensive and he couldn’t show any more risqué pictures at the table.

Samuel instantly replied, “That’s not fair.  Show one, show all.”

Not long after, the Heckle and Jeckle had decided they’d lost enough money for the night—most of it to me—and took off, never to be seen again.  But since I had most of their money, it was a very good night—in more ways than one—for me.

"What's Important is That We Had This Quality Time Together"

As I discussed in the post here, I played in a bunch of tournaments In Vegas this last time.  And that post explains why I played the tournaments I did.

The first one I entered was the Planet Hollywood 7PM, for $100, my first Monday in town.  I’d been in Vegas a few days but had stuck to cash games up until then.  The tournament was called the “Value Deepstack” and it had a $10K starting stack and 30-minute levels.

This was part of their big summer series, Goliath, and it was held on the hotel’s mezzanine.  It’s a pretty decent place to play, although the lighting could be a bit better and the proximity to the restrooms isn’t great. 

Soon after the tournament started, I was reminded of one the advantages of cash games over tournaments that you don’t usually think about—the ability to ask for a table change.  And I don’t mean because the players were too good or too nitty.  There were two players at my table sitting near me that I would have preferred be playing in a tournament in another casino,  Preferably in another city.

One was a distinguished looking older gentleman, nice enough fellow.  But he could not stop coughing.  He had a high collared shirt, and he was constantly pulling the front of it to cover his mouth to cough.  Aside from that being extremely annoying, I was concerned that I might catch whatever terrible disease he had.

But what I really feared was that I might catch the disease the other player had.  This guy was a young fellow who sounded like he was from England.  And there was something odd about his eyes, or at least one of them.  It was quite red, and it looked to me like he had pinkeye. Great.  He was sitting one seat away from me, and with him touching the cards and the chips…well you get the idea. 

That said, I’m relieved to report I didn’t come down with either a respiratory condition or conjunctivitis after the tournament.

As it turned out, I didn’t play with those two guys all that long.  In the middle of the third level, I was about to be the big blind when someone came by and moved me to another table.  It turned out I was moved to a new table they were starting.  It was a mix of a few other players who moved from existing tables and some players who had just bought in (or were alternates).  The problem was that it took quite a few minutes for enough players to show up for the dealer to begin dealing.  I’d say I went nearly 10-minutes of this level without being dealt a hand.  It was a bit frustrating, since time is so important in a tournament.  I guess it can’t be helped, and it was just luck of the draw, but still annoying.

And speaking of annoying, I should mention the issue with the chips we were using.  I’ve seen this before and I saw it again the very next night (different location), but two denominations of the chipset we were using were almost indistinguishable from each other. The $100 chips were black (or gray, or maybe black that had faded to gray), and the $500 chips were dark purple.  From any kind of distance, they pretty much looked the same.  Even right in front of me, I noticed I had stacked them wrong a few times, mistaking one for the other.  It wasn’t that big a deal I suppose, you just had to be real careful to check what the bet was.  I know I asked every single time whenever one (or, shudder, both) were bet.

And while still on the subject of annoying, the last player to join our newly assembled table made me wish I was back at my original table with The Hacker and Pinkeye (hmm, that sounds like a great name for a buddy cop movie).  Let’s call this player Roy.  Roy was a youngish Asian fellow.  I didn’t have to even look at him to know he was Asian.  He told us.  Repeatedly.

Seriously, Roy told us he was Asian about every 15 seconds.  No matter what the subject, he somehow found a way to mention his Asian heritage.  Or he’d just bring it up out of the blue, as in, “I’m definitely the cutest Asian at this table.”  Needless to say, he was the only Asian at the table.

He made a lot of jokes.  Or at least attempts at jokes.  By the next morning, I couldn’t remember most of them, which is lucky for you because otherwise I might be tempted to repeat them here.

When another player tried to top his jokes with better ones (which weren’t really better), Roy called the guy a “dickfore.”

The guy asked, “What’s a dick for….”  Ooops.

When he first arrived at the table, as the dealer was finally getting ready to deal us our first hand, he announced, “I want you to know….I hope you won’t hate me for this, but I hope you all lose and I win. I’m sorry. I hope you can deal with that.”

Then he added, “But what’s really important about tonight is that we all have this quality time to spend together.”

That was actually amusing and it got a bit of a laugh and he repeated that line quite a few times.  And other people started repeating it.

His other bit of schtick was to fold by sending one card at a time back to the dealer.  And then he’d say, “Oh look, a string fold.”

Roy came to the table with a bag full of Chinese take-out and proceeded to eat it while playing.  To be fair to Roy, he did offer to share.  It was annoying for me because I just didn’t like the smell of it, and it was right next to me.

There were two things that Roy did incessantly.  Talk and raise.  If he wasn’t talking, he was raising.  If he wasn’t raising, he was talking.  Oh yes, just for good measure, there were plenty of times when he talked and raised simultaneously.

If you want to know what Roy looks like, just look up “Crazian” in the Urban Dictionary.

After we had been playing together for awhile, Roy turned to me and said, “I know you.  I’ve played with you before.  A lot. Like 40 times.”  There was a pause, I tried to rack my brain, but came up empty.  Then he added, “Do you play a MGM?  I used to live here, used to play at MGM like four nights a week.”  I acknowledged that if he recognized me that was likely where he saw me. 

I still didn’t recognize him.  So I said to him, “Funny….you’d think I’d remember a guy as quiet as you.”  He replied that he isn’t usually this talkative.  I found that hard to believe.

Roy was impressed with one of the cocktail waitresses.  I should explain how they were doing cocktail service.  They had two waitresses working as a team, using a pretty large cart to serve the drinks.  I guess there was no bar on the mezzanine so after taking orders from everyone in the room, they’d go downstairs to the bar, fill that large cart with the drinks and take the elevator upstairs. 

I believe the two girls handled the entire room.  There were at least four tournaments going on at once—an 11AM event, a 4PM event, and at least one or two that had started on previous days.  So they had a lot of ground to cover. Service was a bit slow but considering the territory they had it was actually pretty good.

Unlike some rooms that bring in servers who don’t wear the casino’s traditional outfits, the girls were wearing standard PH cocktail waitress attire: Partially open blouse (that usually shows off a bit of bra in addition to the cleavage) and tight short-shorts.  It’s pretty sexy.

One of the two girls was reasonably cute as you would expect.  But the other girl…well, she was a bit unusual.  Now, as my readers know, I pretty much never notice a woman’s breasts.  But in this case, I just couldn’t help noticing this gal’s mammary glands.  Hell, Stevie Wonder would have noticed them (note: is that joke too politically incorrect for the age we live in?  If so, I apologize.) Her breasts were beyond huge.  They were beyond gigantic.  Each one deserved its own separate zip-code. I mean, they had to send her to the mezzanine to work because I’m pretty sure her breasts would not fit in the regular poker room.

Well, I had noticed those gazongas her first time through the room.  By now the two gals were on their second pass, and Roy and a couple of the other guys at the table had actually been able to notice something else about the overly-endowed waitress.  Her shorts were really extra tight and extra short.  She was actually revealing a whole lotta butt-cheek.  And in fact, it was a damn nice view at that.  Truth be told, because her breasts were actually way too big for their own good, the view from behind was a lot more enjoyable.  It was pretty clear that Roy had totally fallen in love with her derriere. 

Anyway, when she came around to take orders, Roy added something to his order.  “I’ll have a water, a Jack & Coke….and a hug.”  Everyone laughed, including the waitress. But a couple of the other guys also added “and a hug” to the end of their order. 

I was pretty sure she wasn’t going to give anyone a hug.  But when she came back and gave Roy his drink, he stood up, said something like, “and a hug, right?”  And indeed he hugged the busty waitress.  One or two of the other guys got hugs from her too.  I hope they tipped well for the extra service. 

There are only a few hands worth discussing.  When I moved to the new table, I had pretty much my starting stack.  Sitting on Roy’s left made it hard to do much unless I actually had a decent hand since he raised so damn often. 

I did open the pot once with the dreaded pocket Kings and didn’t get a call.

Then, after Roy made a standard opening raise, I three-bet him with Ace-King.  It was my first three-bet of the night and the second time I’d raised at this table.  Nevertheless, Roy complained, “You always do that to me.”  I pointed out that he was full of crap (politely, of course).  Then he gave me a little speech.  “Oh man, my hand is so bad, you’re gonna be real mad if I hit it.”  And he called.  We were heads up.  I totally whiffed on the flop, but I c-bet and Roy folded.

By level 5, with the blinds at 25/150/300 I had about $13K.  And so once again, I looked down at pocket Kings.  As he did almost always, Roy raised.  Of course I three-bet.  Sorry, I didn’t note the amounts, but Roy put out a normal raise and I bet more-or-less three times his bet.

It folded back to Roy who went into full Hollywood mode.  He stared at my stack, he stared at his stack.  (I had him covered by about $6K).  He bitched and moaned.  He made it sound like he was in total agony, not knowing what to do.  “Oh man I don’t know….I don’t know….should I gamble?  Should I gamble?”  He tanked for a long, long time and then finally said, “Well, I’m gonna gamble.  All-in.”

No matter how much I might have read his Hollywooding as him trying to entice me into calling, there’s just no way I’m folding my Kings there.  Not against him.  Not against the all-time Crazian.  I certainly thought he could do that with AK, or QQ, or JJ.  He might realize my three-betting range against him is wider than usual, and maybe he gets me to fold a pretty big hand.  Re-entry was still open and he might very well have been willing to bust and re-buy. 

So the question is….do you ever fold pocket Kings preflop?  Do you ever do it against this kind of a maniac (Hollywooding or not)?

I would make that call in that situation 100 out of 100 times.

So I called and of course he flipped over two Aces.  Second time this trip I ran my dreaded hand into pocket rockets (see here for the first time).

I picked up a flush draw on the turn but missed. 

Although I guess I understand his little acting job, I was really pissed at him at the time.  It felt like a slow-roll to me.  And we were friends!  I mean, we’d played together at MGM at least 40 times, right?

Now short-stacked, under $6K, I was in bad shape.  Especially since before it got to me Roy would raise almost every time.  I had to wait for some kind of hand to make my one move.  I was never going to get the luxury of opening a pot when it folded to me.

I didn’t play a hand the rest of the level.  The next level the blinds were 50/200/400 and I needed some kind of hand to shove with.  Finally, in late position, Roy open limped.  I was shocked that he just limped.  I looked down at King-9 of hearts.  In my position, it was a monster.  So I shoved.  It folded back to Roy who tanked and asked for a count of my chips and made another speech.  He stared at me, and then said, “Well, since you’re my friend, I’ll give you action.” Gee thanks, “friend.”  When I flipped over my hand he said, “Oh, you got me crushed.”  He tabled King-4 of spades.

No, he didn’t beat me with a flush. The flop was Ace-5-3.  And he caught a 2 on the turn to complete a straight.  And I was out.

I’d played about three hours or so and by the time I was out, they were up to around 100 players.  And my poker evening was over.

You know….I ended up thinking that time we had together wasn’t really very important.