Degenerate Diaries: The Chronicles Pt. 2

[smashedagain]

Gtfo people who can post pictures at their first attempt

[dik9]

[zerofive]

Brilliant.

[zerofive]

Small win. Feels like a loss. Plenty of drama. This is Gala.

Trip report tomorrow. No, I'm serious this time.

[zerofive]

Tales from the Gala.

The night started off well enough, with the not unusual two hour wait for Gala's second cash game to open. There had already been a little bit of drama regarding the waiting list (which uses the most up-to-date technology from Arkansas - a whiteboard and a permanent marker and cloth) where, after my name had clearly been scrawled atop the reserve list, I took a stroll round and came back to find the list wiped with just two names on it - and neither of them mine. For the 10-15 seconds that my patience would allow itself to be tried, I attempted to reason with the two gentlemen who spoke but not a word of English. So after a short momentary setback, the game got started. Two LAGs to my right and six casino fish to my left. Nut seat. After an hour of play I was winning £100 or so, and that's when things started to take an interesting turn.

One of the casino fish had been making a nuisance of himself all night. He attempted to raise a hand, clearly dropping in the £2 call initially with his left hand and pausing before dropping the £6 raise with his left. The dealer informed him this was a string bet and pushed his raise back into his stack, to which his response was blindly "no, it wasn't," and to exert physical force in a vain attempt to get his bet to stand. The whole thing was incredibly childish, and you could tell he was going to be genuine trouble at some point during the evening. And that's when it happened.

He opened a pot by moving all-in for his remaining £18. PeeJay called pretty quickly, Andy Creasey called to my immediate right, and I call with . The flop comes . PeeJay leads for £27, so I'm convinced he has an overpair or second set, Creasey folds, and I felt like I was in a spot where a call is as strong as a raise. I suppose I could have rep'd a flush draw, but decided to try and build a sidepot and made it £97. PeeJay folds pretty quickly and shows , at the sight of which the delinquent who was all-in goes insane and starts accusing the two of us of colluding. It's occurred to me that I might actually start colluding with some of my friends, that way not only will we have a better chance of making money, but the average cretin will have less to feel embarrassed about when he is not immediately laughed at for his asininity. After failing to realise that if we were cheating, PeeJay probably wouldn't have tabled his hand, the imbecile starts yelling and kindly offering "a punch in the face." Then he sucked his teeth, and performed what appeared to be some sort of upright gangsta lean, before moving in and spitting on PeeJay, calling him a "pussy" shortly after which he attempted to make a dash for it. The organised and assiduous security only took four or five minutes to reach the table from the centre of the floor once called over by the dealer, by which time I imagine the culprit was already residing under the local bridge. I've never a seen a more disgusting display of hostility in a place of business. Why are things like this allowed to happen?!

It's a good job Gala's poker tables are literally wedged in against the wall amidst an array of giant pillars, else I'd have probably had some sweet music to sing to his chin and earned myself a ban. The next thing I decided not to rise to were the rubdowns for losing the biggest pot of the night. Chinese fish opens UTG at 50p/£1 to £10, I 3bet to £30 with , the lady to my left playing about £70 makes a cold call, and another Chinese fish slams his stack over the line and declares "orr yin." The dealer counts out around £72, and then spots a £100 plaque and informs him that he is required to bet that as well, at which point the fish in question starts trying to deny that it was in play. It gets folded back round to me, and I start to level myself a little. I'm so sure he knows that £100 needs to go in; it seemed like an act, but I decided I wasn't folding kings anyway. I call and the woman folds (no longer getting decent odds, I guess). The flop comes and the fish immediately peeled back his cards for another look. I know what this means. The turn and river brick, and he shows before he inquires, "why did you call?" Good question I suppose. Oddly enough though, after showing an overpair to the board and conceding the pot, I wasn't accused of cheating. Apparently not all lunkheads live by the same law.

There was some more drama just away from the table immediately after, but I think the police ended up getting involved, so I won't post any details here. Needless to say, all the drama was a bit much and I ended up calling it a night winning £60, which isn't bad. Would have been nice to hold, though, and make October's graph an incredibly sexy one. Not to worry, it's Friday night at Alea: there's bound to be at least some at-the-table drama.

[  ] A truly wonderful and thoroughly enjoyable evening all round.

This is Gala.

Peace.

[cambridgealex]

Although he was correct to be annoyed at the collusion, what a disgusting way to respond.

Gala is literally the only establishment I've ever been in where something like that would be accepted. And the spitting is awful too

[millidonk]

Spitting on another person is fucking filthy. No matter where i was or who it was on, i would go mental and snap get involved.

Disgusting Diouf wannabes.

[kinboshi]

If Gala are every in the market for a PR guy, Sean - you're their man.

[zerofive]

Morning has broken. Could you please send someone out to fix it?

I took the night off last night to get some sleep in order to drive my girlfriend Beth to the train station early in the morning. Now I have always just been of the assumption that "I am not a morning person." But, apparently, nobody else is either. Unless I was unfortunate enough to stumble across a bunch of other non-morning humans who were for some reason lacking in empathy, here is what I witnessed from "morning people" -

Driving toward the city centre from Long Eaton, there is a stretch of road where the limit is 40mph, but everyone disregards it due to the two speed cameras along there and maintains a steady 30mph. I have accepted this, and am used to spending an additional minute or so on that road when there are cars in front of me. As a nice surprise, today saw the two cars in front of me driving at 40. There was a white van about 20 yards in front of a silver Vauxhall, which was a car's length in front of me. I saw the brake lights on the Vauxhall come on for a second, and eased off the gas. I figured he must have seen the speed camera and, as a reflex, put the brake down before he engaged his brain and remembered it was 40. So we speed back up again before his brake lights come on again, this time as if to an emergency stop. Even at 7am, I somehow managed not to career into the back of him. After checking to ensure I still had a passenger and that my windshield was in one piece, I looked up to see what the problem might have been, and apparently it was an issue with his hand: he had experienced some sort of cramp in his middle finger. I could tell he was in a lot of pain, because he was yelling profanities into the rear view mirror. My response, to ensure he didn't pass out from the pain, was to sound my horn in one continuous tone for 30 seconds or so. As I pulled up next to him with my horn still sounding, it appeared as if his hand was better, but he was still saying something to me. I can only assume it was "thank you, you thanking Mick head." My name is not Mick, but he was clearly in a mild state of delirium, so I can be forgiving even at that time in the morning.

On my way back from the train station, I was thinking about how all that excitement had me in the mood for a nice breakfast, so I stopped in at my local Tesco. This is an unusual time for me to be in a supermarket - I'm usually there at 5am after a poker session for something to help me celebrate or commiserate, where I walk past the occasional alcoholic (or on one occasion last Christmas, six of the 5/5 DC regs buying fresh bread and actual hula hoops); or at 5pm after a gym session for some protein from the bargain bin, where I have to manoeuvre past hoards of MILFs and small children without springing an erection. We can bin my supermarket player notes, though: 9am on a Saturday morning is host to a bunch of fat, miserable, glassy-eyed, middle-aged to elderly animated corpses, and the occasional screaming child. I'm aware I should have felt right at home, but as I watched everyone systematically picking things up from the shelf, I feared if I intervened in any way with their purchasing algorithm that I would have been bought and immediately buried under 2-for-1 pork chops and iceberg lettuces. Periodically their master would announce an instruction over the PA and they all the shoppers would choreographically change direction. As I picked up a handful of shopping, I made a dash for it, and all I could catch was the phrase, "see how much you could be dropping on your shopping."

As I'd literally only purchased a handful of items, I was easily talked out of using a bag by the lady serving at my checkout. "Would you like to help save the environment and purchase one of our Bags For Life?" she inquired in a drone, lacking in the appropriate amount of irony for someone offering an environmentally-friendly product to someone who just purchased four cans of aerosol. So I'm walking out of the building, into the cold and damp and miserable morning, just approaching my car, when I was startled by a car horn from the BMW parked next to me. I guess he wanted to see "how much I could be dropping on my shopping." Congratulations, Mr. BMW driver, sir: 75%. "Could you take any longer? You can see I was trying to pull out." Again, lacking in the appropriate amount of irony for someone who would be driving away now had he not just alarmed me into scattered most of my shopping in front of his vehicle. "I was walking at walking pace," I responded, "try waiting sometimes." He drove away representing 20% of his hand and I was, as ever, startled by his originality.

Upon arriving home, I immediately entered "Copernicus" into Wikipedia, and apparently the theorem still stands that Mr BMW-driver is in fact not the centre of the universe. Astounding.

[boldie]

lol

[millidonk]

should have spat on him imo.

[DMorgan]

<3 the beltster

[skolsuper]

<3 the beltster

[cambridgealex]

 

[JK]

Laughing so hard it hurts. Pure genious