Raycie

Sometimes I am glad that the players who piss me off with the way they play poker aren't within reach. I've been playing in card rooms for over 15 years and three times I've gotten myself into situations that ended up costing me a shit load of money, an ungodly amount of time, and gave me the nick name Stella... I won't get into why, but I will say it's nothing to do with West Side Story.

And now, when sitting at a virtual table and having just been handed a beat that was delivered by some fucking punk who believes K 7 is a hand to raise with under the gun, I find that old feeling begin to creep up into my head. It feels like a fever starting in the pit of my gut and slowly it builds and climbs up through my chest and into my head until I feel like if I don't hit someone, the top of my head will blow off. Spontaneous combustion will leave nothing of me to find but a pile of ashes in front of the keyboard. I hate that feeling worse than anything... but, as I look around me at the empty room where I sit with just my computer the only other animate object present, I send out a little sigh of relief and a "Thanks to the poker gods for keeping me free from incarceration and my bankroll safe....In the name of the Whales, the Sharks and the Fish on a Hook, Amen"