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Posted by on Feb 28, 2013 in Blog, Politics, Rants and Raves, Travel | 4 comments

Storming the Castle

 

͍ 

 

If you want to see the spoils of skull-fucking the working class, come to Palm Beach Island.

Here’s where the rich and famous display their expensive toys, acquired by lying to, stealing from, cheating and raping the remainder of society.  And if the ornaments to ostentation didn’t come from their own chicanery, they got their goodies the old fashioned way — by inheriting it from mommy and daddy.  This place is the Fort Knox of assholes.

Royalty does indeed exist in America.  And that’s not meant as a compliment.  Beneath the towering palms, constant sunshine, and gentle ocean breezes is the realization that is a beautiful place filled with ugly people.

There’s West Palm Beach — and then there’s Palm Beach Island.  The island is more than just geographic.  It’s economic and social, and dare I say — racial.  This is the parcel of mansions and high-end shops (and about two dozen banks an investment houses) right over the Flagler Memorial Bridge, in between the inter-coastal waterway and the Atlantic Ocean.  West Palm Beach, Palm Beach Gardens, and Boca Raton are slums compared to this place.

Consider my recent trip to the grocery store.  Yeah, there’s actually a supermarket on Palm Beach Island and I had the misfortune to go inside.  Question:  Have you ever seen valet parking at a grocery store?  Seriously, what kind of place has valet parking when you buy a sack of groceries?

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Posted by on Feb 27, 2013 in Blog, General Poker, Travel, World Series of Poker | 5 comments

The Worst Poker Player in the World

nolan-dalla-photo

 

I never saw it coming.

But least there was justification for my naivete.

I’m wiped out.  Mentally exhausted.  It’s the last of twelve working days covering the World Series of Poker Circuit at the Palm Beach Kennel Club.  The final stretch has turned into an 18-hour death match.  A workday that began at 11 am is now crawling past 4 am.  During a short break in the “action,” I step outside for some much-needed peace and quiet.

But things rarely go as we plan.

Camped out in front of the darkened grandstand, I’m alone.  And that’s just the way I want it.  Peace.  Quiet.  Darkness.

Trouble is, there’s a shadowy figure looming on the horizon.   Worse, he’s headed straight towards me.

Shit.

Moments later, the shadowy distraction has metastasized into an annoyance looking straight at me puffing away on a cigarette.

“Hey buddy, how’s it going?”

Me:  “Hey.”  (What I’m really thinking:  “Oh, fuck”)

“I just played with the worst poker player in the world.  He’s in there playing right now!”

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Posted by on Feb 26, 2013 in Blog, Essays | 3 comments

The War of the Ages

Age Old Discrimination

This American patriot can die for his country, but he can’t buy a beer.

 

Can someone please explain the logic behind “legal age” laws in this country?

How’s it possible that we allow 18-, 19-, and 20-year-olds to freely enlist in the military and perhaps even die a senseless death over in a faraway place — as indeed happens every single day — but these same brave young people can’t even buy a beer?

How’s it possible that we allow 18-, 19-, and 20-year-olds to appear in pornographic movies, but they can’t play a hand of poker inside most casinos?

What’s up with our thoroughly absurd “age” laws?

Seems to me that giving a 19-year-old the keys to a $50-million dollar tank — a weapon more than capable of demolishing an entire village of families — would somehow instill enough sense of trust that he’d also be able to order a draft beer or a glass of wine.

Seems to me that if a young, often desperate girl can freely make the decision to expose her body to the world and fuck on camera for money, she ought to be able to pull the lever on a slot machine.  I know — I’m such a pervert filled with corrupting influences on the nation’s youth.

Fact is, our nation’s age laws are preposterous.  Why?  Because they don’t do shit to combat issues for which they’re intended.  Largely sculpted by a well-meaning organization called Mothers Against Drunk Driving (M.A.D.D.), back during the 1980′s states began to uptick age-related laws shortly after I was lucky enough the make the final cut and slide into home plate as a boozing 18-year-old.  During the Reagan and Bush (Sr.) Administrations, states were pressured into revamping all drinking laws to “age 21,” or else risk losing federal highway funds.  So, any movement to protect the legitimate rights of young people was squashed.

But aside from the obvious hypocrisy of the military-drinking paradox, age laws on gambling are equally as baffling.  Everyone’s up in arms about the prospect of young people gambling (shudder), including playing online poker.  Alas, much of the resistance to legalizing online poker stems from (unfounded) concerns about young people gaining access to the family credit cards and then blowing up the entire credit line in a losing session of Hold’em.

Puuuuhleeeez.

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Posted by on Feb 25, 2013 in Blog, Music and Concert Reviews, Restaurant Reviews | 4 comments

How to Avoid a Shitty Restaurant (Redux)

 

Writer’s Note:  This is a follow up to the February 22nd column, HOW TO AVOID A SHITTY RESTAURANT.

 

After getting burned by the lousy barbeque joint, the following night I head over to the Thai place just across the street.

Good food.  Excellent service.  Very affordable.  Just like every other Thai restaurant on the planet.  I have this conspiracy theory that the food in every Thai restaurant actually comes out of one giant kitchen somewhere over in China (hell, everything’s made in China).  I also think the staff are robots.  I always seem to get the same 25-year-old skinny waitress with a flower in her hair and perfect skin who speaks broken English and never gets the “spice scale” right when I order a “4.”

However, no one warned me about the vault of horror that I’d experience towards the tail end of my dinner.  No one dared to inform me of the musical trigger of indigestion following my main course.  Like a random act of terror, it just happened.  Like an explosion out of nowhere.  And I couldn’t do goddamned thing to get out of the way.

Question:  What’s the most nauseating thing you can think of while dining inside a restaurant?  Seeing a bug scurrying across the floor?  Hair in your food?  A karaoke machine?  No, much worse than that.

Think real torture.

Think “Guantanamo Bay” kind of torture.

Well by now, you’ve probably figured it out.

I’m talking — Asian guy singing “You Light Up My Life.”

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Posted by on Feb 25, 2013 in Blog | 1 comment

Let’s Castrate People With Peanut Allergies

 peanut-allegy-photo

 

People with peanut allergies shouldn’t be allowed to reproduce.

Seriously.

Why should the rest of the world be denied the pleasure of eating peanuts in public because a few freaks happen to break out in hives whenever there’s scent of a peanut within the same zip code?

Allergic to peanuts?  Sorry.  Wear a mask or something.  Or move to the moon.

When I fly on Southwest Airlines, I typically scarf down 8 to 10 bags of peanuts — the three I paw from the flight attendant, plus the seven I manage to pilfer during my bogus trip to the restroom.  Hey — if I’m paying $279 round trip for a cross-country flight buckled up in coach and I don’t even get the luxury of being served a decent meal, then I’m going to stuff myself so full of peanuts that the following day I’ll be shitting Payday bars.

But now, the inmates are taking over the asylum.  The peanut police are fucking up everybody’s fun.  They’ve already succeeded in removing peanuts from our public schools.  And, vending machines are taking out peanut products because they “contaminate” the hallways of hotels.  The peanut Nazis are even close to obliterating them from airplanes.  What next?  “Peanut-free Pad Thai?”

It’s got to stop.  Now.

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