PaleMale
The computer green felt with the computer texture and the circles for seats was the browser’s depiction of the poker table and all of the internet public was able to play against each other provided they had a profile. A grand wasting of time for the overly self-complimentary, poker snobs of the world of which there are many. Many are merely incapable socialites who had only online exposure to communications secretly in hope for a connection maybe a friendship if the day was golden a relationship. If all of the anemic attempts went sour then they had their acidic tongues for a self-comforting reproof.
Logging onto a popular poker site out of sheer boredom, the throng of overcast days that fell upon my little Ville, otherwise known as Brooklyn, drove me to such aimless past times. I noticed the sporadic and random placement of all kinds of photos signifying each player, their character, current mood, politics, children, pets, polar opposites of character for more buffer and concealment that IP address couldn’t provide, etc. It was at once a place to be seen and unseen. A cowardly outcry for attention and a ‘voice’ to expound on _________, but most commonly spouting of irritations; there was rarely a shy applicant.
One person, R9 Ipsilon , evidently a meaning precious to the owner for whatever purpose didn’t matter, but I trumped their acumen up a few notches for subtle meaning. Obscure as R9 and Ipsilon were, I decided that the owner of this name must be seeking definition of themselves, their online selves, with the most popular definitions, examples, nuances and associations with these two terms. So I researched these terms and came up with the following: R9 was a NATO named missile upgrade from the Soviet Union, a New York City subway car, etc. Ipsilon is a Grecian village of 53 inhabitants. I came to the solution that he one must be using it in some esoteric concern or misusing it altogether.
As my blank seat registered my name PaleMale, which was sheer streams of consciousness, I had no hopes of conveying something more through my name on a free money poker sight. As the name appeared, R9 Ipsilon laid into me with the help of the IM text capability that every member has.
PaleMale – you mf get your blind in!
My session was a few hands old before I noticed it and then realized there were other remarks.
PaleMale must not be that smart. He can’t even add the right amount to his chip stack.
Hey PaleMale can you read? You need 100,000 chips. Ass. Actually, it read A** , profanity was not allowed on the site.
This guy was quite irrevocably hostile so I remained silent or ‘untyped’ hoping this would draw a cease fire.
PansyMale – fricken go! he continued on trying to invoke a reaction from me. Frankly, I didn’t know how I was to add to the conversation; one that I didn’t start nor want. This R9 did make my blood rise and I thought how strange it was that someone I haven’t seen nor heard could upset me? This was most irregular. I was no longer astonished by this man’s (woman’s) candid, if unsettling, reprimand but embarrassed by it’s affectation on me. On it went.
Do you fuck men in the ass? Is that why you’re so slow? Are you just about there? Come on, PaleMale?!
Then, rapidly:
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
I had no composure at this point. Not thinking rationally about an irrational type IM’ing out of the blue.
What is up with you R9?
You! You’re a stupid MF!
I see and how do you assess this?
Weird, how you use the word a**. Does anyone else find that weird?
This evidently was some sort of tactic to get me off my game. Since I wasn’t really into poker nor by any means good at it I didn’t care and wondered if he mistook me for some other player; an arch nemesis maybe.
You’re an ignoramus. I fired back.
Anus? Did you just right ‘anus’?
There was no way of combating this guy. He only wanted to reproach and tinge the forum with negativity, by any means, even through invention. I left the table having no recourse other than to be just like him. I felt I had lost somehow even though by taking the high road, the only road, was the best way to deal with it. It struck me that none of the other six players at the table didn’t say anything but continued playing silently. Did they agree with him or did they not want to be attacked themselves?
Leaving the poker site altogether I decided not to play on that site again if on any site ever again.
I went to bed early instead. This recalibrated my psyche and mood since this poker was a distraction for a couple hours before bed, not a good one but the one I chose at the time.
I still couldn’t fall asleep and perhaps was more wide awake than before. The cards were dealt to me and I reacted by folding but I do not recall the cards I was dealt. Being that I wanted to play the game it irritated me that I wasn’t concentrating enough to remember my cards. There was no way of strategizing or playing the game correctly, at least to my liking, if I didn’t remember the cards. His taunting did work in fact. Someone so small-minded taking away my concentration, and I thought myself better than average intellectually and socially. The congruent to a dodo bird yelping a couple of comments my way and I lost my train of thought. Despicable. Not to mention, I decided never to play poker online again. Was it because I didn’t have a sincere interest in it or was it because of this R9 Ipsilon fool! Moreover, I was still thinking of this non-entity, this splurge of 0s and 1s redirected to me as English. How base I am? This was a disastrous blow to my ego. How very lightly I could be denigrated to whipping boy of the poker table and in a manner accept the part?
The next hour flew by and the next and I finally found my slumber. Drifting deeply, of course, there was the poker table in my dream and a mixture of virtual and live only the dream world could produce. R9 Ipsilon was an antiquated version, large box pixilation (like Atari 2600 Combat) of a man with a grumbling and intermittently indecipherable voice. Wearing his vexation on his sleeve, his movements were drunkenly gruff and offensive down to making hand gestures of masturbation when he was forced out of a hand by a bet. This sort of interactive functionality was for this dream site. He began yelling audibly somehow as the letters were typed, You ain’t gonna blah blah (indecipherable) with my fricken shit ass coattails whore fucker. Even blah blah blah. he tapered off.
My hands were unbelievable to the point that I was staying in almost every hand and avoiding other good starting hands with the predilection of ‘seeing’ (dream world) the flop before it came. Every time I foiled R9 the woman sitting next to me would giggle gingerly insinuating a camaraderie sewn together by giggles and snorts. She ousted him three times in a row and then it was my turn. But happy dream turned to nightmare as a lot of my dreams did, I blame my flare for the negative.
The nightmare hand started with two aces in my hand and the flop showed another ace and two fives. I moved my 400,000 stack all in after my R9 nemesis re-raised me. He called, laughing. Now you’re smoked, boy! The woman next to me turned to me with saucer sized eyes worrying for my poker health. I gave her a mild look of confidence and she relaxed. The flop, turn, and river showed two more fives and the only way out for him is him to have the other ace and we would split the pot with four fives and an ace high. Got you now ass! I turned over my aces. He laughed and turned over a five and a deuce.
What?! You can’t have that! I wrote but it was also voiced by me but with some uber-bass voice. My dual existence of virtual and live table play was confusing as he answered me with his voice and yet I kept my eyes glued on the screen in the instant message box. No reply was returned and I looked up at the click of metal.
He hauled in the chips and I looked around for an official. No one could get five of a kind. That was impossible without cheating. No one said a word and the official did come to my side.
Excuse me but this player just had a fifth five. I explained the situation calmly, resolute in thinking that this was clear proof.
She looked at me with irritation. Just play the game sir. We don’t want any rabble rousers here.
I’m not a rabble rouser. In my mind but the words came out strong, louder than I projected them (dream world). Then, without moving my lips Fuck you! Fuck you all! shot out of me. With that the official grabbed me from behind and lifted me out of the chair with such strength I couldn’t believe it was the same woman. She had to have only been five feet and yet had ten times my strength. Violently she pushed me out of the poker room and I saw the exit.
I was out in the sun now the shine so bright from the darkened poker room my eyes squinted almost to closed. My feet pressed down on the pavement were sticking. I fell over at my waist pulling something in my knees and back. Bent cursor-like with my fingertips supporting along with my immobile feet, I shoved off with all my forth and came to a standing position in danger of rolling backwards but my heels dug in and locked me an upright position, a better posture than I was use to as the pulled muscles reminded me. I couldn’t turn as I heard the official say You can’t leave until the tournament is over.
I didn’t know what that meant but it must mean that I had to stay put as if I had an option. Not a very safe positioning, cars were guiding themselves around me like a pylon. It would be disastrous if any one of the drivers was not paying attention.
Hey. I heard a voice ring out just as I noticed several other players that were caught in the pavement in a variety of compromising positions that I felt lucky I was upright. Hey! I’m right behind you. It was the voice of the woman that sat next to me at the poker table. With no way of turning to see her, my back and legs ailing, I answered by craning my neck as far back as it would go shouting upwardly in hopes in would loft its way back to her.
You’re out too?
Yes. So what do we do now? A screech was heard to the right and I saw a couple of stuck poker players get picked off by some sort of SUV with their bodies flying 20 yards or so followed by screams that slowly, muted to whimpers, then silence.
What the mf was that? I saw on the screen like an IM. IT was coming from her. Responding in type without a typing, without a keyboard, Not sure. Didn’t seem to sum up my fears as I saw the SUV with what appeared to be a mother with sunglass turning around. Then I heard a hearty laugh and the SUV locked in on us and the surge of gas heating it up, I awoke just as it smashed into both of us hearing and initial crush and like shards of glass falling I was being pieced together slowly lowering into my bed.
I awoke in a sweat and a small, breathy, What the…
Logging onto a popular poker site out of sheer boredom, the throng of overcast days that fell upon my little Ville, otherwise known as Brooklyn, drove me to such aimless past times. I noticed the sporadic and random placement of all kinds of photos signifying each player, their character, current mood, politics, children, pets, polar opposites of character for more buffer and concealment that IP address couldn’t provide, etc. It was at once a place to be seen and unseen. A cowardly outcry for attention and a ‘voice’ to expound on _________, but most commonly spouting of irritations; there was rarely a shy applicant.
One person, R9 Ipsilon , evidently a meaning precious to the owner for whatever purpose didn’t matter, but I trumped their acumen up a few notches for subtle meaning. Obscure as R9 and Ipsilon were, I decided that the owner of this name must be seeking definition of themselves, their online selves, with the most popular definitions, examples, nuances and associations with these two terms. So I researched these terms and came up with the following: R9 was a NATO named missile upgrade from the Soviet Union, a New York City subway car, etc. Ipsilon is a Grecian village of 53 inhabitants. I came to the solution that he one must be using it in some esoteric concern or misusing it altogether.
As my blank seat registered my name PaleMale, which was sheer streams of consciousness, I had no hopes of conveying something more through my name on a free money poker sight. As the name appeared, R9 Ipsilon laid into me with the help of the IM text capability that every member has.
PaleMale – you mf get your blind in!
My session was a few hands old before I noticed it and then realized there were other remarks.
PaleMale must not be that smart. He can’t even add the right amount to his chip stack.
Hey PaleMale can you read? You need 100,000 chips. Ass. Actually, it read A** , profanity was not allowed on the site.
This guy was quite irrevocably hostile so I remained silent or ‘untyped’ hoping this would draw a cease fire.
PansyMale – fricken go! he continued on trying to invoke a reaction from me. Frankly, I didn’t know how I was to add to the conversation; one that I didn’t start nor want. This R9 did make my blood rise and I thought how strange it was that someone I haven’t seen nor heard could upset me? This was most irregular. I was no longer astonished by this man’s (woman’s) candid, if unsettling, reprimand but embarrassed by it’s affectation on me. On it went.
Do you fuck men in the ass? Is that why you’re so slow? Are you just about there? Come on, PaleMale?!
Then, rapidly:
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
I had no composure at this point. Not thinking rationally about an irrational type IM’ing out of the blue.
What is up with you R9?
You! You’re a stupid MF!
I see and how do you assess this?
Weird, how you use the word a**. Does anyone else find that weird?
This evidently was some sort of tactic to get me off my game. Since I wasn’t really into poker nor by any means good at it I didn’t care and wondered if he mistook me for some other player; an arch nemesis maybe.
You’re an ignoramus. I fired back.
Anus? Did you just right ‘anus’?
There was no way of combating this guy. He only wanted to reproach and tinge the forum with negativity, by any means, even through invention. I left the table having no recourse other than to be just like him. I felt I had lost somehow even though by taking the high road, the only road, was the best way to deal with it. It struck me that none of the other six players at the table didn’t say anything but continued playing silently. Did they agree with him or did they not want to be attacked themselves?
Leaving the poker site altogether I decided not to play on that site again if on any site ever again.
I went to bed early instead. This recalibrated my psyche and mood since this poker was a distraction for a couple hours before bed, not a good one but the one I chose at the time.
I still couldn’t fall asleep and perhaps was more wide awake than before. The cards were dealt to me and I reacted by folding but I do not recall the cards I was dealt. Being that I wanted to play the game it irritated me that I wasn’t concentrating enough to remember my cards. There was no way of strategizing or playing the game correctly, at least to my liking, if I didn’t remember the cards. His taunting did work in fact. Someone so small-minded taking away my concentration, and I thought myself better than average intellectually and socially. The congruent to a dodo bird yelping a couple of comments my way and I lost my train of thought. Despicable. Not to mention, I decided never to play poker online again. Was it because I didn’t have a sincere interest in it or was it because of this R9 Ipsilon fool! Moreover, I was still thinking of this non-entity, this splurge of 0s and 1s redirected to me as English. How base I am? This was a disastrous blow to my ego. How very lightly I could be denigrated to whipping boy of the poker table and in a manner accept the part?
The next hour flew by and the next and I finally found my slumber. Drifting deeply, of course, there was the poker table in my dream and a mixture of virtual and live only the dream world could produce. R9 Ipsilon was an antiquated version, large box pixilation (like Atari 2600 Combat) of a man with a grumbling and intermittently indecipherable voice. Wearing his vexation on his sleeve, his movements were drunkenly gruff and offensive down to making hand gestures of masturbation when he was forced out of a hand by a bet. This sort of interactive functionality was for this dream site. He began yelling audibly somehow as the letters were typed, You ain’t gonna blah blah (indecipherable) with my fricken shit ass coattails whore fucker. Even blah blah blah. he tapered off.
My hands were unbelievable to the point that I was staying in almost every hand and avoiding other good starting hands with the predilection of ‘seeing’ (dream world) the flop before it came. Every time I foiled R9 the woman sitting next to me would giggle gingerly insinuating a camaraderie sewn together by giggles and snorts. She ousted him three times in a row and then it was my turn. But happy dream turned to nightmare as a lot of my dreams did, I blame my flare for the negative.
The nightmare hand started with two aces in my hand and the flop showed another ace and two fives. I moved my 400,000 stack all in after my R9 nemesis re-raised me. He called, laughing. Now you’re smoked, boy! The woman next to me turned to me with saucer sized eyes worrying for my poker health. I gave her a mild look of confidence and she relaxed. The flop, turn, and river showed two more fives and the only way out for him is him to have the other ace and we would split the pot with four fives and an ace high. Got you now ass! I turned over my aces. He laughed and turned over a five and a deuce.
What?! You can’t have that! I wrote but it was also voiced by me but with some uber-bass voice. My dual existence of virtual and live table play was confusing as he answered me with his voice and yet I kept my eyes glued on the screen in the instant message box. No reply was returned and I looked up at the click of metal.
He hauled in the chips and I looked around for an official. No one could get five of a kind. That was impossible without cheating. No one said a word and the official did come to my side.
Excuse me but this player just had a fifth five. I explained the situation calmly, resolute in thinking that this was clear proof.
She looked at me with irritation. Just play the game sir. We don’t want any rabble rousers here.
I’m not a rabble rouser. In my mind but the words came out strong, louder than I projected them (dream world). Then, without moving my lips Fuck you! Fuck you all! shot out of me. With that the official grabbed me from behind and lifted me out of the chair with such strength I couldn’t believe it was the same woman. She had to have only been five feet and yet had ten times my strength. Violently she pushed me out of the poker room and I saw the exit.
I was out in the sun now the shine so bright from the darkened poker room my eyes squinted almost to closed. My feet pressed down on the pavement were sticking. I fell over at my waist pulling something in my knees and back. Bent cursor-like with my fingertips supporting along with my immobile feet, I shoved off with all my forth and came to a standing position in danger of rolling backwards but my heels dug in and locked me an upright position, a better posture than I was use to as the pulled muscles reminded me. I couldn’t turn as I heard the official say You can’t leave until the tournament is over.
I didn’t know what that meant but it must mean that I had to stay put as if I had an option. Not a very safe positioning, cars were guiding themselves around me like a pylon. It would be disastrous if any one of the drivers was not paying attention.
Hey. I heard a voice ring out just as I noticed several other players that were caught in the pavement in a variety of compromising positions that I felt lucky I was upright. Hey! I’m right behind you. It was the voice of the woman that sat next to me at the poker table. With no way of turning to see her, my back and legs ailing, I answered by craning my neck as far back as it would go shouting upwardly in hopes in would loft its way back to her.
You’re out too?
Yes. So what do we do now? A screech was heard to the right and I saw a couple of stuck poker players get picked off by some sort of SUV with their bodies flying 20 yards or so followed by screams that slowly, muted to whimpers, then silence.
What the mf was that? I saw on the screen like an IM. IT was coming from her. Responding in type without a typing, without a keyboard, Not sure. Didn’t seem to sum up my fears as I saw the SUV with what appeared to be a mother with sunglass turning around. Then I heard a hearty laugh and the SUV locked in on us and the surge of gas heating it up, I awoke just as it smashed into both of us hearing and initial crush and like shards of glass falling I was being pieced together slowly lowering into my bed.
I awoke in a sweat and a small, breathy, What the…
posted by Jon Wagner at 8:57 AM
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