Lap Band Tightening the Bank Roll

It’s been sometime since the PokerBat has graced the blogosphere with the world’s greatest poker blog.  Since you last saw him the PokerBat has finally done something about his ever expanding waistband.  Don’t think the Bat didn’t hear every person that sat down at a table immediately ask if the table could be balanced only to look my way, see my purple sweat pants, and the folds of my body overhanging a solid quarter of the table and sigh in not so muted disgust.  No, the Bat heard it all.  You obese-ists out there should really settle down, and take a long, hard look at yourself in the mirror and maybe then you’ll take a shotgun to your own testes and dirtnap til eternity.

Nonetheless, The Poker Bat finally had to admit his weight had become too much to bear.  The Bat came to that recognition this last year.  Thankfully, the death of online poker may have saved the Bat’s life.  Now, with live poker becoming a dreary affair with few friends thanks to Bat’s heft making every table shorthanded, and forseeing a future of possibly being crane lifted from his upper Louisiana love shack, the Bat decided to do something about it.  He squeezed himself into his cherry Mazda Miata to drive to the clinic.  Before doing so he had a friend with a forklift help him get out of that same Miata.  A terrible day in the Bat’s life.  Any time you are wearing doors for pockets it’s time to step-back and reevaluate again.

Since then the Bat has sought real medical help and battled the silent addiction of sugar.  Used to be the Bat’s snack between snacks was a grip of pixie stix and a gallon of Kool-Aid.  No more.  After a lap band operation the Bat is looking svelte, sexy, and back in play.  The Bat traded grass and the munchies for wheat grass and scrunches.  The Bat used to have situations in every crevice of his body and now the body is looking like Jersey Shore icon the Situation.  It’s been a great eight months.  After surgery to move 49 and a half pounds of droopy flesh.  Already, the Bat has jumped to match.com after being stuck on Adultfriedster to find dates that mostly came to the Bat’s house and raided his fridge.  

The Bat can see his feet again, not to mention his other nether region appendage and there has been much joy in the Bat-house hold.  After sleeping on a mattress that wasn’t on the slab for the first time in decades and trusting the struts of the bed, the bat was embolden in other areas of life.  

The Bat’s most recent mail order bride from Belarusssia just came in and she’s a dandy.  The Bat has been softening her frosty marital response with offers to by her Ford Taurus and Levis jean jackets.  Still, the Bat knows it’s only a matter of time before her citizenship kicks in and the Bat gets another scrawled note like the last one, “I wont million Air.  You suffercate me in night when you rolls.  Thanks for USA passport, sams club card, and the lice.  I will try to forget you.   Always, Anis.”

Still, a fresh mail order wife is a bit like a couple of Red Baron’s pizzas fresh in the oven.  It’s going to get dirty and the Bat might regret but it’s going to be a lot of fun finishing it.  This new body and new wife Olga, the minx from mintz, has the Bat pissing swagger and perspiring red bull.  Must be time to get back to pokering.   

In fact, the Bat’s unballyhooed unheralded comeback to poker just happened.  The bat journeyed to that bedbug, flea and tick infested roach casino known as Hammond, IN.

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