Kai Landry almost wins Ladies Tournament Almost Mugged

The PokerBat has been in the Poker Hospital all but retired from the insidious game that almost cost him his life. *That exhilarating story to come, keep reading dear reader, and to the Miley Cyrus fans that came to this site because of the Miley Cyrus Three Nipple Nude Pictures tag keep reading too you won’t be disappointed.

So, despite battling poverty, obesity, and a skin condition under his muffin top his doctor described as crease rickets, the Bat couldn’t resist a good tournament at the IP Casino in Biloxi, MS.  Thus the Bat got on his Vespa, to make the long trip south.  What?  Times are hard and the Bat has to travel as best he can.  Three miles into the trek the Bat called a cab.  Put a Powerwheels engine on a communist technology and what do you get?  A lawn ornament.

Sure enough after a long layover at the Shed, the Bat got to the WSOP-C event a little late, and the Bat spies only a ladies event running and some dude playing deep into the tournament.  Taking a pulse of the crowd the Bat learns it’s Kai Landry.  This guy used to blog on http://www.gulfcoastpoker.net, and reading his thoughts on that site, was a bit like taking an Ambien,slugging ten fingers of Jimmy Beam, and staring at a lava lamp until it spelled out spiritual advice… or in other words an average Tuesday for the Poker Bat.

So seeing a kindred spirit, the Bat railed Kai from a spot just behind the curtains, just behind the people hawking card protectors.  “No, the Bat doesn’t want to buy your table frisbees unless they come with Jessica Simpson from the Dukes of Hazard movie and I don’t have to keep the disc.”

From his poker blind, the Bat watched Kai magnificently wade through that minefield of Q10 loving princesses and get to heads up action.  Heads up action in a ladies tournament… creepy smile, creepy wink, creepy nudge (somebody needs to design that emoticon).  There the Bat hears some of the exiled ladies talking.  One of them a brutish looking tight end for an Canadian Football League team tells the others, if Kai wins he’s not getting out of the parking lot with the pendant.

This got the Bat picking his nose, actually, the Bat was already knuckle deep, this got the Bat thinking, about poor Kai getting jumped in the parking lot.  So taking stock of the future mob, the Bat envisioned the scene if he won:

Kai exits the elevator, with the Ted Nugent muzak fading away as he walks into the IP garage, a car skids out in the distance, but this floor of the garage is empty except for Kai’s car (a vintage Aston Matin)  parked by itself overlooking the beauty of the bay of biloxi.  As Kai, walks sipping from his shaken not stirred victory martini, the lone light above his car flickers rapidly and turns off, turning the garage to shadow. Dripping water echoes loudly and Kai can’t help but shake the idea he’s being watched.
As he nears his car, thumbing the pearly brilliance of his treasured pendant, thinking expectantly about digging into his dinner of fried chicken and wine in a bubble bath,
suddenly shadows drop silently from the ceiling.  He sees them spill to the floor as graceful as mash potatoes sliding off a spoon.  As they dust themselves off, he recognizes them as a group of big stacked poker ninjas, they stand between him and around his car.
One of them, Nancy “Right Eye” Lopez steps out the darkness.  Her visor, football coach shorts, and industrial strength tube socks means one of two things, she’s either late for an tee time or in short order Kai would be lunch meat.
Next to Right-Eye, another vanquished opponent emerged.  This one, “Babe” Zaharis, who busted standing up to his stealing by calling off with King 4 off suit.  Babe, wearing her shiny L.I.P.S poker tour jacket she wears to every poker event, a female version of Captain Tom speaks first, “Give us the pendant and we’ll let you walk.”
Kai, “Huh, what?  This, you want this…”  Kai looked at his precious.  Sure, the costume jewelry that didn’t exactly match his eyes but the value was in the significance of it.  Like Hercules defeating the Amazons, or his hero Abraham Korotki’s seminal Jackie Robinson moment in Atlantic City, the pendant symbolized a victory over woman kind.  Too many times, man had suffered at the poker table at the carefully manicured hands of women.  Their transgressions too many to count, but including Tiffany Michelle’s 5 seconds of relevancy where she slurped nacho cheese off her fingers after fondling chips, their uniquely female “passive aggressive” playing style (keep calling with the worst of it until you get there), the siren call of their low cut tops across the tables bludgeoning the logical portions of male brains into mush, or just one story too many about the brilliance of Vanessa Selbst.  Kai knew his victory was bigger then a pendant.
As he mustered up the courage to stand up to these woman, an even larger henchwoman stepped out from the shadows, he recognized her at once as body builder Paula “Poundstone” Creamer,  she hissed, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way breeder.”
Kai shrugged, “Usually when I wrestle with a gang of women there’s more of you and a pile of pillows.”  They ignored his wink.  He slugged the rest of his martini and gathered his nerve.  The odds were against him, but this was a man who had also broken into the female stranglehold on the jello wrestling industry, so he knew how to defend himself from their feminine wiles.  Afterall he wasn’t called the Violent Milkman for nothing, “Let’s do… this!” he yelled.
Despite his bravado, it’s one thing to battle a bikini model in green jello in a high school gym, it’s another thing to fight the bloodlust of a passel of angry female poker players.  Kai barely took a step, before the card protectors took flight and pounded him about the face like throwing stars.  As they clinked to the ground he saw the dolphins, hearts, and pink horseshoes that were de facto symbols of the gender he debased and he knew this was going to hurt.
At that moment, the light flickered back on, a cat shrieked in a stairwell, and he saw the hordes and hordes of angry estrogen warriors rushing him like he  was a dollar shoe rack at Jimmy Chu’s.  A flurry of purses, and knock off pink Beats headphones battered him across the head and brave Kai fell to a knee.  He thumbed a droplet of blood from his mouth, and looked at the ladies saying, “Is that all you got?”
As they stared him down, he saw a famous face, “Kathy… Liebert?”
She tucked her 2005 Shooting Stars bounty shirt back into her shorts and pulled out a flip phone from her fanny pack, “That’s right I got the call.”
Then out stepped, Jennifer Harman, Victoria Coren, Mimi Tran, and Jennifer Tilly to stand shoulder to shoulder with Liebert, “We all did.”
Harman pulled out a pineapple from her mom jeans, gently tossing it back and forth from hand to hand, “Ladies… who wants a Pina Colon-ado?”
The harpies screamed their approval.
A shrill voice from the group then cried out, “No, let’s give him the full Negreanu!”
Harman shook her head, “An…” but before she could finish, that craven cavalcade of women let out a  collective shriek, and just like that the onslaught began anew, a melee of bingo-winged women went airborne, their biggest, Condaleza Hippolite, landed first and Kai went to ground like a Rollo hitting an Almarillo sidewalk.  He hung on bravely clutching that pendant til all but his last moment of consciousness escaped him while they pulled at his hair and scratched at his clothes.  One of the last sights he saw, a sweaty tramp stamp bordered by roses , “Say, Yes When Nobody Asks.”  For a moment, he ignored the beating he was taking, to think to himself “What da fuck. Who Da Fuck.”
As finally he blacked out under a haze of musky scents straight out of bowling alley ladies room, they wrested the pendant from him.  The group now almost sated they turned and left.  Within moments, a dazed Kai woke up and  somehow pulled himself to his feet but his recovery didn’t go unnoticed.  The smallest, loudest, and least toughest of the bunch Kerri Simmons-Webb ran back for one more swift kick to the nuts.
Kai spun to the ground in agony.
“Next time take your balls and go home,” she taunted.
Fortunately for Kai, he came in second and this didn’t happen.
**The PokerBat promised you the tale of why he semi-retired and almost lost his life, but alas ,space was limited so he didn’t.  Next time.  Same Bat Channel.  As for you Miley Cyrus fans sorry to disappoint you, but there are no pictures of her nude with three nipples here either.  But get used to the disappointment, you are a Miley Cyrus fan, even at a young age your poor decision making prefaces a lifetime of worse ones, enjoy your facial tattoes, your bad salvia trips, and your grocery list of boyfriends that need saving but not marrying.

Bat Takes Offense–Self Absorbed Humans

 

The Bat recently rode an elevator and saw a similar note as above.  Why not just post that note?  Well, if the Bat had one of your fancy dancy fuckbook phones the Bat would have taken a picture of it.  Instead, the Bat is rocking a Matrix slider phone and proud of it.  Doesn’t matter if the 9 key has fallen off, the Bat has excised any friends with 9s in their number.  It’s a simple purge.  When the 5 or some relevant number falls off the Bat will get a new phone.  What about dialing 911 you ask?  Okay, you didn’t ask it but smarter people did.  It begs the question after all, dialing 11 doesn’t do much.   That’s fine because the Bat has his own emergency number it’s called Mr. Colt 45.  Not talking about Billy D. Williams either.   Won’t spell it out for you libs but don’t come knocking on my door after dark unless you want to get acquainted with the business end of Lando Calrissian.

Anybody that seen’s the Bat jog knows he should have an ambulance on speed dial.  That’s fair enough as there are other uses for 911.  That’s why the Bat wears one of those medical alert necklaces.  Yes, the Bat wears it like a watch because the Bat is thick but it’s still there under a fold of skin or two.

Anyway, while in Vegas for the World Series of pissing on the shoes of Eurotrash hipsters in the Rio bathroom, the Bat saw a sign like the one above in the apartment he rented out.  Probably written by that oompa loompa Matt Marafionetti.  Being about a crotch lice’s hair over five fiddy the Bat doesn’t take the stairs ever for no reason.  If there is option between one step and a handicap ramp that swirls around the building the Bat takes the ramp.  Now, on the face of this, these types of notes make a little sense.  Folks on the 20th floor can’t get to the 20th floor quick enough when all the fat and lazies insist on riding the elevator up one floor.

In a way, the note is everything the Bat stands for, anti-laziness and it’s anti self absorbed greediness.  Being a self loather, the Bat doesn’t even mind the obesesism, however it’s ill conceived.  Who is the self absorbed?  It’s got to be the assholes who insist on riding an elevator up one or two floors to the detriment of everybody else in the building or is the writer of the note?  Obviously, the assholes that live there pay to service the elevator so it’s their right to ride it however few floors they want.  The people with the views on the upper floors have to just suffer through it and it’s another cost of living.  Still, on the other hand those lazy biatches could use the exercise.  However, if the writer of that note were really concerned about efficiency, the Bat would ask if he gets off two floors early and walks up to his own floor.  After all, two floors is the arbitrary amount the writer has determined is the litmus test for fat and lazies, but it’s obvious nobody gets off two floors early to hump stairs.

In way that’s not realistic, but to make the example more pronounced what if the note-writer was the last person on a full elevator.  The floor two below his was punched and every floor above his was punched.  Would he immediately spare the rest of high livers by getting off two floors early?  Of course not because he’s a self-absorbed fat and lazy impatient fucker who doesn’t want to wait for anybody, he’d punch his own floor and get back to praying somebody favorited his tweet about daffodils and his girlfriend’s dingleberried ass.  Let the rest of the unwashed masses walk up two flights of steps, let us eat cake too, but no not the fucking lazy notewriter he won’t be walking any stairs.  The Bat says fuck you passive aggressive note writers.   Either grow a pair of balls and write a plain aggressive note, with your apartment number on it, or don’t write a note and hide behind anonymity.

Okay, the Bat’s been meaning to get that rant off his chest for a couple of days now.  Once the Bat gets rid of his man tits there will be nothing left to get off the chest, but for now, let’s talk some poker.

The World Series has been a brutal series of self-inflicted fistings that would make a porno convention squirm.  That enough poker talk for you?  The Bat couldn’t win a hand if he was holding half the fucking deck.  Poker has been like giving head to a piledriver for a solid month now.

The cards have been especially unkind to the Bat.  Not only that in one of the only tournaments the Bat has had any luck in,  the Bat finally went deep in a Rio deep stack event, agreed to a five way chop only to have the guy that signed for first take off with all his share and the other four of us staring at one another like the friggin’ Happy Days bunch when Fonzie’s wasn’t in a scene.  The Bat is ready to break some fricking heads over this.  Talk about a bad beat.

Meanwhile, over on Lock poker the Bat can’t stop snapping off tournaments.  All the Bat’s run-good is tied up in that site.  Which the Bat was happy with… then the Bat hears a couple of the poker kids Lucky Chewbacca and R2D2 Patel talking about the site not paying out again while the Bat was getting his head handed to him in PLO.  The Bat can’t win for losing.   Don’t even ask the Bat about the guy he bought a piece of for the one drop.

Talking about these brats, the Bat has heard enough of the lingo, three and four and five betting.  Everybody piles and is “piling” and snaps off and is “snapping off” and “ripping.”  They sound like they haven’t figured out how to light a bong yet.  They’ll learn.

Anyway, the Bat’s been through the slop before.  Only a matter of time before the world series of poker main event is his.

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.

Black Friday, Thieves, Scumbags, and Poker Players

Black Friday, or as GCP puts it aPOKERlypse NOW, has come and gone and so has the Bat’s money. The Bat’s got cash sitting in an account that is frozen somewhere.  Not since a local congressman Crooked Jefferson, a bad 1-2 player at Harrahs btw, stored bribes in his freezer has so much Louisiana cash been on ice.  Apparently the DOJ and Homeland Security think going after online poker is good for business and good for the economy and good for our… safety?

As for business:  If it’s their business, yeah that make sense, been great for the business of the federal government.  Good for the people’s business? Don’t think so.  Cash strapped police departments just ran an illegal payment processor in concordance with the federal government to generate 500k in revenue.  Go to this local poker news site for more.  They’ve also frozen 100s of millions of dollars, which they will soon parse out to bloated federal programs any day in all likelihood.  Don’t be surprised if the IRS and state governments asked you for taxes (many of you already paid on Black Friday) on those funds you can kiss goodbye.  They’ll get you both ways.

As for the economy:  Hello, 50k of newly unemployed poker players.  Also, goodbye money that they spend freely, when that’s what the economy needs most people spending money like we aren’t in a recession.  So big airball on that one.

As for safety:  Not sure terrorists are the ones whose moneys been frozen.  See most of them live out of the United States and can still withdraw their money.  The ones that can’t are the average citizens that live here.  Not really helping matters at all.  Course that’s what we’ve come to expect from Homeland Security which makes their involvement all the more head-scratching.

The Poker Bat, has been on a bit of a sabbatical, but now that the Bat sees part time poster Kai Landry has gotten a blog out, which happens about as often as every other leap year, the Bat needs to dust off the cobwebs and blog.  This is the best he could come up with.  Moving on…

What else has been going on in the Bat’s life?  The Bat has been crushing games on the flooded side of the Mississippi.  Is it that hard to ask for our government to build levees that can handle better than a 1 in a 10o year flood?  The Bat hates to take monies of people suffering but that’s what usually happens in poker anyway.

The Bat has also been sighted at the World Series of Poker-Circuit event going deep in a tournament.  More than one tournament.  Any cashes to his name?  Uh, no.

The Bat won’t bore you with one outers or tales of runner-runners because the Bat don’t get badbeated out of a tournament he bluffs off his chips like a man.  These internet kids taught the Bat a thing or two about three or four betting just turns out when the Bat was polarizing his range with bluffs those kiddies had the goods.  The Bat is tired of polarizing, especially Full Tilt polarizing his online bankroll.

Swear it was like Halloween, every time the Bat made a move on a child in a tournament or a cash game, the little f’er had something in his goodie bag.  The Bat saw more pocket aces in somebody else’s hand then he’d care to see for a lifetime.

Vegas is calling the Bat, with that yearly siren

‘s song.  Come crash your boats on our shores while the other fools is holding quads–the Bat believes that is how the ditty goes.  Las Vegas, personified, would be like Katy Perry to the Bat.  She looks good from far, seems entertaining, and promises an ample bosom of pleasure, however up close, as Russell Brand is discovering Perry bears more than a passing resemblance to one of the cartoon step-sisters of Cinderella (google it, as close as Bieber is to a lesbian, alright the Bat googled it for you… you’re welcome), she’s probably spanx-ed and corsetted into appearing to have an awesome body, but without that elastic is likely all saggy tissue, muffintop, bingo wings, and mushiness, and that… voice, ugh.

Perry’s voice is like many singers interesting for one song, but then loses it’s bite with repetition.  It’s different so evokes a few listens, but far from the talent of other singers to become an iPod staple.  Can you imagine what Lothario and former womanizer Russell Brand is feeling now, that voice probably grates on his last nerve, and she’s probably comfortable enough to let it all hang out around him and pass gas.  You know being constricted all day must do a number on her bowels.  Sure does on the Bat, anytime he double t-shirts in to flattened his man-boobs.

Okay, that’s Katie Perry.  That’s also Vegas.  She’s fun for a night or two, she’s exciting enough to carry your interest, but don’t marry her, in fact, don’t stay too long with her, if she knows you aren’t in it for the long haul, try to wake up before she does and get our of town or else you’ll lose ALL your money.

The Bat wants to go the world series and may just do that, despite knowing behind the fake Katie Perry glam is an ugly step-sister.  But the Bat wants to ask Phil Gordon why he put a Bad Beat on the Bat’s Bankroll, and why he’s still asking for a piece of the players winnings to donate to charity.  You want a piece of my live bankroll too, now that you got all my online bankroll.  The Bat doesn’t think so Phil, your charity is all good, but the Bat has to question anything you do now, at least until the Full Tilt ship is righted.  And it takes a lot of gall to be front in center asking for money when your company is holding many players bankrolls.

Alright, poker players the Bat will be back with more… soon.

Poker Bat taking Heat

Okay, so Christian Bale is a polarizing figure and he’s cussing in the gif or jpg or whatever that is on the Bat’s previous post.  Uh, oh  if you hadn’t figured it out yet this Texas Hold’em poker blog is for adults.  Sure the Bat’s comedic stylings are appealing to both young and old, but if you are too young to figure out how to sneak into an R rated movie go somewhere else.  If you are sneaking into pervy movies you can go somewhere else too.  Nobody likes a pervert especially a cheap one, or so the Bat’s wife says anytime they go to the mall together.

Here’s some viewer-mail:

Bat, you bash the SEC do you have gravy for brains?  What team do you support, Centenary?  More like cemetary go take a dirt nap you douschebag and learn how to play poker before you post again.

Phil Luck, Upper Madagascar

Phil, The Bat appreciates you reading the blog.  And Robert Parish is a great American.

Bat, you philistine, gargile, dark-sided, tainted slike-kick, get out of my state.

Marguerrtie, Pontchatoula

Marguerite, is this you?  The Bat thinks he might have had a cup of coffee with you once.

Bat, your posts make me laugh, they make me cry, they make me hate you, they make me love you?  Are you really pushing 4 bills because I think I want your babies.

Trina “Floatda” Turner

Trina, the Bat says you can have his babies.  He’ll ship those freeloading do-nothings to you and pay for the postage and handling.  Bat juniors if you are reading this go get jobs, and get off the computer.

Bat, are you willing to go broke with Ace-King?

Nani, Portugal

Nani, the Bat says AK is your friend.  If you aren’t willing to ship it with that hand you shouldn’t be playing poker.  Last night the Bat was 10 away from the money in a huge multi-table tournament and the Bat raised with Ak offsuit.  A player shoved over the top and it folded back to the Bat.  The Bat was covered.  Easily the Bat could have cruised to the money by folding.  Because it was a rebuy affair, and was 4x the Bat’s investment, some of you gobhoblins would have crawl back into your nit shells and sat on your stacks.  The Bat, don’t play scared ball.  The Bat knew this was a coin-flip, Aces or Kings don’t open shove there, only scared little nit-tards not wanting to go broke with QQ and JJ. 

The Bat insta-called that turducken and saw twin red queens.  Bat makes two pair.  Other doofus gets a set.  See-ya.  Bat will do it two times today and three times on Sunday.  Bat don’t want a min-cash, the Bat is playing to win, folding AK?  In today’s world, where kids will 7bet Arag in the main event?  Come on.  Perpostorous.

Bat, when people say results oriented don’t you just want to run them over with your ‘specially engineered heavy man’s ATV? 

Bat Junior

Junior get off the computer and stay off it.  How you find your way into the Bat’s poker account every night the Bat gets black out drunk at the honkytonk and lose his bankroll requires a deviousness that could actually get you a high paying job in the real world.  Get a job son, and before you say it son, saying you got a career at blockbuster is a bit like saying cruise director on the Titanic is a burgeoning field.  Yes, results oriented is a stupid term. 

Of course, you play to win the tournaments.  You play to win the cash games, you play to win the hands.  At the end of the day, the only scorecard that matters is your bankroll.  Of course, the Bat is results oriented, as opposed to you.  You son are re-sluts oriented.  You parade the same two trashy heifers through the house every other week.  Granted, the fact you are getting some makes the Bat happy, but considering all of Arkansas has ridden one, and Mississippi the other it’s time to find a new cow or two.

Poker Bat on Deck to Bat at WSOP Riches

The Poker Bat took a vacation.  Wasn’t at the Poker Hospital or the real hospital the Bat was just on leave from blogging.  The Bat can blog in his sleep or so the Bat thinks but every time he lays down to sleep he never blogs.  The Bat knows so many of you loyal, avid, aimless, lecherous, and deceitful readers get amped up for a Bat post so it must have been disappointing to go through the last two weeks without a taste of the Bat to tide you by.  The Bat has been playing Texas Hold em poker online, which should come to no surprise to you, the Bat’s faithful readership, but for the rest of you, the unfaithful, the haters, but those that still read and still badger the Bat with insults, here’s the surprise… the Bat’s been killing it.

Yeah, cry the Bat a river. You think he’s a donk yet all he does is win. The Bat is a one man poker school and you’d be wise to sign up and take lessons. First off, the Bat has been playing some cash games with some big dummies online. They all race to sit down at the Bat’s table and talk about VPIP-PITY split, career EV, and abbreviates the Bat don’t care to read or care about.

All the Bat knows is he’s dropping them as the Bat is on a heater like Jaime Gold at the World Series. You got pocket kings MrSwed1sh the Bat’s got a set of 10s. Eat it Scandi. The Bat’s been amassing cash and gearing up for the two World Series of Poker events that are going to be taking place on the coast. The IP has an event the Bat is going to crash and win, so too Harrahs of New Orleans. Don’t know how many tournaments the Bat will play or if the Bat will just nurse the teet of the cash games, but the Bat will be there.

By the way, question for the IP? Why not move the cash tables into the tournament area and create one huge poker clusterdump during the Circuit Satellite event. Rather than players walking up and down a flight of escalators (even when the Bat’s riding one of those things, the tug of gravity on the Bat’s muffin top makes it feel like work) and trotting half a building to go back and forth put all that in one place. Say a player busts out of a tournament and goes on insta-tilt here’s a cash game for him to join. No need for him to walk for five minutes and talk himself out of it, or to cool off his tilt.

Bat likes players hot and freshly busted. Try to win that entry back on one hand you big dummy. The Bat’s got something for you.

The Harrahs event is part of that big tournament circuit where points are tabulated and it acts a bit like the Nike Tour and then they give away a bracelet for it. Yawn. The Bat’s only interested in one thing, busting players, busting tables, and trying not to bust ass while doing it. Yes, the Bat’s known to have a bit of a flatuation problem, but a little gas ain’t harmful to no one but the guy at the table behind him. You are going to know the Bat tooted because the Bat will be standing up pointing at some other guy and talking about the dead racoon he’s storing in his large intestine. Never admit a fart, that’s one of the Bat’s rules to live by.

Oh yeah, congrats to the guy that co-owns the site, Wild Bill, for chopping that soft as molasses Harrahs weekly tournament he calls the Donkley. It must be a stable of donkeys for that nit to win.  Note to Wild Bill and Gene D:  move the Bat up the Gulf Coast Poker. Net blog list.

Poker Bat Back in the Game

The Poker Bat will take a post or two off from complaining.  The Bat can’t help but feel a bit like the a whiny 5-year-old so on to something new, which is something old;  the Bat slaying his opponents and crushing the Internet.  The Bat fires up his computer to play online poker and feels like a pilot of a jet about to launch from an air craft carrier.  Get ready for the ride boys because it’s going to be a fun one.  The Bat don’t fly with a wingman and even if he did the wingman wouldn’t be able to keep up.  His goose would be cooked so to speak (Top Gun reference for those that are movie illiterate–watch it), but the Bat will talk about the dogfight here and you get to read and learn some online poker strategy.

Sorry for the Top Gun reference, the Bat don’t like to quote Tom Cruise movies, Tom Cruise in general, or even refer to that Batpoop crazy Scientologytard but after watching Tropical Thunder Cruise, gets a bit of a pass. Les Grossman is a funny character.  That’s a bit like the Bat in real life, a thick man, with more dance moves than a slightly off black Michael Jackson.  Slighty off black?  Yeah, that’ll put Jacko somewhere in between Thriller and Bad when that guy was at his peak.

Ever seen a large man moonwalk? When the Bat wins his first televised final table that’s exactly what the Bat will be doing. The last time the Bat was online… um about 10 seconds ago the Bat was crushing souls and mindfarting on the faces of the pimpled online elitists that play this game for a career. You want to hear a hero call?

The Bat just made one. In the big blind with Nine Deuce a hand the Bat likes because it can only improve (except when it doesn’t) there are a couple of limpers until the button min-raises. Really? The Bat giggles. The min-raise is a bit like moving the limbo bar down to your shoulders when only midgets are playing. The Bat clicks call quicker than a Gator will eat a Marshmallow on a swamp.  Get yourself to the Bayou if you don’t know.

The flop isn’t pretty.  The Bat has two flush draws, his deuce is a heart and his Nine is a spade.  Neither improved as it came diamond, diamond, club.  The Bat wasn’t worried about ranks, none was a face card so the Bat determined to lead out blind.  Hmmm… let’s go pot.  The other guys in the hand folded like a hammock under an elephant and it was just the button.

The Bat had reckoned a few things about this player.  He was smart, aggressive, and a piss-ant.  He like to chat it up when he played, and this time he fired out “Look out!” and repopped the Bat.  Now, the Bat looked a little closer at the board 765.  What to do push and get the idiot out of the hand or let him posture at the pot on the turn and just take it down there?  The Bat opted for the slow-bluff (yeah, it’s a new term but feel free to use it) and represent he had a big hand when he bet it on later streets.

The turn came a 10, and the Bat knew his hand was good enough to beat the dreck in the piss-ant’s hand.  The Pissant bet again and the Bat continued the slow-bluff with a call.  Sure, there were a lot of scare cards that could come on the river but the Bat didn’t care.  When an 8 ball hit it was gin city.  The kid raised and the Bat shoved.  The kid stalled and called with his set of 7s.  Pay the Lion!  The Bat scooped the pot and exited the table having showed those math geeks how to be the poker.