Rooney Mara is the most lovely young lady going right now. She's not a bad actress either. Although I've only seen her on screen for a combined forty minutes or so, I'm already smitten. I mean I don't just want to bang her. I'm in love with her.
The thing is she's cute and beautiful. Usually they're just one or the other. She's petite, which I like a lot, and she has a real ass - not a flat, bullshit ass. She has little titties with perk and the right nips. Just superb. She's looks like she can fuck the hell out of you from what I saw in that flick. L-O-V-E.
She's the real deal to. I've watched every interview with her, video and print, and every youtube video she's at all involved in. She's perfect...never misses a beat. I believe it was my boy F. Scott Fitz who said, "personality is a series of unbroken successful gestures." Well this spectacular human being hasn't broken shit.
After watching The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, which was shit, I was really mad at Annie for not being Rooney Mara. I'm not talking about looking like her - fucking being her. One of the crap Hollywood stories I was told once was that Andre Agassi used to fuck with Brook Shields and put a photo of Steffi Graff up on the fridge, with a magnet I assume, and tell her every morning that she needed to get her ass in shape, that she should look more like Steffi Graff. Brooke went on to write a book about Post-Partem Depression. I've never really believed in Post-Partem Depression. If your kid weirds you out and you don't love him right when the chord is cut, you probably just hate the father and don't want to be around anything that slightly resembles him. Sounds like she just had Post-Agassi Depression to me. What an asshole. I would never do something like that to Annie. Like I said I don't want Annie to look like Rooney Mara. I want her to be her.
Sorry about talking about this lovely, perfect creature so much and not about gambling. It's just that I've gotten really distracted by her and haven't focused on gambling much over the last couple days. Actually I think if I married Rooney Mara I'd never gamble. I'd actually make a deal with the Devil that if I could marry Rooney Mara I would not only never gamble again, but I'd never leave my apartment - never. If I could wake up and go to sleep next to Rooney Mara every day there'd be no reason to go outside. I'd take that fucking deal in a heartbeat. If I could wake up, make an omelet, go for a jog (a treadmill would have to be included in the deal), make a sandwich, and dick around on the internet for the rest of the day (facebook would be enough to sustain me every day, and of course a GambleorDie blog post every few hours of the day.) Wait a sec. I'd have nothing to write about. What the fuck would I do with the blog, or facebook for that matter if I wasn't a degenerate? That's all I got. I'd have no personality if I married Rooney Mara and made this deal. I mean not like you have any personality when you marry a broad anyway, but in this case I wouldn't even be able to fake it. You know what fuck that deal. Fuck Rooney Mara. I want to jog outside and gamble wherever and whenever the hell I want. And most of all I want to write this fucking blog. Let's fucking go.
The Ghosts of Christmas Past
2003
I'm having a Christmas party at my apartment in Brooklyn. I have $6,000 in an account with Betgameday.com. The thing is I made a $10,000 deposit using Firepay. Firepay is an ewallet company. What these companies do is let you deposit funds into sportsbooks and poker rooms with your checking account. You tell them who you are (give them your social security number and birthdate), and they give you an account. The thing is, this is the beginning of the gambling universe. What would happen in the future will become a thing of legend. Now I'm no Terrence Malick, but I'm going to try to tell you assholes a little something about how all this shit started and how fucked up it all was and how I figured out how to rob these idiots blind.
So I'm just starting to figure this thing out at this point. I'm sitting in my local's barber chair getting a chop and a fucking shave. This guy's in his late 70's and will probably fuck me up, but I roll with it anyway because it's the move. I'm getting a real man's hair cut this time. The last time I got a haircut I went to some homosexual fella - a cool one who came into my bar and drank margaritas all day - in the village and got a super gay chop. Neely loved it for two reasons. The first was because it was a birthday present from her and the second being because down deep she likes soft dudes with their purple shirts and emotions. Neely is my lady. I'll get into her in a quick.
So I'm sitting in this fucking barber chair and thinking about this whole fucking deal that I just discovered when these Firepay assholes let me make a $10,000 deposit using my checking account, a checking account that didn't exist - I just used a Bank of America routing number and made up an account number. I took that 10K and deposited 4K into Betgameday (they only let you deposit $2000 every 24 hours), put 2K into Pokerstars (which I lost), 2K into Paradise Poker (gone in one hand), and another 2k in Partypoker (gonzo). Basically I lost 6k in a few hours, hitting a new site as soon as I got crushed. I was able to be disciplined enough not lose it all playing cards to get the rest into Betgameday to bet these games. Now here I am, in this fucking barber chair, trying to figure out how to make $100,000.
At this point I figure I have to have over $10,000 in this GD account to see what their move is. I figure if I can run this thing up to 15k I'll be able to cashout 5k. My feeling is that I would. What I do know for a fact is that I can get a ton of cash, that doesn't exist, in these poker rooms. What I need is to get someone on the other end with a real account and dump chips to him.
After this old bastard cuts me all up and leaves my face all spotted like, I go outside and call my boy Lou. Lou's the only one I can think of that would comprehend any of this. Everyone else I know has no balls, or is too smart, and would want nothing to do with this. I get Lou on the phone and right off it he's down.
"So you're telling me you're writing phony checks for as much as 10k and they're giving you the cash to play with?"
"Yuup."
"And this offshore shit is illegal so they can't legally come after you for fraud."
"That's exactly what I'm saying."
"Dude, this is some crazy shit."
"No shit. Are they retarded or is this some Ponzi scheme."
"Yeah it could be a Ponzi scheme."
"I don't know man. Looks to me like bunch of corrupt, greedy bastards that don't know what the hell they're doing and they can probably deal with a few desperate, degenerate assholes like me to fuck with them."
"Yeah man you're just the fucking man for this!"
"Yeah well, you in Lou?"
"I'm in. Call me next week when you have a plan."
"Will do. Merry fucking Christmas!"
"Merry Christmas to you!"
Lou's the fucking man. He's got a family and still, because he's ballsy and smart, knows the deal.
I head back to the apartment. I get there and people are starting to arrive. Neely is taking her Chicken Pot Pie out of the oven. It's the only thing she can make that's decent. She's a shit cook, but I'm down with her anyway. She does make a very clean sandwich, which can make up for just about any shortcoming. My boy Ron, who I call Kundera, is in on the deal. I call him Kundera because he's a writer and writes "polyphonic" novels (a term he gets from Milan Kundera) on yellow writing pads with fucking red felt pens. He never shuts up about the "polyphonic novel". All day long with Kundera, "polyphonic", and "the first and the third." I don't know what the fuck he's talking about but I listen as if I do. Kundera's a neurotic, balding jew from Hartford. He's not completely bald, more like Art Garfunkel bald. It turns out Hartford is to Kundera as Manhattan is to Woody Allan. They both have trouble functioning outside of their beloved cities. Right now Kundera is standing in my kitchen, scared to fucking death.
I hand Kundera another whiskey. We go into my bedroom where my TV is set up. I moved it in there so I wouldn't be distracted when playing poker on my computer in the living room. I filled Kundera in on the situation when he got here this afternoon. He fucking loves it. I tell him I put 2k on the Vikings and Randy Moss. The Vikes are playing the 12-2 Chiefs and Trent Green at home. Kundera tells me they're a lock. Randy fucking Moss. Dante fucking Culpepper. Let's go get it.
The Vikings crush the Chiefs. The night game is Pats v. Jets. The Jets are catching 7 at home. They suck and the Pats are the best team in the league. Kundera is a jet fan. He rubs his bald head, throws down a shot of whiskey, and tells me they're a lock. "They're a lock guy!" "Pennington's elbow is gonna throw for 250." "We need to get 15K in the account and kill the Canadians!" The Canadians Kundera's referring to is Firepay. Their company is located in Canada. Kundera's convinced that if I keep this up, one day the Canadians will find me and kill me. I have a slight anxiety about this as well, but I know down deep, like I know down deep I've got no shot in this life, that I have nothing to worry about. This whole deal is like the Wild Wild West and I'm striking that fucking gold.
I put the whole $8,000 on the Jets. I make the call in front of Kundera while rubbing his bald jew head. He's drinking a glass of Rittenhouse straight, and not just a glass, a water glass, a fucking collins glass full of the stuff, just to forget he's not in Hartford. "Fucking Canadians guy (he's always saying fucking guy.") "Gretzky's gonna show up with a banana guy." I don't know what the fuck he's talking about but I laugh anyway. Kundera hangs out somewhere much above me.
We roll out for some Pot Pie. I've got a weird mix of friends everywhere.The great thing about betting these games is that all my friends know the deal with me - even Neely, but she would rather not think of such things, so doesn't. I can just watch this game and act ridiculous and play it up big. All my friends will get down with it, while all her friends will think I'm a gambleholic fuck-up. Fuck Neely's friends.
The Jets lose by 6. Kundera has said the word "Canadians" a hundred times and is still ripping collins glasses full of 100 proof rye whiskey. It's beginning to take its toll. Every time I rub his bald head I can see a few follicles fall to the floor. I need to get this kid back to Hartford before he catches cancer. Apparently stress can just about cause anything.
Now I've got just short of $16,000 in the account. Betgameday doesn't have a poker site so I should be able to stay away until my check bounces and see what happens with Firepay. I'm in a decent mood now and go out to talk to people. It's my fucking party after all.
Neely is sitting at the kitchen table with an american spirit medium in her mouth talking away. Neely has the ability to turn our kitchen into a salon. She can hold court like Gertrude Stein. Neely's the first broad I've ever pursued. I first saw her in a video store on Martha's Vineyard. She had a Parker Posey video, I'm not sure which one, in her hand. Immediately the girls overall vibe kicked me right in the balls. I knew right then and there that I'd be in pain until I had her. Neely actually had a little Parker Posey in her. I fucking loved Parker Posey. Maybe I was just doing that projection bullshit, but along with Parker Posey she had a Diane Keaton - an Annie Hall Diane Keaton - style and quirkiness to her. Throw in the dark, mysterious beauty of a Stardust Memories Charlotte Rampling and you have my perfect girl. I absolutely loved these broads. They were my template at the time - and they would all destroy me.
That was three years ago. Not only did I get her to date me, but I got her to rent this apartment with me in Brooklyn. Poor girl. I had her conned all this time, but now I can sense she's beginning to smell the sickness in me. I'll see how long I can keep her on my team. I hate breaking up with broads. I try to stay away from it. Fucks me all up, and causes me to lose even more money with this shit.
Anyway, my Christmas party kills. Kundera disappears for two hours, coming back dripping in vomit. I clean him up and get him on the fucking train back to Hartford the next day. The guy should never leave Hartford....never.
A few days later I log onto my Betgameday account and it's locked. I call them up and they tell me that there's an issue with Firepay and my deposit and that I had to clear it up before they could unlock my account. I call Firepay. They tell me my ACH (automatic clearing house) check bounced and that I had to cover the balance before any accounts I used with them to deposit were unlocked. So I couldn't just cover it with 10K from Gameday. I'm fucked.
I call Lou and let him in on the scenario. I tell him I could probably scrounge up a few thousand, but would need about 7k to cover it all. I tell him I'll split the 6K with him if he comes in. Lou does pretty well for himself, but giving me 7K to get involved with the Canadians is a pretty risky proposition to say the least, especially with a sketchball like me. But Lou's got a little gamble in him too, and decides to come in. Let's see what happens here.
I get my two unemployment checks for the week (I'm collecting from New York and Massachusetts, which I don't think you're supposed to do, but I do it anyway.) I go withdraw $500 off my Capital One credit card, then come back and pay the balance off with my checking account - which will of course bounce. This is my move these days. My balance at this point is up to $6,000 of a $9,000 limit. I simply withdraw $500 every 24 hours until my electronic check bounces and they lock my account. Then I go back and pay the entire balance with an electronic check and the card is immediately unlocked - another $500 a day until the check bounces. How awesome is that?
So I get together a few thousand and with Lou's 7K, I Fed X a certified check to Canada. Within a week my account is unlocked and I withdraw the 16K via check. Sure as shit a Fed X shows up with two checks, one for 10K and the other for 6K. They both clear and Lou and I split the 6K. How awesome is that?
This becomes my life for the winter and then continues well into the future. I collect unemployment from two states, I do this credit card bullshit (I must have maxed out three or four credit cards for over 30K), I open Firepay and other Ewallet (Neteller, Citadel, etc...) accounts with multiple identities and figure out every way possible to deposit with phony checks and get paid from these assholes. While I'm working on this I do nothing but play online poker, bet horse races I can't even watch, and bet every game I can. Party Poker...Pokerstars...Poker Paradise...VIP Sports...Nine.com...the list goes on and on. Ever time I drain one well I find another way to deposit. Fucking disgusting.
Neely eventually catches on and despite her pleading, I continue on with this shit. She eventually smartens up and leaves me. What follows is three years of pain. Thank goodness I have the sickness to keep me distracted. Fuck it. And so it is. "Gambling, light of my life, fire of my loins, my sin, my soul." That queer quote just about says it all.
OTHER GHOSTS - A Brief Rundown
2004
I'm in Florida with the family. I go to Church, then come back to the house, get on the couch, and watch some tube. I've got about $13,000 in my Nine.com account, that I ran up from a $1000 deposit, that I've already covered. My plan is to bet the basketball games tomorrow and cash out on Monday. No fucking poker.
I flip through the tube and stop on a WSOP tourney on ESPN. I know I can't watch this shit, but I do it anyway. After watching for a half an hour I go get my laptop and log into the poker room. I end up being down to $2,000 by 8am. My parents are up and I walk out and get a coffee wanting to kill myself.
We eat breakfast and exchange gifts, then right back to the bedroom and my laptop. I get on a 100/200 limit table and run my account back up to 11K. I end up betting the games all day, nodding off occasionally, and end up with $14,000 when it's all over. I cash out $10,000 the next morning. I'll end up losing most of that elsewhere, but today I'm a fucking winner.
2008
My first Christmas with Annie. We're having Christmas dinner at her apartment (we essentially live together but I keep a room of my own.) She drops me off on Christmas Eve. Instead of going right to bed I open an account with Absolute Poker and deposit $500 with a phony check. Over the next nine hours I go on to run the account up to 11K by 7am. Annie is picking me up at nine. Instead of taking a quick nap I keep playing. I lose it all. I spend the whole day with Annie and her family just trying to stay awake. I end up taking a 20 minute nap in the bathroom midday. How ya doin.
2009
I spend Christmas Eve and Christmas day alone, watching nothing but Man v. Food and basketball. I don't leave the couch and honestly can't remember how I did. I do know I didn't win. Fucking disgusting.
And Here...
I cleaned up the apartment. There's some organization to the fucking bookshelf finally. Annie wants me to go to Alexandria to spend Christmas with her and her folks, but it's a three hour bus ride and well...I just don't fucking want to. I just put up a little Christmas tree and hung a fucking wreath on the front door. I have $500 in an account. There's NFL games all day on Christmas Eve and then opening day of the NBA on Christmas day. I'm just going to sit here and bet. The fridge is stocked with beer. I've got a nice ham that I'm going to throw in the oven for Christmas dinner. What more could a man ask for? I'm fucking serious...
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