Just-Legal
Goth Flufflet
- Joined
- Feb 24, 2001
- Posts
- 4,075
vella_ms said:
But Vella? I thought we were selling them on e-b...oh...right...nevermind
The Testosterone Lounge
- Thread starter Seattle Zack
- Start date
But Vella? I thought we were selling them on e-b...oh...right...nevermind
Boxlicker101
Licker of Boxes
- Joined
- Apr 5, 2003
- Posts
- 33,665
Honey123 said:I guess men don't talk so much as they pretend to
I want to know - Do real men eat quiche?
All I have to say, Honey, is that if we were in the Testosterone Lounge together, I could easily find things to do with my mouth that were more fun than talking. More fun for both of us.
I do eat quiche but it's not my favorite thing to eat.
The_Fool
smiling for the camera
- Joined
- Jan 14, 2003
- Posts
- 17,755
Honey123 said:I guess men don't talk so much as they pretend to
I want to know - Do real men eat quiche?
Quiche is great, for an appetizer, especially if you wash it down with a Sam Adams. But then you have to get down to some real food. Like steak. Or steak and lobster. Or steak and shrimp.
But you gotta have that Single Malt after dinner. Just kind of makes that that cigar taste that much better. I just opened up a box of Arturo Fuente Privada #1 if anybody wants a smoke....
G
Guest
Guest
Just-Legal said:
guys, nevermind JL... shell be sitting in the corner with a ball gag!
what have i told you young lady?!
i think that maybe you can make it up to me for almost spoiling my nefarious plot... what to do ...think think think
Just-Legal
Goth Flufflet
- Joined
- Feb 24, 2001
- Posts
- 4,075
Mmmph! Mrmphrrph!
J-L removes ball gag
Raid my panties! Wait! Where's F5 when you want him??
J-L removes ball gag
Raid my panties! Wait! Where's F5 when you want him??
Rumple Foreskin
The AH Patriarch
- Joined
- Jan 18, 2002
- Posts
- 11,109
Real men eat quiche all the time; only we call it scrambled eggs. And in an "oh by the way" real men don't give a damn what other folks think of them.
Rumple "real man" Foreskin
Rumple "real man" Foreskin
Belegon
Still Kicking Around
- Joined
- Jul 6, 2003
- Posts
- 17,133
Rumple Foreskin said:
I guess I am halfway there. I don't give a damn what other guys think of me, or my relatives, etc.
But I sure as hell do care what the ladies think. I don't call it unmanly, just intelligent. I'd rather have company than be manly but solo.
Seattle Zack
Count each one
- Joined
- Aug 29, 2003
- Posts
- 1,128
So, I went on an absolute poker binge this weekend. Tired of this low limit crap that is about all you can find in these parts, my buddy and I resolved to hit five no-limit tourneys in two days, starting Saturday at 9 am and ending Sunday at 9 pm. The buy ins weren't that big (forty to sixty in most cases, some with rebuys, although the final one on Sunday was a $120 buy in).
After 52 hours of poker or so, we finally finished, me up $585 and him up something like $1650. After he faded, pleading exhaustion, having nothing better to do, about midnight on Sunday I settled in to a 3-6 game at the Silver Dollar, a little rinky-dink casino by the airport. Thought I might make enough for breakfast and cab fare home. Bought in for a hundred -- it was an unusually busy night at the Dollar, with three tables going. Usually they have two if they're lucky. Got in at the third table (the remedial table I call it ... any of the real players usually jump to the 4-8 table as soon as there's an opening).
By the way, was drinking Red Hook throughout the adventure, with an occasional shot of Jager between tourneys. I love these microbrews, and Red Hook is one of my favorites. Mack & Jack, another local microbrewery will do in a pinch, but we have a lot of them up here. Nearly as snobbish about our beer as our coffee, we are up here in Seattle.
Before I even sat down at the table I noticed this character at the far end. Huge stack of chips -- four, five hundred probably. Low limit, you only play with whites, and he had a veritable fortress of twenty stacks spread in front of him.
He was wearing a powder blue suit, with frilly little cuffs and some sort of ruffled thing spilling down his chest. Looked like a refugee from the Pirates of Penzance tryouts. Pudgy little fucker, too. Fat cheeks, squinty little pig eyes. He had an effeminate air about him, pursing his meaty lips in distaste when he saw the flop. Flipped his fingers in the air a lot. European, Russian perhaps, with dainty little gestures that didn't fit with his bulk. Frosted hair, little gelled tips spiking up all over his head. I hated him immediately.
The worst thing was, he was winning. I watched the table for about ten minutes before sitting down. Fucker was hitting everything, and gloating about it. What was worse, the regular players that I recognized -- pretty good players, some of them -- seemed completely cowed. As soon as he would raise, they would fold. This fat fucker would smack his lips and rake in the pot, "you don't mess with the man," or something like that in his Slavic accent. The regulars seemed completely subdued. I had never seen this guy before -- probably on a six-hour layover before heading back overseas.
His ridiculious outfit, and his effiminate mannerisms, and his arrogance were really getting on my nerves. All right motherfucker, I thought as I sat down. I want your fucking chips. It was my mission, to destroy this guy. Maybe I was a little drunk, and maybe I was about to lose my hundred, but poker is just cards and I was going to give it a shot.
When I bought in, he made some comment about needing more chips. He was shooting vodka too, straight shots, about every twenty minutes.
Very first hand, I look down at pocket Kings. Fucking nice. Raised preflop. Everyone seemed surprised, and quicly folded to Pig Boy (as I had begun to think of him). He re-raised, and I raised again. He capped it and the battle begun.
He had shit, Q9 offsuit or some such, so I was up sixty or so before I'd even gotten my first drink. Pig Boy sneered and goaded me a bit, but I didn't respond. Just play your cards, fucker.
Sometimes, when you're playing poker, the cards just flow like water. Nothing you do is wrong, you hit and hit and hit. That's how it was that night. We started going back and forth, and I was beating him. He had a straight, I hit the flush. He had two pair, I caught trips on the river. Once we both had straights -- 8 9 10 on the board -- but he had J 7 and I had JQ. When he did hit the A hi flush, I caught a house with my 33.
It was pissing him off to no end. Pig Boy was a very poor loser, ranting and muttering, getting up and stomping around. Even better, it seemed to rejuvenate the table, and some of the regulars started taking shots at him. Pig Boy began drinking more heavily, his face flushed and red. His chip stack dwindled rapidly -- that fortress of white chips started disappearing.
Two hours laer, Pig Boy was snarling and drunk, and nearly broke. His frosted tips seemed to be drooping, and he had long ago discarded his jacket. I caught A K and raised into him again. He reraised, we capped it, and the flop came Q J 10. Flopped the nut. Perfect. He went all in, his last six bucks, and I called. Busted the shit out of his Q Q.
Fucker went nuts, throwing his chair over, screaming obscenities. Started kicking the table before security showed and got him out of there. I cashed out for 490, up 390 for the session, and ordered the casino's two dollar steak and eggs special. Took a cab home at three am. What a great night. Poker is the best fucking game in the world.
After 52 hours of poker or so, we finally finished, me up $585 and him up something like $1650. After he faded, pleading exhaustion, having nothing better to do, about midnight on Sunday I settled in to a 3-6 game at the Silver Dollar, a little rinky-dink casino by the airport. Thought I might make enough for breakfast and cab fare home. Bought in for a hundred -- it was an unusually busy night at the Dollar, with three tables going. Usually they have two if they're lucky. Got in at the third table (the remedial table I call it ... any of the real players usually jump to the 4-8 table as soon as there's an opening).
By the way, was drinking Red Hook throughout the adventure, with an occasional shot of Jager between tourneys. I love these microbrews, and Red Hook is one of my favorites. Mack & Jack, another local microbrewery will do in a pinch, but we have a lot of them up here. Nearly as snobbish about our beer as our coffee, we are up here in Seattle.
Before I even sat down at the table I noticed this character at the far end. Huge stack of chips -- four, five hundred probably. Low limit, you only play with whites, and he had a veritable fortress of twenty stacks spread in front of him.
He was wearing a powder blue suit, with frilly little cuffs and some sort of ruffled thing spilling down his chest. Looked like a refugee from the Pirates of Penzance tryouts. Pudgy little fucker, too. Fat cheeks, squinty little pig eyes. He had an effeminate air about him, pursing his meaty lips in distaste when he saw the flop. Flipped his fingers in the air a lot. European, Russian perhaps, with dainty little gestures that didn't fit with his bulk. Frosted hair, little gelled tips spiking up all over his head. I hated him immediately.
The worst thing was, he was winning. I watched the table for about ten minutes before sitting down. Fucker was hitting everything, and gloating about it. What was worse, the regular players that I recognized -- pretty good players, some of them -- seemed completely cowed. As soon as he would raise, they would fold. This fat fucker would smack his lips and rake in the pot, "you don't mess with the man," or something like that in his Slavic accent. The regulars seemed completely subdued. I had never seen this guy before -- probably on a six-hour layover before heading back overseas.
His ridiculious outfit, and his effiminate mannerisms, and his arrogance were really getting on my nerves. All right motherfucker, I thought as I sat down. I want your fucking chips. It was my mission, to destroy this guy. Maybe I was a little drunk, and maybe I was about to lose my hundred, but poker is just cards and I was going to give it a shot.
When I bought in, he made some comment about needing more chips. He was shooting vodka too, straight shots, about every twenty minutes.
Very first hand, I look down at pocket Kings. Fucking nice. Raised preflop. Everyone seemed surprised, and quicly folded to Pig Boy (as I had begun to think of him). He re-raised, and I raised again. He capped it and the battle begun.
He had shit, Q9 offsuit or some such, so I was up sixty or so before I'd even gotten my first drink. Pig Boy sneered and goaded me a bit, but I didn't respond. Just play your cards, fucker.
Sometimes, when you're playing poker, the cards just flow like water. Nothing you do is wrong, you hit and hit and hit. That's how it was that night. We started going back and forth, and I was beating him. He had a straight, I hit the flush. He had two pair, I caught trips on the river. Once we both had straights -- 8 9 10 on the board -- but he had J 7 and I had JQ. When he did hit the A hi flush, I caught a house with my 33.
It was pissing him off to no end. Pig Boy was a very poor loser, ranting and muttering, getting up and stomping around. Even better, it seemed to rejuvenate the table, and some of the regulars started taking shots at him. Pig Boy began drinking more heavily, his face flushed and red. His chip stack dwindled rapidly -- that fortress of white chips started disappearing.
Two hours laer, Pig Boy was snarling and drunk, and nearly broke. His frosted tips seemed to be drooping, and he had long ago discarded his jacket. I caught A K and raised into him again. He reraised, we capped it, and the flop came Q J 10. Flopped the nut. Perfect. He went all in, his last six bucks, and I called. Busted the shit out of his Q Q.
Fucker went nuts, throwing his chair over, screaming obscenities. Started kicking the table before security showed and got him out of there. I cashed out for 490, up 390 for the session, and ordered the casino's two dollar steak and eggs special. Took a cab home at three am. What a great night. Poker is the best fucking game in the world.
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G
Guest
Guest
***inhaling deeply***
AH! the scent of manly men...the testosterone permeates the air like a cheap bottle of old spice and cigar smoke with no ventilation.
im so proud.
AH! the scent of manly men...the testosterone permeates the air like a cheap bottle of old spice and cigar smoke with no ventilation.
im so proud.
Honey123
creatively challenged....
- Joined
- Nov 20, 2003
- Posts
- 52,397
tolyk said:You hooked me (interested me, now I want to hear more
Strip poker, definately sounds like time well spent.. it would sound even better to me if this weren't the testosterone lounge *ponder*
It's a lounge regardless, tolyk...I am sure most of the men here have cried once in a while...
('specially when they lose to me at strip poker!!)
Honey123
creatively challenged....
- Joined
- Nov 20, 2003
- Posts
- 52,397
tolyk said:My comment wasn't about crying, it was about the ratio of men to women who attend this place. I'd much rather play strip poker in a more female populated environment
And yes, I imagine I would cry too if I lost during strip poker to you..
LOL...after I wrote that, I realized what you meant...LOL
Boxlicker101
Licker of Boxes
- Joined
- Apr 5, 2003
- Posts
- 33,665
tolyk said:My comment wasn't about crying, it was about the ratio of men to women who attend this place. I'd much rather play strip poker in a more female populated environment
And yes, I imagine I would cry too if I lost during strip poker to you..
If I play strip poker in a game where Honey is playing, I won't cry about losing. I might cry if she doesn't also lose, but I don't mind losing in that situation.
tolyk
Checked out
- Joined
- Feb 2, 2004
- Posts
- 45,663
Boxlicker101 said:If I play strip poker in a game where Honey is playing, I won't cry about losing. I might cry if she doesn't also lose, but I don't mind losing in that situation.
When I say losing, I mean badly, where as she has not been forced to remove any clothing, or enough to perk my interest moreso.. thus, being deprived of making her strip fully would make me cry
(I was complimenting her, or trying too )
