If you thought the contest for best blogger was over, we have news for you today. There are now two more wildcard spots open from the PokerStars Blog team. More on that at the end of this post. But first, a little background.

WBCOOP Best Bloggers By: Donnie Peters On Thursday, February 23, the World Blogger Championship of Online Poker (WBCOOP) kicked off. On this year’s schedule are 31 events stretching until Sunday, March 4. The submissions for the WBCOOP are now closed and plenty of players have gotten in on the action. In order to qualify, bloggers were asked to send a 500-word blog post or short video telling what you would do with $5,000 if you won the WBCOOP’s Best Blogger prize.

On PokerNews, a contest was held where various bloggers would submit blog posts and people would vote for the best blogger. There were plenty of submissions, but not everyone could get voted to the top. With 311 votes on his blog post titled, “WBCOOP 2012 The epic beginning of our poker blogging journey!” Radostin Minchev is sitting number one.

Right at the beginning of his post, Minchev states that “this is the very beginning of his blogging journey” and goes on to say that the blog is aimed as “A way for me to show you that the more you believe the bigger you can be.” From there, Minchev gives a little background on how his poker career and outlines a few of the things it takes to be a successful player.

After the introduction, Minchev opens up with honesty and says that the main reason he started this poker blog was for the WBCOOP. As for the $5,000 he’d earned for winning WBCOOP Best Blogger? Minchev sites some hardship with being able to land a successful, full-time job in his country, but says he’s been able to always find time for his first love — poker. Working on his game throughout the years and saving some of his salary in order to build a small bankroll, Minchev eventually made his first real-money deposit and claims, “my life turned 180 degrees.”

Unable to consistently move up limits due to regular withdrawals in order to sustain himself, Minchev claims winning this $5,000 would, “help me be the person I know I’m supposed to be , the player I’m supposed to be.” He also goes on to be very thankful of all that PokerStars has offered him and allowed him in his life, saying, “PokerStars gave me the hope and did what my home country couldn’t, it turned my potential in profit.”

Along with the over 300 votes, Minchev’s blog post has 21 comments. Much of them are wishing him good luck in the competition along with other positive comments. Reading the comments section truly shows the camaraderie within the game of poker and especially within the world of poker blogging. You can find Minchev’s blog HERE..

The person with the second most votes comes in at 195, which is still a ways off of Minchev. This blog comes from a man named Ernestas, who is originally from Lithuania, but now resides in Edinburgh where he is studying. Known on PokerStars as “Wernestas” and “WeRnIS” to most people, his blog can be found HERE.

In his WBCOOP blog post, Ernestas states that “shock” would be the first thing that would pop into his mind if he won the Best Blogger prize. That’s very understandable as $5,000 is a good chunk of change for most people. “If I won such prize, I could barely speak for several days and it would be such a big honor for me. When I would actually understand what happened, I would start thinking what to do.”

So, what would he do? First, Ernestas says he would withdraw some of the money in order to pay for some of his study expenses, which we believe is the smart thing to do. From there, he’d spend the rest of the money he left online for poker, where he prefers online tournaments to cash games. He also mentioned that he’d like to purchase some poker books in order to better his game and also invest in a poker chip set so he could play with his friends.

Then there are live tournaments, which Ernestas mentions that he’d like to be able to play a bit more of. Winning $5,000 could certainly allow him some room to buy-in to some smaller events and hopefully go on to become a star.

In the end, Ernestas is very genuine in everything he says. He finishes the post by saying, “My expectations are not big, I am just a simple man, but if I won any award in this competition, I would see it as a trophy. And I really value such trophies, they show what you have made that others did not, it shows what skills you have, and it shows your strengths. I would like to thank PokerStars for creating such competitions, it helps you to show your creativity, share your ideas.”

Siting in third with the most votes is Paul and his blog can be found HERE. He has 118 votes, which is a good way off of the top two, but still a very respectable number. Closely behind him is Arkly with 110 votes and his blog can be found HERE.

All together there have been tons and tons of blog posts made about the WBCOOP and the series is now running. Every tournament awards Spring Championship of Online Poker (SCOOP) tickets to the highest finishers, and everyone who cashes will also be invited to play the 2012 WBCOOP Main Event. On top of having a shot at the Best Blogger award, PokerStars is giving away a second award for $1,000 to the Best Live Tweeter. That’s a reminder for the playing bloggers to be sure they are sticking to their social media duties while grinding the events on the schedule.

Now, a special announcement: we here at the PokerStars Blog have just been asked to keep our eyes open for a couple of bloggers who are doing exceptional work while WBCOOP is running. Over the next few days, we’ll be picking two wildcard bloggers who will join the top ten from PokerNews to go on to the finals and PokerStars WBCOOP judges.

So, keep writing, and make sure we know you’re writing!

Tags: Asia Pacific Poker Tour | Baltic Poker Festival | belgian poker series | deg | European Poker Tour | facebook | game | news | online-poker | rio | UKIPT

By Pauly
New York City

Merry Christmas everyone!

Were you a good boy/girl this year? Did Santa Claus hook you up with a new Kindle Fire? If so, you’re in luck because the e-book version of Lost Vegas is only a few clicks away!

Click here to buy Lost Vegas for Kindle and iPads.

Click here to buy Lost Vegas for the Nook.

Click here to buy a print copy of Lost Vegas on Amazon.com.

* * * *

And if you’re interest in my novel, you can also pick up an e-book Kindle version of Jack Tripper Stole My Dog.

Here’s the trailer…

Thanks for your support.

Tags: lists | Music | november-nine | pca | phamily poker classic | Poker News | rise poker | sports

By Pauly
Las Vegas, NV

I had a dream that I was in a random hotel room somewhere and a maid was pounding on my door, except it wasn’t a dream, it was reality, just a few hours ago. My head was pounding and I was disoriented because I was in a random hotel room and couldn’t figure out what day of the week it was or even the actual date. On the night stand was a plethora of orange and white pills, a couple of Gold Coast chips, and a sports betting ticket from the Rio. Apparently I had bet on the Colorado Rockies and had no idea if that game already happened, or if it was yet to happen.

Did I mention about the woman who barely spoke English who was pounding on my door like a Swat Team with a battering ram trying to bust up a mobile meth lab?

I had one of those Vegas nights.

It’s not a night what I would consider and epic adventure, but it wasn’t exactly a normal night either. It fell somewhere in between. Alas, it’s one of those nights that happens to us at least once a week. To quote my buddy Otis, “This is what we do.”

In this instance, I really don’t know how to tell you this story about my Monday, other than to stop from the top.

* * *
I woke up in a fog. My house was empty. My French roomies were AWOL. Benjo took off for a weekend trip to Death Valley. Vincent the video guy had crashed at the Cosmo. And my girlfriend was still in the City of Angels after going home to visit her old man for Father’s Day.

I had knocked myself out the night before to catch up on sleep. When I’m at the WSOP, I push myself to the brink of exhaustion. I can’t stop. It’s just how I am. Alas, the addicts life applies to everything I do. I have one speed — fast. I go balls to the wall when it comes to working and partying. Vegas is dangerous because the two aspects of my life blend into each other.

I have chronic insomnia and when you’re plugged into Vegas, it’s difficult to unplug yourself. I can’t explain it other than the energy swirling around this city is not only toxic, it does everything in its power to keep you from powering down. Luckily my girlfrined left a jar of Xanax in the medicine cabinet. I ate the equivalent of 1.5 Xannie bars to make sure I stayed asleep. It worked too well because when my alarm buzzed, I was caught inside the Xannie morning fog.

I showered, waited in my empty house until I was coherent enough to drive, and then headed to a local cafe where the waitresses don’t know me by name, but know what I like to eat whenever I come in. The fed me as I zoned out and sifted through that morning’s twitter static. I had that “Awwww, fuck….” reaction when I realized that… 1) I never finished my Tao of Poker recap from the night before, and 2) I forgot I had an interview with a documentary film crew set for noon.

I wolfed down breakfast, sped to the Rio, and walked into an empty Amazon Ballroom. It was not noon yet and the room was eerily quiet. I knew that withing two hours the entire room would be buzzing with various restarts. A couple of suits held a meeting in the corner. I ignored them and they ignored me as a random tourist wandered in and snapped cell phone pics of empty tables.

My buddy Friedman is one of the associate producers for Boom, a Jay Rosenkrantz and Taylor Caby’s documentary about the poker boom and subsequent fallout from Black Friday. They asked to interview me and I kinda forgot they blocked off two hours of my time. I was dragging serious ass so I did what anyone would do in that situation — I broke off half of an Adderall and swallowed it down with overpriced bottle water.

The interview went great. The director Ryan seemed pleased with some of my answers. I have no idea what they’ll use, but assumed that most of it would end up on the cutting room floor. At the least, I wanted to help them tell the real story about the poker boom. I was just one of the million cogs in the massive poker machine, but they wanted to hear my tweaked view on the last few years. I kinda joked with them that it would be incredibly cool (and fucked up) if they were actually undercover agents for the DOJ and FBI.

I wandered back downstairs to the pressbox and attempted to crank out Day 20′s recap. Unfortunately, I got caught in that rut where everyone who stopped by was preventing me from writing. The constant bombardment of questions involving rumors that Benjo had quit had gotten old. I had been under siege for a week and couldn’t take it any more. I snapped because all those legit questions and concerns was preventing me from doing my work. I rushed out of the pressbox in a huff and hid inside the press room, where I cranked out Day 20′s recap.

Snoopy, one of my older friends in poker and one of my favorite scribed from the UK, stopped by to check up on my well being. He finally arrived into town and had that “fresh” and “eager” look to him. Meanwhile, I was on my 15th day in a row without a day off. Even though I took off a couple of days to see Phish in Ohio near the beginning of the series, I was up partying for two straight days — so even though I had a break from poker — my body didn’t get a break. I had been running ragged for three weeks straight. That’s why I desperately needed sleep and forced myself to rest for at least eight hours the night before. The only downside of all that rest was that I was going to be overflowing with abundant energy. Little did I know that would be my downfall.

With all of my work done, it was finally time to check out the actual tournament. The Stud 8 championship was playing down to the final table and the field was stack with plenty of familiar faces including Phil Hellmuth gunning for bracelet #12. I told myself I wouldn’t care until he actually made the final table. But the Poker Brat was inching closer and closer to me actually giving a shit.

Benjo pinged me and said he was flying back to France in the morning and wanted to meet up for a quick goodbye drink later that night. He was on his way back from Death Valley and I knew one drink was not going to suffice. I made a wise decision and booked a room at the Gold Coast for the night. Due to my staggering Pai Gow losses, I get a couple of free a month. The one shitty thing about my girlfriend heading back to LA for the weekend meant that I had to rent a car and drive myself to and from work. I super responsible when it comes to operating a vehicle and I won’t drink or dabble in any pharmaceuticals if I get behind the wheel. As a result, I was dead sober the last few days (and utterly miserable, obviously, because I was unable to dull the pain of dealing with assholes and fucktards). I welcomed the opportunity to get shitfaced and not worrying about driving home.

I checked into my room at the Gold Coast. They gave me one of the top floors — a smoking floor at my request — and when I stepped off the elevator the entire floor reeked of weed… and it wasn’t me.

I returned to the Rio and wandered through the Pavilion. I noticed a huge crowd gathered around the cash game section. Bob was standing on a chair and I asked him what was up. “Huge pot with Farha,” he said. “At least $200K.”

With people six and seven deep on the rail and a security guard blocking the entrance, I pulled a veteran move and walked around to the other side. I flashed my badge to the other security guard and muttered something like, “This is official business.” He didn’t blink and I walked right up to the $100/$200 PLO table as an random Euro with greasy long hair, hipster jeans, and white shoes was raking in the pot and pulling back a couple of hundred dollar bricks. Farha sat across from him shaking his head in disgust.

I headed into the Amazon Ballroom and the final table of the Stud 8 was set (Ted Forrest, Phil Hellmuth, Al Eslami, Joe Tehan, Russian chess writer/poker scribe Mikhail Savinov, David Benyamine, John Racener, and Eric Rodawig). Hellmuth had made it and was gunning for #12.

Photo by WhoJedi
Regardless if I liked/hated Hellmuth, I had to be there if he won the bracelet. I rooted against the Poker Brat to bust early so I wouldn’t have to wait around for the outcome. Selfish, I know, but I didn’t really care about being an impartial member of the media. I only wished for an early death because I didn’t want to miss Benjo’s last night in town. If he was truly quitting poker media, it was going to be one hell of a bender. Normally, I tell my friends to fuck off because work always took precedent in the summers, but in this instance, I was very conflicted.

If I had to cover a final table that included Hellmuth, there was no way I was going to do that sober. With a hotel across the street secured, I said hello to my dear friend Mr. Percosett. We’ve had lots of fun times together and he makes any dull situation extraordinary. I was cooking on Addys and Percs, which is the equivalent of eating chocolate-dipped bacon — it tastes so fucking good at the time, but in the end it will catch up to you and you’ll end up like bloated Elvis — a career pill popper who croaked in the bathroom and found face down, ass up after choking on his own vomit.

Fuck Elvis, I thought. I can dodge bullets just like my pal Phil Hemlluth. With the warm fuzzies exploding through my body as I hung out at the final table and shifted back and forth from the press area and hiding my press badge and embedding myself in the audience. I found a contingency of Russians sitting in the corner, including my buddy Ilya, who was sitting with his fellow countryman. Ilya gave me the straight dope on his friend and colleague Mikhail Savinov. What I liked about Savinov was his graphic t-shirt with a silhouette of Bob Dylan. Savinov also sported Chuck Klosterman glasses and looked more like a hipster riding the L train to Williamsburg, than one of the unknown (yet Dangerous) Russians who invaded the WSOP this summer.

I was supposed to meet Benjo at 11pm at the Gold Coast at our usual spot where our friends hang out (or hide out) after a long day of working at the Rio. At that point, six players were still left including Hellmuth. I decided to take off and would monitor the situation via Twitter and my CrackBerry. My friends Shirley and Halli came to get me in the pressbox. Shirley was all smiles after she chopped a single table HORSE satellite for the 10K Championship (set for the next day). Halli is one of her good friends and travel companions. Our common friends like to joke that they are lesbians because making fun of lesbians is always fun. They are not lovers, but sometimes I like to beat a joke to death, like those dead horses they whip the hell out of and then grind up the meat for burgers in the Poker Kitchen.

I headed to the Gold Coast with my fake-lesbian friends and found Benjo sitting at the bar in between KevMath and AlCantHang. Talk about a motley crew that sounded like the opening to a bad ethnic joke — “So I walk into a bar and see KevMath, AlCantHang, and an angry Frenchman…”

The booze began to flow. I ate more Percosetts and that’s when the memory became a little — foggy. I watched KevMath play video Keno. That’s been his latest vice and we recorded a Tao of Pokerati episode (stay tuned for that epic recording) in which KevMath explained his simple, and profitable system to destroying Keno. The gang at The Micros poked fun at Erik Seidel being a cyborg (Seiborg), but after watching KevMath interact with the video poker/Keno machine, I was convinced he was a real cyborg. It’s true KevMath is half-man, half-machine. I saw it with my own eyes. No wonder he never sleeps. He might be the only one I know who sleeps less than me.

I also watched in astonishment as WhoJedi employed KevMath’s Keno System and walked away $500 richer. This shit works. We’re going to publish a book (I get to write the introduction) as soon as I introduce KevMath to my buddy Professional Keno Player Neil Fontenot and they hammer out the final draft.

I got word that Hellmuth was about to be heads-up against Eric Rodawig. I smoked a joint in the parking lot and hit up the 24-our store inside the Rio. I wandered into the press area and got made fun of by the Poker Cougar.

“You must be high and have the munchies,” she said.

“Is the bag cookies and the Chunky bar the dead give away?”

“Well that, and you smell like a skunk.”

Hellmuth was down 3-1 in chips when heads-up started. The match didn’t last very long and Rodawig prevailed. The entire crowd gave Hellmuth a warm ovation as he shook hands with the new champion and rushed out of the Mothership. I did the same and returned to the Gold Coast with WhoJedi. We joked that we’d find Timtern playing Pai Gow, but when we walked into the casino, we spotted him at the end of the craps table.

As I got closer, Chip Bitch magically appeared. I was still ten feet away and could smell the booze emanating from his mouth. He gave me an awkward, drunken half-hug. He was half in the bag when the roller at the end of the table tossed the dice and it danced across the felt. Craps out.

“Fuccccccccck,” bemoaned Timtern as he pointed at a wobbling Chip Bitch. “That fucker cost me $300!”

“Time for Pai Gow,” I said and pointed to an empty table.

At this point, it was a few minutes before 4am. We had the entire table to ourselves — myself, Timtern, WhoJedi, ChipBitch, and Homer. Apparently, Chip Bitch knew one of the Pai Gow dealers, an elderly, saucy Asian woman with decades of experience dealing to schwilly idiots.

“How you doing?” she asked, like a loving aunt.

“Great!” screamed Chip Bitch. “I fucked a stripper the other night.”

“Shut up!” the dealer scolded him, obviously not approving of his use of profanity. “So, how much did that cost you?”

Zing. She knew how to handle us and dished the shit right back at us.

Whenever Homer, who is from the U.K., spoke to the dealer said something like, “You talk funny.”

“That’s because he’s drunk,” I muttered. “And he’s from Australia.”

Somewhere along the way, Homer and WhoJedi spread the rumor (which became fact by the end of the night), that they were long lost brothers from Madagascar. This might sound incredibly stupid and childish while you’re reading this, but if you’re crocked to the tits on rum and pharmies, you’d find it absolutely hysterical.

When Chip Bitch tried to hit on the dealer, she scolded him, “My son is older than you. I’m 61.”

“61?” slurred Chip Bitch. “How about 61 going on 69!”

Oh lord. We were destined to get 86′d. If we weren’t spewing chips, they would have kicked us out hours earlier. Especially after Chip Bitch screamed “If I lose this hand, I’ll suck my own cock!”

At that point the saucy dealer would beg Timtern to smack Chip Bitch every time he cursed.

“Tim,” she begged, “Hit him hard.”

We created a special low-hand bonus. If you drew a 9-high Pai Gow, then everyone at the table paid you $5. If you got a 10-high Pai Gow, then you collected $1 from everyone at the table. Over the course of four plus hours, the low bonus hit only once when Homer squeezed out an abysmal 10-low.

The oddest thing we saw at the Gold Coast at 5am (and believe me there’s tons of weird shit to see at that bewitching hour) was the lanky Asian man who wandered around all of the gaming tables with his arms folded. He constantly sweated our table and preferred to stand right behind WhoJedi. He was visibly irked and rightfully so. WhoJedi had to say something to the pitposs and asked them to run off our only railbird. We had been loud, raucous, and belligerent — easily the loudest gamblers in the pits — and everyone wanted nothing to do with us, that is, except the weird Asian guy with the crossed arms. When the coffee stand opened up at 6am, I saw him starring at the assorted pastries in the display window — with his arms crossed and giving the muffins the same blank stare he gave us.

At one point, we all shipped a huge bet after the dealer busted with a Jack-high Pai Gow.

“This is an easy game,” proclaimed WhoJedi.

“No it isn’t,” snapped our dealer. I knew what was up. She was a local and a total degen Pai Gow player herself. She only dealt Pai Gow to cover her massive losses. Deep down, she must have really hated our inebriated asses.

At some point, Chip Bitch knocked over Timtern’s vodka-Red Bull and the floor handed us a towel to wipe down the table and clean up the cards. Their patience was growing thin.

By then, everything out of Chip Bitch’s mouth was quote worthy and/or an incendiary f-bomb. But we finally reached the tipping point when a dealer in training sat down and asked us how we all knew each other.

“We’re all brothers,” I said with a straight face. “All from the same mother. Different father’s, obviously.”

“Yep, same momma,” added Chip Bitch. “We’ve all tasted the same pubes on the way out.”

The female pit boss was in stitches. She couldn’t stop laughing, but when she finally regained composure, she cut him off. She pointed to the haggard cocktail server and shook her head. We got cut off for an hour.

At that point, I was falling asleep and actually nodded off for a few seconds at the table. I had two choices — suck it up or eat more Adderall. I opted to eat an apple fritter and a big assed iced tea at the coffee stand. That perked me up a bit and kept me going until the buffet opened up at 7am.

Somehow, Timtern finagled us a couple of food comps for the buffet. I really think we got them because the pit boss wanted to get rid of us. Duran Duran’s Hungry Like the Wolf blasted over the casino’s sound system. I told everyone it was a sign to end the gambling session and go eat a shitty buffet. Half the group protested –out one-hour penalty was about to be up.

“Only ten more minutes until we can drink again!”

Thank God AlCantHang wasn’t feeling well and went to bed early. Otherwise, one of us would have died.

Alas, we gave up on the pits and shuffled toward the buffet, like a menacing hurricane about to reach landfall. We sorted out the comps at the cashier and cheered when we saw that they had a special — $1 PBR. As the famous movie quote from Blue Velvet goes, “Heineken? Fuck that shit. Pabst Blue Ribbon!

I warned the hostess, “We’re schwasted. Please seat us next to the crabbiest, grumpiest, bitchiest table of old people in the buffet.”

“You just described everyone in here,” she said without missing a beat.

I pulled out a $5 bill and handed it to her. “You fucking rock.”

We were seated as close to the food as possible and drew scathing looks from the early bird octogenarians. They frowned every time we hooted and hollered. We filled our plates with horrendous greasy breakfast food stuffs. I would never eat the Gold Coast buffet while sober, but while cooking on a pharmie cocktail, stoned to the tits on a strain called Hulk Kush, and rum pumping through my system, I didn’t think twice as I devoured a mound of bacon and a biscuit so fucking hard, it could be used as a doorstop.

Why? As Otis would say, “This is what we do.”

I don’t remember anything after the plate of bacon.

I had a dream that I was in a random hotel room somewhere and a maid was pounding on my door, except it wasn’t a dream, it was reality, just a few hours ago. My head was pounding and I was disoriented because I was in a random hotel room and couldn’t figure out what day of the week it was or even the actual date. On the night stand was a plethora of orange and white pills, a couple of Gold Coast chips, and a sports betting ticket from the Rio. Apparently I had bet on the Colorado Rockies and had no idea if that game already happened, or if it was yet to happen.

Tags: Degens | erik seidel | gambling | lost vegas | philosophy | Poker News | politics | sports | tao of fear

By Pauly
Las Vegas, NV

Timtern and I were covering the final table of a Donkament inside the Mothership and we recorded an episode of the quickest poker podcast on the intertubes…

2011 WSOP – Episode 18: Mothership Stench with Timtern (2:43) – Pauly and Timtern are in the press section inside the Mothership, while sweating the final table of the Donkament. Timtern shares a story about a couple of railbirds who put him on mega-tilt, including the guy who took off his shoes. Pauly also describes the sketchy, yet pungent scene inside the Mothership.

For more episodes, visit the Tao of Pokerati archives.

Tags: atom | black friday | facebook | lawsuit | news | phil ivey | social-media | Tao of Pokerati | the pai gow diaries | Vegas | videos

By Pauly
Las Vegas, NV

The gang shooting the videos for Bluff Magazine are killing it this summer. Kudos to Marty, Sueann, and Michel for their stellar work. Check out the latest installment of BLUFF Live @ the WSOP, especially the hysterical segment of Finding Phil Ivey.

Oh, by the way, because I’m a columnist at Bluff Magazine, they interviewed me about my latest article about the hallways at the WSOP in the current issue. There’s a snippet of my interview appearing at the 4:44 mark.

Watch it here:

And you have to head over to Bluff to view the entire interview that I recorded yesterday. Check out… BLUFF Cover Story: The Doctor Is In.

Tags: 2011 | bluff-magazine | lists | Music | Pai Gow | politics | sahara | sports | Vegas | videos

By Pauly
Las Vegas, NV

I once befriended a hooker.

That didn’t come out right. I should say that… I once became chummy with a call girl.

OK, now I’m really starting to dig myself a hole and my girlfriend is ready to grill me with a thousand and one different questions. Let me clarify even more… I had become acquainted with a high end call girl from New York City. We never actually met officially. Just lots of emails back and forth. She was an avid reader of my personal blog, Tao of Pauly, and a sometime commenter on Coventry Music. She seemed rather ordinary with one exception… she had sex with men for money. She did make any excuses about it. She enjoyed sex and had no problems selling herself. And her cookies weren’t cheap.

Her philosophy was simple. Society was hypocritical and pointing fingers at prostitutes when they were all prostitutes themselves.

Look, we’re all whores at some time in life. Some of us less, others are more. Sure we might not be taking it in the ass in the literal sense, but who among us hasn’t been royally fucked over?

If you ain’t a pimp, then you’re a whore.

I didn’t say that. Neither did Shakespeare or Bob Dylan. It might have been Ice-T or Ice Cube, Pete Nice from 3rd Bass, or one of the crew from Wu Tang? I forget exactly who, but the source of the quote doesn’t matter as much of the simplicity of the underlying fact of the statement. It actually goes back to something I have written many times before… we live in a use and abuse society. If you ain’t using someone, then you’re getting abused by someone.

Pimps and hos. Royalty and peasants. The haves versus the have nots.

No matter what city I lived in, or what industry I worked in, I’ve always come across a section of people who will do nothing short of trying to exploit you. It’s the nature of the game of life. Politicians do it all the time — they use us to get into office and once that happens they will keep using us to stay in office. They’re not really looking out for our interests, rather, they’re concerned with their careers, their legacies, and paying back the juntas and companies who funded their campaigns to begin with. To the puppets in DC, we’re that cute piece of ass that they want to nail… and will do anything possible to get us in the sack. Once the deed is done… that’s it. They are going to fucking sleep. The worst thing is that they didn’t even pay you. You did it for free.

Big Business entities are the most ruthless pimps on the planet. Come on, you don’t actually think they care about your well being and compensating you for what you’re really worth? To them you’re just a number. If they could outsource your job or hire an illegal Mexican… they would. That’s why it’s important that you’re are the ideal employee in their eyes — to be blunt — a fuckin’ sheep. Otherwise, you have to be truly talented and indispensable. That’s the only way they will put up with your bullshit and demand for higher wages.

A couple of years before the drugs war exploded in towns along the US/Mexico border, I first heard about the feminicidios… horror stories about scores of missing young women who were later found raped, murdered, and missing body parts. During my first visit to Juarez, Mexico I noticed pink crosses at the side of the road. I asked my friend from El Paso about the origins of the pink crosses and she clued me in on the feminicidios. The crosses were memorials constructed at the sites where dismembered bodies were discovered.

The feminicidios began in the mid-90s and escalated through the millennium. Some religious feared that the missing women were part of ritual killings during fin de siecle. A few journalists were had a theory the murders were the evil doings of the worst serial killer of all time. Law enforcement types suggested the murders were a precursor to the drug wars. The exact number of feminicidios varied from 500 to 5,000. Who knows for sure how many women died?

Many of those murdered young women shared something in common — they worked at maquiladoras — or massive sweat shops and factories for international corporations seeking dirt cheap labor. I read one theory that bus drivers were the ones doing the killings. Most of these workers had to be bussed from Juarez city center to the factories. When the girls refused the sexual advances of the bus drivers, they were raped, killed, and tossed out like a piece of trash.

However, the most compelling theory is the most haunting. One journalist suggested that the young women were killed because they were getting out of line at the work place by demanding higher wages and better working conditions. When they attempted to unionize or stand up to their bosses, they were quickly “removed” from the factory and never seen again.

What really happened in Juarez in the 1990s and early 2000s? No one knows for sure. My grand hypothesis is that combination of all of the above, but specifically the theory about the factories killing off workers who showed any dissent. After all, when was the last time the mutilated corpse of a “Yes Man” was found on the side of the road?

Ruthless suits don’t resort to those gruesome tactics in the American workplace… yet. But more and more we’re learning every day what happens to good citizens who are fed up with the system, unplugging themselves from the Matrix, and demanding their true rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Unfortunately,it’s easy to upset the herd when you roam the other way. Anyone outside of the box who decides to march to the beat of a different drummer is an instant target for ridicule. Our fear mongering society is quick to point the dissenters out to authorities. Once the federales get involved, who knows what happens next.

Yes, we’re mostly a world of whores. Some of us grow up to be pimps, which is sort of like the lesser of two evils. Sadly, that’s the supreme goal in life… to be the one exploiting a stable of prostitutes… instead of being the whore, turning tricks for peanuts.

In the end getting paid is still better than doing it for free. Sure, I write plenty of stuff for free on my blogs — probably close to one million words — but that’s all part of a greater master scheme to get you to buy my books.

So kids, just remember that only sluts do it for free. Pro whores do it for the paycheck.

Please leave your cash on the dresser before you go.

* * *
Buddha preaches tolerance, compassion, and forgiveness. But the Big Bald B never had to deal with the infantile jerkoffs I’ve encountered in poker that tainted the WSOP.

I have a simple rule when I’m working — if I can hear you over the background music that is played at a reasonable volume, then you’re loud are therefore annoying me and eligible for an asshole fine.

God knows, well Buddha knows too, that when I start compiling lists of people I want to handout asshole fines to — then I’ve lost all grip on Buddhism, which in essence is losing all faith in humanity. I can only deal with people depending on my philosophical leanings of that day. When I’m an existentialist or nihilist, then I either don’t believe in or don’t care about humankind. Right now, I’m in between philosophies of life, so it’s a prickly stage. Ergo, why I have the sudden urge to impose asshole fines to nimrods and fucktards at the Rio.

When I go out partying on Phish tour, my friends came up with the concept of a “Wook Ticket” which is a fine you levy against someone who is doing incredibly stupid shit, committing party fouls, or acting shady in any other arena. Shit, we even give ourselves tickets as a joke, but also as a reminder we need to remember to have fun, but in a semi-responsible way.

I wish I had the balls (and the free time) at the WSOP to hand out asshole fines and “Tampon of the Day” awards. I know a few people who’d be racking up fines and tampons all summer. When I worked on Wall Street, if you complained about something too much you’d get “Tampon’d” or simply put, if you walked away from your desk to go to the bathroom or to a meeting, then you’d come back only to discover that someone taped a maxi-pad to your computer screen. I’m sure some of my readers find that offensive and sexist. And it is. But your daily goal was simple — get through the day without killing anyone (especially yourself) and make sure you don’t say anything that will warrant a barrage of tampons attached to your screens.

I’m at a rough spiritual point, something that always happens three weeks into the WSOP. Luckily, I’m my own boss and call the shots, so I’m counting the hours until embed myself with hippies for a three day music festival on July 4th weekend (a much need R&R before the Main Event). The festival experience is grounding in many ways and restores my faith in humanity and community. Spending the summers in Las Vegas dodging temptation around every corner and writing bullshit about the glorious pursuit of fame and power that is fueled by greed often warps my brain. It seems like every summer is like Dante’s Circles of Hell for me as I drop out of purgatory and lose complete sight of heaven.

And it’s when I get sucked out of purgatory and spit out into the hell’s furnace that I lose faith in people. Michalski used to give me guff that I was a “people hater.” He was half-joking, but noticed that I had an unyielding disdain for a significant amount of people. To clarify, I dislike a small group of certain people, but quickly write off anyone who happens to be a malicious parasite, or a black hole for negativity.

One of my biggest flaws is that I used to give people second and third and fourth chances. But after a while, I realized all of this Buddhist tolerance, compassion, and forgiveness malarkey is a load of horseshit. The act of forgiveness allows assholes to continue to act like assholes.

I would love it if assholes actually thought: “Shit, I fucked up, but I got a second chance, so I’m gonna try harder and be less of an asshole.”

But in reality, it’s more like, “Hahahah. I acted like an asshole and got away with it. Guess what? Now I can act more like an asshole because you’re a pussy and a pushover. You’re letting me take advantage of you, so I will continue to be an asshole.”

When I come to those realizations, man oh man, my blood boils. That’s when people I would normally shine on and turn the other cheek will evoke the wrath of my ire. Instead of letting them walk all over me, I will stand up and call then out for their douchebaggery.

One of the most important things I learned in life is that you have to stand up to bullies and assholes every once in a while. Because let’s face it — an asshole is not going to be less of an asshole because you call him/her out on it — but, they definitely will become a bigger asshole if you let them get away with it.

I try my best to avoid going on people tilt. When Buddha’s teachings couldn’t help me, I turned to generic Vicodin, Percosett and other painkillers. Man, of man, did those little white pills help out immensely. The biggest jerkoffs and tools that I knew all of a sudden became Mother Theresa. It’s funny how an opiated feeling makes you more tolerant of assholes.

I’ve often referred to Xanax as “crying baby repellent” during plane trips. Well, along those lines, painkillers is “asshole repellent” because when I gobble up fistfuls of pharmies, then and only then, I can be around the worst of the worst because I’m at eternal peace and can’t feel a fucking thing.

It took me over 30+ years before I figured out that family gatherings are a lot less hellacious when I’m faded to the tits on opiates. A few self-righteous readers will chastise me for my unconventional behavior because I’m relying on an unhealthy coping method in order to deal with these people, but my counter argument is this — I don’t have a substance abuse problem when these assholes are not around. Ergo, I don’t have a drug problem, rather I have a people problem.

Most of the year, I do what I can to avoid undesirable people. But sometimes, like family holidays and difficult working environments at the WSOP, I am unable to avoid contact with said undesirables. Asshole avoidance is impossible. So, you either have to be proactive and attack the assholes by reminding them that they are indeed assholes, or make the conscious decision to kick their ass. Alas, I’m a lover and not a fighter. The last time I threw a punch was during a bar fight in Argentina a few years ago. I don’t intend to use violence ever again — unless the assholes I’m railing against continuously fuck with my friends and loved ones.

I have been seeking out a peaceful resolution and want to coexist with the undesirable tilt monkeys, but when I’m unable to channel Buddha, I numb the pain with synthetic opiates.

No wonder the pharmaceutical companies, Big Tobacco, and the beer makers/booze producers are so fucking rich, because they sell three escapes that the masses turn to when they are overrun by assholes — which happens to be everyday.

I used to love poker, but I’ve let a few assmunchers ruin what used to be a perfectly good time. The world is getting weirder and weirder every fucking day. Life is too short to let those fuckers win. It’s time to start thinning the herd. Asshole fines will commence immediately.

It’s time to start having fun at the WSOP again.

Tags: amazon | black-friday | Degens | dresser | ept | greed | news | Pai Gow | phil ivey | Podcast | world-series

By Pauly
Las Vegas, NV

A very special episode with Kevin “KevMath” Mathers. We discuss an unusual topic.

2011 WSOP – Episode 17: WSOP Fashion Report with KevMath (5:10) – Pauly chats with KevMath, who is a self-described “fashion expert.” The two compare and contrast the different styles of clothing worn by members of the media. KevMath also reveals why he won’t wear shorts.

For more episodes, visit the Tao of Pokerati archives.

Tags: 2010 WSOP | atom | doj | doyle-brunson | facebook | Music | philosophy | Poker News | politics | rio

By Pauly
Las Vegas, NV

Call it a coup d’etat.

Never mind the Brits, here come the French. First, it was ElkY. Now, it’s Elie Payan. The amateur from France played in his first ever WSOP event, and guess what? He shipped the bracelet in Event #22 PLO. The $1,500 buy-in was the Donkament version of PLO and largest ever PLO tournament in the history of the WSOP.

Le Ship It!
Photo courtesy of WSOP.com
PLO is a dangerous game. It’s like being a weekend cocaine user who all of a sudden gets turned onto freebasing. Kids, you don’t want to try this at home unless supervised by an adult. PLO is a game that is only for trained professionals and known drug fiends.

Four cards? Let’s gamboooooooool.

PLO is an action junkie’s wet dream. If you can stomach the mammoth swings, then you have a an outside chance of being a decent PLO player, because at worst, you’re never that far behind your opponent. That’s the only reason why most people don’t play PLO — they simply can’t handle the swings — both financially and mentally.

PLO tournaments are even more brutal than cash games, because if you get felted (which will happen no matter how optimal you play or how far a horseshoe is wedged up your digestive tract), you can always dig into your pocket for more bullets. The more bullets you have access to, the better your chances of digging yourself out of a hole. That is to say, if you can handle losing substantial chunks of your bankroll in a 24-hour period.

Fortunes have been won and lost at the PLO tables. The premier pros of the game have gone busto and robusto back to busto again all because of the tantalizing aspect of four card bingo. The biggest, baddest, mutherfuckers in poker are (er, were) mostly PLO gurus. Sure everyone played NLH because it’s the popular game and kept you in the limelight of the mainstream poker audience and in the poker media. However, if you wanted respect among your peers, then you had to measure your cock (or vagina) against the biggest of the Big Dogs. If you wanted big payday with a side order of notoriety, then sit down in Ivey’s Thunderdome and play the Phil Ivey of Poker in heads-up PLO. And not just one table… how about four or more?

If you wanted a chance of winning a half a mil in a session, then you had to go whale hunting in the PLO waters. Just a year or two ago, the biggest sharks in poker lined up to take a shot at sinking their teeth into proverbial white whale — an elusive Scandi named Isildur1 — who had no problems giving action to anyone who wanted to play multi-tables.

That’s like juggling chainsaws. And I’m not talking about throwing Allen “Chainsaw” Kessler into the air and trying to catch him, although I’d pay good money to see someone try to juggle Chainsaw with two chainsaws. One false move and you lose an arm.

* * *
Bouncin’ Round the Room…

I almost got run over by a douchenozzle on a Segway. I’ve thought about getting a golf cart, Segway, or min-cart to navigate from the Amazon Ballroom to the casino floor, but if I ever got access to a vehicle, I would drive at a safe speed in order to not hurt any pedestrians. Too bad the selfish dickhead that ran me over (along with a half-a-dozen others) in the hallway did not adhere to “safety first” rules. I don’t mind older folks on those mini-scooters, because after all, they are in the twilight of their lives or have medical conditions and need a scooter to be mobile. But a Segway? Talk about a self-indulgent. Didn’t the inventor of the Segway die after accidentally driving off a cliff?

I watched Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals with Lance. He was rooting for the Bruins and I had a bet on the Canucks. I got my ass stomped. I blame that sieve Luongo. I can win a hockey bet to save my life, but luckily I dominated the NBA playoffs wagering on the Mavs heavy over the last few weeks. I gotta say, after all the money I spent at the Rio covering the WSOP (food and drinks mostly, but when you play inflated rendonkulous casino prices, all of that adds up), it felt good to actually take the Rio for a few grand in the sportsbook. Poker is tough because you’re essentially taking money from other gamblers, whereas in the pits or at the sportsbook, you have a shot at bleeding the corporate entity dry.

The single table satellites are as soft as ever. I know horrible players who have been raking in the lammers — and these are my friends, the majority of whom are horrible players. Either their luckbox powers have been humming due to the close proximity to Planet X, or the quality of play is just that fucking atrocious. Whatever you want to believe, it doesn’t matter. They are giving away free money every day inside the tournament area. You’d be a fool not to show up a few days before your intended WSOP event, to play those single table sats. Juicy is an understatement. I know one pro who has yet to buy into a WSOP event because he’s simply killing the sats.

So do you want to know the effects of Black Friday? As expected, the numbers at some of the lower buy-in events WSOP are up. The PLO Donkament was the largest on record. According to stats released by the WSOP suits, the cash games are up 11% over the first two weeks. How they figured that number out, I’ll never know, but let’s just say they are right — the WSOP is printing money this year.

I don’t have any puke stories or tales of old guys jacking off in the bathroom of Binion’s, but I did see a guy as old as Vin Scully (I kinda hoped it was the legendary L.A. Dodgers announcer) walk past the craps table with two “rented” girls clinging to each arm. Their combined age had to be anywhere from 36 to 42… and not a year older. I wonder if those working girls foolishly got paid in tournament chips?

I love it when railbirds totally get the names of pros utterly wrong. The other day, two dudes in “Affliction” shirts stood on the rail and pointed at the table in front of them.

Railbird 1: “Is that Jackie Juanda?”
Railbird 2: “No, it’s gotta be that Jackie Chan guy?”
Railbird 1: “Are you sure? It’s Jackie Juanda.”
Railbird 2: “No, it’s Jackie Chan….”
(Pause… I got caught catching me eavesdropping and Railbird 1 saw my press credntials dangling around my neck.)
Railbird 1: “Hey you work here, right?”
Your Hero: “Only, for the pure love of the game.”
Railbird 2: “Settle an argument for us… is that Jackie Chan or Jackie Juanda.”
Your Hero: “Neither. It’s Layne Flack.”

* * *
That’s it. For a quickie wrap, head over to Rise Poker and check out Change100′s Day 16 Recap.

Follow @taopauly for Twitter updates throughout the day.

Also, help support indie writers and buy my books: Lost Vegas: The Redneck Riviera, Existentialist Conversations with Strippers and the World Series of Poker, and my recently released novel, Jack Tripper Stole My Dog. Both are also available for Kindles and iPads.

Tags: boom | day 5 | entertainment | ept | full tilt | las vegas | lost vegas | Music | news | phil ivey | philosophy

By Pauly
Las Vegas, NV

We hung out in the Pavilion and recorded an episode when we railed the cash games…

2011 WSOP – Episode 15: Brickless Cash Games (4:43) – Dan and Pauly hang out on the rail of the high-stakes cash games in the Rio. They describe the bustling scene, but are a little disappointed the massive PLO cash game isn’t running.

2011 WSOP – Episode 16: Brickless Cash Games Reprise (3:22) – Dan and Pauly recorded a quick follow-up to their previous episode while they hang out on the rail of the high-stakes cash games. They spot Eskimo Clark, “Cowboy”, and other broke dicks lingering around seeking handouts from the high rollers.

For more episodes, visit the Tao of Pokerati archives.

Thanks to Wolynski for the pic.

Tags: boom | conspiracy | entertainment | games | lists | poker books | social-media | the pai gow diaries

By Pauly
Las Vegas , NV

Sin City will gobble you up and spit you out… if you let it. It’s one thing to surrender to the flow, but it’s another to dive head-first into the darkness. Even in our overly litigious society, Vegas has very few disclaimers. In short, you know what you’re getting yourself into the moment you step off the plane at the airport or cross over the city line if you’re driving from the City of Angeles. I live in LA these days, and it’s absurd to think I actually prefer the vapid, plastic city nestled on the Pacific Ocean than running rampant under the scorching lights of the Strip.

But that’s the real attraction about Las Vegas — it’s one of the few places you can get absolutely fucked up and have no pangs of guilt. As the saying goes, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas — as long as you don’t tweet about it and post pictures to Facebook. Otherwise, everyone in your collection of virtual friends will know you’re a total degen cokehead. That’s why I recommend that my friends enact a social media blackout when they embark on a Las Vegas bender. You’d really hate to wake up one day and post a FB update saying, “FML. Rolled by a hooker.” To which, seven friends give you the thumbs up.

Even the sheeple love Las Vegas hooker stories. Like.

* * *
Day 15 was one of the busiest days at the 2011 WSOP with seven total events running. It’s hard to keep up for a team of reporters, let alone one. Some afternoons, I feel like a fat guy grazing at a buffet — sampling dish after dish — while wandering around the different tournament areas. The decision to add colored sections was genius — because savvy media members often can’t find the exact tournament they’re seeking, so how can we expect players to find out where they have to go. I dunno how many times a day I get asked, “Where am I supposed to go?”

I usually give them annoying philosophical answers –”No matter where you go, there you are.”

Donkament final table
Photo courtesy ofVegas Images
I focused on the two final tables. Jason Somerville survived the Running of the Donk after he shipped the 1K NL event. He had a celebrity rail (well, if you consider Daniel Negreanu as a celeb), but the loudest group on the rail had to be the Hungarians. I know, sounds weird, but when non-Americans make a final table, the rail swells up with nationalistic pride — so if a Hun makes the final table, every possible person of Hungarian decent flocks to the Rio and cheers on their countryman. That’s why the Brits show up en masse and drink it up like it’s the Premier League Championship match. In this instance, Richard Fridvalszki, became the center of the poker universe for all of Hungary. They invaded the press box right above the secondary table and security had to be called to flush them out. Fridvalszk busted in 4th, and Jason Somerville prevailed.

The 10K Stud Championship started with two tables and Men the Master was seeking back-to-back Stud bracelets. You couldn’t miss Men the Master because he wore a disgusting mustard-yellow shirt that looked he he stole the curtains from a massage parlor on Spring Mountain and got in turned into a wardrobe. Men bubbled off the final table in 10th place and was not happy. Men unleashed a tirade in the hallway and dropped more f-bombs than Ozzy Osbourne before breakfast. I later found a shitfaced Men the Master yelling at Scotty Nguyen in the high-stakes cash game section in the Pavilion Room. I don’t speak Vietnamese, so it could have been a cordial discussion of Men’s bust out hand, but Scotty just stood there with a shit-eating grin and laughed in Men’s face.

The final table was set and included Johnny World Hennigan. I hadn’t seen too much of Hennigan, but he was one of the more interesting characters in poker before the online poker boom. Chad Brown, fresh off of cancer recovery (doctors removed a tumor in his stomach the size of a VW bug), also made the final table in one of his strongest games. But all eyes were on ElkY. The French pro is a rockstar in Korea, where they refer to him as the Phil Ivey of Video Games. ElkY looks like he could be the albino bad guy in a Fast and Furious sequel. Kev Mathers joked about ElkY’s sparkling shirts.

“How does he get those dry cleaned?” asked Mathers.

“He doesn’t,” I explained. “ElkY is so rich, he buys new designer clothes every day and then throws it in the trash after he’s done. Right now, there’s a bunch of maids who are super pumped to score garish hoodies and silk shirts with rhinestones.”

If ElkY lived in West Hollywood, he’d be mistaken as a Lady GaGa impersonator. But if he walks down the streets of South Korea, he’s completely mobbed by screaming teenagers. Who needs poker accolades when you can make women weep at the mere sight of you? That’s the stuff legends (and cult leaders) are made of.

ElkY supposedly won his first ever Stud tournament. I love it hearing stories about players playing a new form of poker — then shipping the bracelet. It gives donks like me hope.

ElkY also joined an elite group of players — Triple Crown Winners. Of course, this “Triple Crown” was created by the media, so it’s not a real distinction, rather it’s a way to quantify excellence in the major tournament series — WSOP, WPT, and the EPT. Jake Cody joined the club last week when he won a bracelet. The other members include Roland de Wolfe and Gavin Griffin.

Bertrand “ElkY” Grospellier
Courtesy of the WSOP.com
ElkY is not just one of the best all-time players from France, he’s proven he’s one of the best in the world. Sheesh, I hate to think what will happen if ElkY starts playing more non-hold’em events. When he gets to Hellmuth or Johnny Chan’s age, he has the potential to be the #1 European bracelet winner closing in on double digits in bracelets. That is, if ElkY keeps playing poker. He reached the pinnacle of the gaming world and walked away on top. Maybe he’ll get bored in a year or two and focus on becoming a world class Keno player.

Don’t you hate fuckers like ElkY that are good at… everything? He’s the type of guy who can learn how to play the violin in a weekend and by the end of the month, he’s headlining at Carnegie Hall with Yo-Yo Ma.

We need to teach ElkY lime tossing.

* * *
Bouncin’ Round the Room….

I ran into Johnny Hughes yesterday. The controversial raconteur been playing cards in Vegas for over 50 years. He always had interesting things to say about Vegas of yesteryear. I luckily got to interview him for a podcast. If you haven’t listened to him yet, check out Old School Cheats.

Congrats to The Mark, a G-Vegas legend, who finished in 22nd place in the PLO-Donkament which began on Monday. He final tabled a Circuit event in New Orleans a few months ago and his PLO run good continued with a deep run in the WSOP event. Way to represent the G-Vegas boys. You made them proud.

I saw a guy puking into his hands while walking down the hallway in front of the Player of the Year banners. I dunno if he took a wicked bad beat in a satellite, or if he couldn’t handle his booze. The WSOP and Vegas in the summer is rough. It’s not for amateurs. You’ve been warned.

Tags: atom | black friday | gaming | online-poker | pca | poker books | Poker News | sahara