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My missus reckons she wants a divorce. She says our love life is boring and that I no longer 'take her breath away'
So I've hidden her inhaler, that should do the trick.
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Ive just been reading on wikipedia that it was an American that invented the toilet seat.
It greatly improved later whenan Englishman put a hole in it.
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What a Cheek!
What's next?! Forcing us into a war with Afghanistan and threatening to cut all intelligence links to the UK if we pull our troops out?
errr.... wait a minute!
If you hit me at 40 mph, there is an 80% chance I'll die.
If you hit me at 30 mph, there is an 80% chance I'll live.
If you hit me at 2 mph, there is a 100% chance you'll die, as I'll get up, pull you through the soddin' window and beat the living shi... out of you with your own car jack.
Years pass and the husband still remains adamant about keeping the lights off, and the wife starts wondering why this could be. She finally decides to do something about it and, one night, in the middle of a tryst, she turns on the bedside lamp. She looks down and sees her husband holding a flesh textured, much larger than regular, d1ldo.
"How could you have been lying to me all these years?" she yells at him.
The husband looks straight back at her and answers, "Honey, you shouldn't get upset."
"Shouldn't get upset? how can you possibly explain this?"
"Okay, tell you what: I'll explain this if you explain the children."
I've had enough of this and to help him I'm writing a letter of concern to his bosses. I would appreciate it if you would all do the same to support my brother and his mates by sending a letter to:
Commander Ali Bin Hussain
c/o The Taliban
Ali Akbar Lane
Helmand Province
Bora Bora Mountains
Afghanistan
What is the difference between girls
aged: 8, 18, 28, 38, and 48, 58 and 68?
At 8 - You take her to bed and tell her a story.
At 18 - You tell her a story and take her to bed.
At 28 - You don't need to tell her a story to take her to bed.
At 38 - She tells you a story and takes you to bed.
At 48 - You tell her a story to avoid going to bed.
At 58 - You stay in bed to avoid her story.
At 68 - If you take her to bed, that'd be a story!!
Leroy gets in line, and when it's his turn, the preacher asks: "Leroy, what do you want me to pray about for you."
Leroy replies: "Preacher, I need you to pray for my hearing."
The preacher puts one finger in Leroy's ear, and he places the other hand on top of Leroy's head and prays and prays and prays, he prays a blue streak for Leroy.
After a few minutes, the Preacher removes his hands, stands back and asks, "Leroy, how is your hearing now?"
Leroy says, "I don't know, Reverend, it ain't til next Wednesday!"
Attached to the vial's cap was a small spoon. Bernie scooped a bit of coc aine onto the spoon and held it out for his friend. Ungar leaned forward and snorted a hit of coke into each nostril. Almost immediately he turned giddy. It was a 180-degree reversal from how he had been feeling since early that morning. "This was the day I put my mother in a nursing home," Ungar remembered during the course of a lengthy interview at Arizona Charlie's, an off-strip casino in Las Vegas. "She was crying like a baby and she broke me up, but I couldn't handle it no more - to be playing cards, trying to scratch out a living, and my mother calls me to bring her a bedpan." Unable to shake that first snort of coke from his memory, Ungar added, "I started very moderately, like a gram a week."
Before moving to Las Vegas, Ungar said, drugs played a very small role in his life. Prior to the age of 22, he hadn't even smoked a joint. He didn't drink. He didn't party. His vices at that point were gambling and chasing girls. "If there were 58 massage parlors in New York, [Stuey] knew all 58," card player Teddy Price told a reporter. "And he was a big tipper. He'd walk in the door and the girls would yell, 'Stuey's here!'"
By the time he won his second World Series championship, in 1981, his drug consumption had spiked precipitously. But Ungar insisted that it was rooted in practicality. "I did the coke to keep up," he said. "You use it as an excuse to stay awake and play poker. But then you take it home with you." Ultimately, of course, the coke went beyond recreation and practicality. "When you have access to it and the money don't mean nothing and people keep calling you with it …" His voice trailed off, implying that there's nothing you can do to fight the temptation. "It's a sickness. I don't even like to think about it. I guarantee you, it's taken 10, 15 years off my life. I don't look like it, but I feel beat up." Actually, whether he wanted to admit it or not, he looked plenty beaten up. It was as if the pain that he felt inside had leaked out, erasing what once seemed like indelible youthfulness from his poker face.
The coke-fueled '80s stands as the decade when Ungar's sports betting spun completely out of control - right along with his drug intake. "The figures were exorbitant," Ungar acknowledged. "A regular person wouldn't even be able to relate to it. Winning a couple hundred thousand playing poker was nothing compared to what I would lose in sports."
Vegas's golf courses served as another sinkhole for Ungar's card room millions. "Stuey's a big sucker at a lot of things," Puggy Pearson said in the late '90s. "Because he's so good at certain things, he thinks he should be good at everything. This is his downfall." Puggy recalled that, as a golf handicap, Ungar was allowed to tee up all of his shots. "That's a huge advantage, and he had all kinds of tees - big long ones, itty-bitty short ones. H e l l, I seen him tee the ball up in a lake one time at the old Sahara golf course. But he still lost every damned thing he had. He'd lose his shoestrings if he needed a couple dollars. That boy can't be still. He's got to have action."
During one memorable two-week period, Ungar went on a massive winning streak at the card tables and then laid it all down on a long Thanksgiving weekend of football games - Thursday through Monday. "I had a million in cash going into that weekend," Ungar said, "and at the end of Monday Night Football, I owed $800,000." He lost $1.8 million in a weekend? Ungar nodded. "I was betting $100,000, $150,000 a game. That was nothing to me. I had no sense of the value of money."
He hesitated a moment. "Sometimes I think that I wanted to lose, so that I could get mad and go back to the poker table."
Drugs and sports betting combined to leave Ungar financially and spiritually destitute. The dual demons created a vicious cycle that wreaked havoc with the one thing he could have done brilliantly: play poker. "He was always under pressure because he went through so much cash," remembers Billy Baxter, a professional gambler and frequent backer for the often destitute Ungar. "Stuey's money management was a joke, and he kept himself against the blade all the time. He never got into a comfortable financial position. He had to win every day just to support his lousy habits. Then he'd run bad a couple days in poker and be busted again." Indeed, when Ungar was losing and strung out, says high-stakes poker player Barry Greenstein, he became so scared and so desperate "that you were able to push him around like a little girl."
In the mid-1980s, Madelaine left Stuey and took his beloved Stephanie with her. Several years later, a poker-playing friend carted a dining-room set out of Ungar's home to settle a gambling debt. In 1992, he sold his beautiful Tudor home for approximately $270,000. "I needed money," Ungar remembered. "I borrowed $150,000 against the house. It was one of those hard-loan s hit things, you know, and I had to pay the guy back." Ungar considered the circumstances for a moment. "I had a nice house."
Things didn't get better. Throughout the '90s, Ungar slept where he could and occasionally surfaced when he needed to win or borrow money. There were fl ashes of the old brilliance, but he spent most of his time away from poker, caught up in a world dominated by drug dealers, hookers, con men, and petty thieves. He scraped by with occasional low-profile le action, through financial support from benevolent friends, and by calling in the many loans he had made to other players back when he was flying high. But for the most part, nobody wanted to get involved with an unrepentant, unreliable drug addict. Even Phil "Brush" Tartaglia, Ungar's minder from New York, began to distance himself.
By all appearances and opinions, Stu Ungar was completely finished as a competitor in the heady world of no-limit. He seemed like the Brian Wilson of poker - a brilliant guy done in by drugs and his own strange, unmanageable form of genius. Then, during the early months of 1997, Ungar hit some kind of emotional nadir, and it compelled him to resurface, initially through occasional appearances at $20 buy-in tournaments around town. "People were saying how I'm a has-been and washed-up and all that," Ungar explained. "Finally, it got to me real bad. My pride was hurt. So I tried to eat right, got some sleep, put myself into shape to play."
Some of it, however, was involuntary. Following a couple of busts, one for possession of drug paraphernalia, another for trespassing, Ungar was legally compelled to remain clean. Whatever the impetus, though, his changes slowly became evident during the 1997 World Series. If his presence initially seemed like a sick joke, by day two nobody was laughing. On the third afternoon of play, local newspaper reporters, contemplating their leads for Thursday's paper, had already rechristened Stu "The Kid" Ungar as "The Comeback Kid." "If they wanted to do a clinic on no-limit Hold 'Em, they would have filmed me from day one to the final hand," Ungar said in 1998. "You can't play more perfect than I played. It was just a thing of beauty, what I did in '97. I was reborn."
At the start of the fourth and final day of the Series, Ungar had almost $1.1 million stacked in front of him, dwarfing his nearest competitor by more than $300,000. He was confident dent and cool, diminutive and fl ashy, with blue-lensed granny glasses and a densely patterned shirt. He played with such confidence that it was as if he could see through the backs of his opponents' cards. "It might have been the greatest performance ever in a World Series of Poker," says Mike Sexton, now a commentator on World Poker Tour, then a respected high-stakes player. "He just dominated the tables."
ESPN cameras stalked Ungar as if he were a movie star, and he reveled in the attention. When it finally came down to Ungar and John Strzemp, then president of Treasure Island Hotel and Casino, for the championship, it was clear that Ungar was the superior player by a wide margin. "But," says Sexton, "John was smart enough to recognize that he couldn't play with Stu Ungar. You can't sit there and play with the guy and let him take your money slowly but surely as you go along. John realized that the only chance he had of beating Stuey was to get all his chips in the pot as quickly as possible and gamble with them."
The miraculous resurrection culminated with Ungar pulling a tournament-winning straight on the final card of the last hand. Smiling broadly for the cameras, telling reporters how vindicating the victory had been, holding up a photo of his daughter that he had kept close to him throughout the contest, Ungar seemed to be his old self. "He was in his element again," says Sexton. "He was put back in that throne of destiny, where he would have a new chance to start fresh. I really thought he would do it."
Ungar, posing before a fortress of banded $100 bills, a freshly minted World Series of Poker bracelet in front of him, became the first player to win three championships. He promised to keep himself in shape for the next year's Series. "I was sleeping for 15 years," he announced. "I've decided to wake up."
But just a couple of months after netting $500,000 (the million-dollar first prize, minus a 50-percent cut for Billy Baxter, who put up the $10,000 entry fee), Ungar was broke. He apparently blew the money on all his old vices: sports betting, drugs, and hookers. A poker-playing friend who popped by the apartment where Ungar was staying in late '97 remembers a refrigerator with nothing in it but Tang. Propped against one wall was a beautifully framed collage, filled with laudatory press clippings from Ungar's glory days. "I'm reading the collage, and there's something in there that says, 'Talent will get you to the top, but you need character and discipline to stay there,'" recounts the friend, one of Stu's old coke buddies. "I said, 'Stuey, we ain't got that f****** s hit. We have character and talent, but we don't have discipline.' He heard me, but he didn't say nothing."
to be continued
this has got to be the most underrated thread on the forums, funny, informative with some good yarns thrown in.
Such a good read
well look out! bennydip has just landed his very own blog! much more of this man to come me thinks!
Mike if your going to play poker .. the first thing you need is .....
a sense of Humour !!!... keeps me going when the cards are running cold,
or if I'm in the Poker Hospital
Oh ohhh here come the Nurse !!...... eeek !!!!
"Dad says, "Well son, let me try to explain it this way:
I'm the breadwinner of the family, so let's call me Capitalism.
Your Mom, she's the administrator of the money, so we'll call her the Government. We're here to take care of your needs, so we'll call you the People. The nanny [babysitter], we'll consider her the Working Class. And your baby brother, we'll call him the Future.
Now, think about that and see if that makes sense." So the little boy goes off to bed thinking about what Dad has said.
Later that night, he hears his baby brother crying, so he gets up to check on him. He finds that the baby has severely soiled his diaper. So the little boy goes to his parents' room and finds his mother sound asleep. Not wanting to wake her, he goes to the nanny's room.
Finding the door locked, he peeks in the keyhole and sees his father in bed with the nanny. He gives up and goes back to bed.
The next morning, the little boy says to his father, "Dad, I think I understand the concept of politics now." The father says, "Good son, tell me in your own words what you think politics is all about."
The little boy replies, "Well, while Capitalism is screwing the Working Class, the Government is sound asleep, the People are being ignored and the future is in deep sh*t."
I thought to myself "They've lost the plot."
although quite amusing, some of these jokes could be seen as offensive to certain people and i have had to remove a couple. i hate to be a party poope r but please keep things clean!
thanks for being understanding.
Rich
The next morning, as the pilot was preparing the crew for the day's route, he noticed the new stewardess was missing. He knew which room she was in at the hotel and called her up wondering what happened. She answered the phone, crying, and said she couldn't get out of her room. "You can't get out of your room?" the captain asked, "Why not?"
The stewardess replied: "There are only three doors in here," she sobbed, "one is the bathroom, one is the closet, and one has a sign on it that says 'Do Not Disturb'!"
luv the jokes Bob and Knackers ... hehehehe
Whatever Ungar's problems, it seemed to be a given that he'd put in a good effort to defend his World Series crown. He checked into Binion's Horseshoe on April 17, intending to rest up and get acclimated for the championship event three and a half weeks later. Billy Baxter, who once again funded Ungar's $10,000 entry fee, suggested he get himself warmed up with a couple preliminary tournaments. But Ungar waved him away and said, "I don't need that s hit."
On the morning of May 11, the day the Series was slated to begin, Ungar's co c aine addiction was in full fl are, leaving him emotionally depressed, strung out, and physically wrecked. His right nostril was practically flush against his face. The tips of his fingers had been burned black from handling the hot end of a glass crack pipe. Bob Stupak, casino entrepreneur and occasional backer of Ungar's, had offered to provide a hairdresser and makeup artist to ensure that the drug addled star would look presentable, but Ungar never green-lighted them to come upstairs.
Just minutes before the tournament's starting time, Ungar remembered, "I got showered and dressed. I put my clothes on. And then I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked terrible. I looked like I came from Auschwitz. That's when I knew I couldn't sit there and play for four days, for 10 hours a day, and put in a good performance. I wasn't geared up. I was physically out of it. The year took a toll on me." As the opening hand was being dealt, Ungar remained sequestered in his 12th floor room at the Horseshoe. Baxter managed to get back his $10,000 and the game went on without its defending champion.
Ungar stopped speaking for a moment, maybe to replay the World Series nightmare in his mind. "Listen, not coming down to play in that tournament was criminal. I honestly think I could have won back-to-back if I was in decent shape. But I thought it would have been more embarrassing to have shown up looking the way I did than for me to stay in my room and not play. In the end, though, I disappointed everyone and, what's worse, I made everybody who's jealous of me happy."
But maybe the horrible experience had given him perspective. If he walked away from the Horseshoe with a realization that some things are more important than the primitive act of winning money - like not letting down the very people who care about you - then it all could be worth it in the long run, couldn't it? Ungar considered the theory for a split second. "If there is more to life than gambling," he said, "I don't know that I'm able to enjoy it. And what I'm afraid of is that gambling ain't stimulating me lately. That's a bad sign."
Several days after opening up at Arizona Charlie's, Ungar was having dinner with his ex-wife, Madelaine, and daughter Stephanie at the Sahara Casino and Hotel, a mid-level place on the Strip with a low-stakes poker room. Stephanie, 16 at the time, was a lovely, intelligent girl who had endured a lot of disappointment and heartache from her father. At that moment, though, she was thrilled to be with him. "We've spent a whole week together," she gushed. Most importantly, he appeared to be completely straight. "People introduce themselves to my dad and say that it's a pleasure to meet him. We walk around holding hands, and everybody is so happy to see my dad with me."
When they strolled into the Sahara's poker room, Ungar's dentist was there, messing around in a low-stakes, 30-person freeze-out with a $22 buy-in and a first prize of a few hundred dollars. Just for kicks, maybe showing off his star patient, the dentist requested that Ungar pull up a chair and enter the event. Considering that Ungar's more obvious poker milieu would have been the Horseshoe or the Mirage, where, at the time, games ranked among the highest in town, this was a bit of a comedown. But, as a favor to the man who had built a bridge for the front of his mouth, Ungar dispatched his ex-wife to the blackjack pit and accepted the invitation.
He wound up signing 40 autographs, and a crowd of some 200 railbirds formed around a tournament that would ordinarily have generated no interest whatsoever.
Goosed by the crowd and glad to be back in action, Ungar played aggressively and hard, as if psychologically making up for the World Series he had missed. "It came down to me and this old man," Ungar recalled. "I had $12,000 in tournament chips in front of me. He had $400. Then he outdrew me for seven pots in a row and won the thing."
Ungar was initially upset about losing. Then the man told him, "You made my life, Mr. Ungar. I can tell my children, my grandchildren, and everybody else that I beat you."
After shaking the man's hand, Ungar said to him, "If I can make your life, I'm tickled that I lost."
This encounter provided a rare glimpse at Ungar's sentimental side, but, sadly, it didn't augur long-term change. A couple of weeks later, he convinced a doctor to prescribe narcotic painkillers and found himself backsliding into drug dependency. Following a disagreement with his girlfriend, he bashed her in the face with a telephone. She kicked him out of her house and called the police. He went to stay with a friend, someone said, but nobody seemed able to find nd him.
Mike Sexton hinted that Puggy Pearson might have a lead. Puggy had met Ungar two days before at Sam's Town Hotel and Casino, and had lent him $500. "He didn't look too damned good," Puggy said. "Stuey was sitting there on the bench, next to a guy who claimed to be his plumber. Stu gave me his word, on his daughter's life, that he would pay me back $500 in two days, which is today. I lay 100-to-1 that I don't hear from him until he needs me again. But that's okay." Puggy sighed. Then he added, "Stuey's all right."
A day later, Ungar was back at Binion's Horseshoe, registered on someone else's credit card. Speaking over the phone and sounding lucid, he said, "I'm gonna start playing. I'm waiting to see a friend of mine who's got money for me. Then I go to the Mirage."
Despite vows to resume his once brilliant career, Ungar maintained a ghostly poker-room presence during the summer and into the fall of 1998. Billy Baxter lent him 25 grand and he used it to play $30/$60 Hold 'Em. But his heart was no longer in it. Inferior players beat him in headsup matches, and co c aine retook its place at the center of Ungar's life. He continually phoned the Mirage poker room, trying to scare up money from old friends, but nobody would take his calls.
Then, in November 1998, things seemed ready to turn around yet again. Ungar signed a contract with hotelier Bob Stupak, agreeing that Stupak would pay off Ungar's debts and finance tournament-play in exchange for a piece of Ungar's future winnings. Stupak even assigned a bodyguard named Dave to look after Ungar and make sure he stayed away from drugs. However, on November 20th, Ungar convinced Dave that he had to take his daughter to a birthday dinner.
Dave cut him loose on that Friday afternoon, and Ungar checked into the Oasis Motel, a notorious short time s e x joint on the northern end of Las Vegas Boulevard. He paid cash for a single night and claimed the Mirage as his permanent residence on the check-in form. Earlier in the day Stupak had given him a $10,000 advance, as "walking-around money."
The next morning, after Ungar failed to check out of his room on time, an Oasis employee knocked on the door, entered the room, and found him lying face down in bed, shaking. Apparently in no condition to leave, Ungar asked to see the hotel manager, then slipped the manager a $100 bill for a second night. "Can you close the window?" Ungar asked. "I'm cold." The manager looked up and noticed that the window was tightly shut.
Twenty-four hours later, on November 22nd, Stu "The Kid" Ungar was found lying in the same faced own position on the mattress - but this time he was dead. Eight hundred eighty-two dollars, all that Ungar had to his name, was in his pants pockets. Police found the room to be clean of drugs and paraphernalia.
According to a Clark County spokesman, the official cause of Ungar's death was coronary arterial sclerosis brought on by his lifestyle. Essentially, the arteries around his heart hardened and would not allow blood to circulate. Ungar's passing was ruled accidental, even though co c aine, Percodan, and methadone were found in his blood.
Maybe the dope in Ungar's system reflected a final binge before he checked into the motel with the intention of kicking his habit for good. Maybe he sensed that the end was near and wanted to die alone, in peace. Or maybe something more nefarious transpired.
A longtime friend of Ungar's claims to know what happened. "Stuey bought a bunch of crack and picked up two hookers who like to troll near the Oasis," says the friend. "Once they found out how much money Stuey had on him" - presumably a good chunk of Stupak's $10,000 - "he was as good as dead. They pushed him to smoke enough so that he went into convulsions - which Stuey was prone to do. The convulsions came, they took most of the money, and left Stuey for dead."
Ungar's funeral was presided over by a rabbi and financed by Bob Stupak. The ceremony was a who's who of no-limit players, and Stupak reportedly hit them up for donations to help cover the burial costs.
Days later, at the big-money tables around town, cards were dealt, millions were won and lost, and the games rolled on unabated by the passing of poker's ultimate supernova. ♠
the end
In my time playing i sat with (the late) Hamish Sha, who was another player that was almost unplayable but such a pleasure to have been at the same table with him .
There are many players who bring this great game to light,
Stu Unger was "The Best"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLSeS0NLCu4
Hope your ok ... i'll be reading some of your post tomorrow to catch up,
This was some bad beat I served up on you Barry. Sorry m8.
However, what were you doing calling my reraise?
My game is all about seeing flops early, and playing the turn not the flop, so when i hit a monster. and you bet the the flop there's no point in me re-raising, i now know what you have AA KK JJ 10 10, your not passing, i just want you to bet again on the turn, (3) and you do .. we are all-in and glk to you you hit the river Ace.. (2 outer)
It was one of those hands that once the pre-flop betting was done (1/5 of our stacks in) The rest was always going in !!
Ya lucky fish ....hehehee glk Huck (top man)
was a shame that we didn't get to sit on the same table at Luton, when do you think you will next making an appearence there??
I was gonna play cash and maybe that 100 tournie on Sunday but now Sky commitmentz have taken priority.
cheers
My best advice is .."Get it quietly" !! It's dosen't do, to wind players up, ... ....glk
i run so bad live its untrue
and how do u know that i play naive and arrogant you wasn't at my table, i was actually a good boy apart from maybe one comment?!?! I do mess up witht he chips and action and stuff sometimes cos im so used to the mouse haha....
Shall I beat myself with birch twigs as penance for being naughty or shall i just slap myself on the wrists a couple of times?
She said,
'But we don't know anything about each other.'
He said,
'That's all right, we'll learn about each other as we go along.'
So she consented, they were married, and off they went on a honeymoon at a very nice resort.
One morning they were lying by the pool, when he got up off of his towel,
climbed up to the 10 meter board and did a two and a half tuck, followed by three rotations
in the pike position, at which point he straightened out and cut the water like a knife.
After a few more demonstrations, he came back and lay down on the towel.
She said,
'That was incredible!'
He said,
'I used to be an Olympic diving champion. You see, I told you we'd learn more about each other as we went along.'
So she got up, jumped in the pool and started doing lengths.
After seventy-five lengths she climbed out of the pool, lay down on her towel and was hardly out of breath.
He said,
'That was incredible! Were you an Olympic endurance swimmer?'
'No,' she said,
'I was a pros titute in Liverpool but I worked both sides of the Mersey !!!!
Because, you see, life is like "Runaround" - the ITV kids game show hosted by a pre-Eastenders Mike Read.
After the loveable cockney asked a question, the hordes of kids would have to “runaround” three sections of the game-board.
Two would be right and one would be wrong, and you got a yellow ball if you stood in the right area.
Much jostling would ensue as the kids chose safety in numbers, assuming that the more people who stood in an area the better the chance of them collectively having the right answer. And normally this worked.
But there was always one kid who would dart between the three sections, following and then abandoning the flow, making complex but futile judgements about his probability of success as the blinding lights flashed and the sirens hooted.
At the moment of revelation, this one kid would invariably be occupying a section all on his own.
As the answer was revealed he would desperately try to jump next door but would soon be spotted by the cybernetically enhanced eyes of Mr Read.
Mike Read would whisk you away with a clip on the ear (this was 1975)
and declare to the laughing masses “What a wally!”
Some of us have been standing in that wrong segment for most of our adult lives, sometimes trying to jump into adjacent squares but then changing our minds and sticking to our so-called principles.
While all the time a voice of gruff fatherly authority shouts beerily down our lugholes with a Readian equal emphasis on each syllable --- “What A Wa Lee!”
You could try and jump next door with all the other kids, but if you’re stupid like me you’ll stay in your lonely segment, hoping that, despite the overwhelming evidence, you’ve made the right decision.
You just had to be different, didn’t you?
Welcome home my friends, to the tale that never ends - welcome to My Stupid Life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Let me introduce you to ..(the late) Mr Mike Reid !!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QRWD4ZODOU0
glk benny