YOU'RE FIRED!!!!

YOU’RE FIRED!!!!

Here at the Mental Mailbox, we care deeply about all of the pretty things that make our world go round: Warm sunshine, kitties playing with yarn, puppies scampering in the gra…oh fuck that, we’re handing out pink slips and frankly, they’re flying faster than the Kris Humphries-Kardashian divorce papers!!! Read on for a list of life ruiners being given the can.

Who’s toast: Mother Nature.

What you’ve contributed: This page intentionally left blank.

Why you’re fired: The calendar has changed yet you continue to carry on with your insubordinate ways and refuse to catch up to current times. For example, the cloud is where you store all of your iShit, it’s no longer defined as an obstruction to sunshine. Lower than average temperatures equals lower than average likelihood you’ll be in your position any longer. When your BFF Al Gore asks why you’re on the unemployment line (preferably in a state OTHER than New York), you can highlight your failures of the past 4 months. You are relieved of your duties and hereby replaced by global warming.

And the ax goes to: Punxsutawney Phucking Phil.

You’ve given us: False rumours, false predictions and false eyelashes. Those can NOT be real.

Why the heave-ho: It’s pretty evident – you predicted an early spring and you fucked up royally. You’re wanted for fraud up and down the Northeast Corridor and beyond. I spoke with [Manhattan District Attorney] Cy Vance and personally asked him to prosecute you to death. He told me words I can’t pri…oh…wait…I CAN print them here. He said, “Go fuck yourself with a totem pole. That little bastard is out of my jurisdiction and my office has real crime to fight like jaywalkers and opposite side parking violators.” You got lucky on that subpoena, shithead, but you know what has a spring? The guillotine, and that’s where you’re going when you’re caught, you rat prick!!!

Next on the chopping block: Mercury Retrograde.

Highlights: Increased idiocy, the stymying of life’s simplest tasks, and the creation of the term “retrofucked.”

You’re out because: With your high orbital speeds and proximity to the sun, you happen WAY too frequently. You cause delays in ALL forms of planning, frustrate and frazzle the FUCK out of people, and create a world where stupidity is not only the norm, it’s widely expected and accepted. How whack are you? Kim Kardashian married a WHITE MAN during the August 2011 retrograde!!! A WHITE MAN!!!!! We all know how that ended. Mercury certainly skipped that household whilst handing out memos. Also, retrotransit is not a good time to make important decisions, so plan not to breathe during this time. Sorry, planet, we kinda need to breathe and for that reason, amongst many others, you can tell your story walking…right to the temp office.

Fired straight to hell: The Harlem Shake.

You’ve provided: A viral sensation much in the same way gonorrhea does.

You suck because: ACTUAL Harlem is PISSED!!! Tourette’s patients are seriously offended. Honestly, if I don’t have a vodka martini STAT, I’m going to HAVE the Harlem Shakes. Not since backwards attempts to keep segregation alive have bands of white people fucked up so hardcore. There’s no way in bloody blazes Scooby Doo would appear in versions of this shlock if he could afford to keep up his cocaine habit on his cartoon royalties. Thank Christ the average attention span these days is nil - this retarded movement is already SO five minutes ago. This minute’s “flashy” DJ, Caucasians, and fluffy puppets cannot save this shebang from employment cremation. No, I would NOT like fries with this shake.

Sacked: The increasing assault on the English language.

Accomplishments: Abbreviating everything to the point of easy understanding. By easy understanding, I mean massive stupidity.

Why you’re terminated: Yesteryear, it was a cutesy idea to use LOL and OMG to abbreviate our instant messages on AOL and IRC. These days, it’s gotten so ridiculous – it’s to the point where, fifteen years from now, my young nephews won’t even know the origins of LOL and OMG when they’re discussing classic film noir like “Ice Age 6” with their cellmates. I recently read a comment on a thread that said “ADORBS.” I very audibly said, “YOU DICK!” I’ve also seen NOM (and forms of) entirely too frequently. Are you a fucking Fraggle?!?!?!? Habla Englais!!!! Oh, and TOTES is a comfortable shoe brand. Final recommendation: When asked about the huge gap in your resume, avoid an answer like, “Because it was totes adorbs nom ridic!!!”

The Anatomy of Comedy

I once did a standup comedy routine. ONCE! Writing about funny stuff is far easier than performing on stage, even when the studio audience is rife with some of your best friends, including vodka. Not only do you need to keep people engaged and keep them awake, you also need to deliver in such a way that stops them from “what the fuck”ing you to death. If you’ve
ever wondered about the step by step process of attempting a seamless show, wonder no more…

Open with a little bit about yourself:

“Hi. So lovely to see you here.” (even if that’s total bullshit). “I’m Jay, a gay Libra (even though I am dressed like a power lesbian) born in the year of the dragon which makes me a double flamer. Of course, that year of the dragon is 1988, not 1976 (insert laugh track here). I’m a born and raised New Yorker which means I like to say things like (with New Yawk accent) ‘chair,’ ‘water,’ ‘New Yawker,’ and ‘fuck you.’ When I swipe my MetroCard, the reader says ‘Insufficient fare,’ ‘You suck at life,’ and ‘You’re a loser.’”

Once the hysterical laughter comes to a pause, continue with a couple of interests:

“I enjoy playing volleyball, sniffing Windex, writing, and catching up on TV I miss. Or as my mother Eileen might say (smoking cigarette simulation, gravelly voice) ‘my STORIES.’ Unfortunately I’m not one of those advanced people who have DiVo or TVR or whatever else crap all the cool kids have these days, which means I have to put up with all of those pesky commercials. However, some of them aren’t so bad. Right around Halloween, there was an IHOP commercial where the kids are trick-or-treating and the adult puts pancakes and pours syrup into their bags. The kids give the adult the ‘what the fuck ‘look but I think its genius. Pancakes for Halloween is a fat boy’s dream!!! Can you imagine going to school the next day? Suzy Cream Cheese bounces around with her bag of bullshit talking about ‘Oh look at me, I got candy corn, chocolate, and an old man’s phone number.’ I’d be like ‘I got Bisquick, bitch!!!!’ Another commercial I see a lot of goes like this: ‘Of the 4 million people who have Hepatitis C, 3 million people don’t know.’ Then how the fuck do YOU know? Furthermore, who is the douchebag not telling these poor souls? I also get a kick out of those Oil of Old Lady commercials. It’s wonderful that they advertise creams that eliminate laugh lines and various other wrinkles, but where’s the miracle product that reduces the illusion of cocksucking wrinkles?”

Since this was delivered right after New Year’s, a little bit of holiday talk was appropriate:

“So I hope you all had a great holiday season. Did we all deck the halls with boughs of bullshit? Perhaps do some caroling? Did you sing such classics as ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree?’ (singing) ‘Later we’ll have some fucking pie.’ ‘Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire?’ (singing) ‘Jack Frost nipping…at your balls.’ ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas?’
(singing) ‘Here we are, as in olden days…happy golden days…you whore.’ I had the great fortune of spending the holidays with Eileen (smoking, gravelly): ‘What did you get me?’ The holidays are a great time for memory recalling. My personal favorite was when Eileen sent me to the corner store in the summer of 1985 to get her smokes, back in the good ol’ days when no one gave a shit how old you were when you bought cigarettes. The price went up a nickel that weekend so I had to go impart the unfortunate news, which launches Eileen’s most classic rant to date. Eileen (smoking, gravelly): ‘Jesus Fucking Christ! A buck thirty for cigarettes?!?!? This is fucking highway robbery. When I started they were 25 cents a pack. I swear to fucking Christ if these fucking things ever go to two dollars a pack I’m gonna quit. This is bullshit!!!’ Needless to say, 26
years and nine dollars later, she’s still going at it a pack-and-a-half a day.

It is possible to make seamless segue from holidays to politics, even if it a bit of a reach:

“One holiday gift I received is that Michelle Bachman is out of the Republican presidential race. At the Iowa caucuses, she received an embarrassing 2% of the vote. She is a Republican that even other Republicans don’t like. From what I understand, a caucus is a group of 400 supergoons which include Wonder Woman and the Thundercats. This means she actually received 8 votes. I’d love to meet these eight retards and throw Iowa’s gay marriage in their faces.”

As a first timer on the stage, I don’t need a segue to go back to my personal interests:

“I mentioned previously that I enjoy playing volleyball. One perk of this is that we play right around the corner from Gym Bar, which means the sport is merely a formality before the real fun begins. Last season, I was lucky enough to have a mega queen on my team who asked me to hold something while he made a phone call. Being fashion stupid, I asked if the item was a purse or a clutch. He said (in super gay voice): ‘This is a purse. You mean to tell me you don’t know the difference between a purse and a clutch?’ to which I responded: ‘Of course I do. For example, Eileen’s purse had a coin pouch, wadded up Kleenex, a Bic pen that hasn’t worked in eight years, a lighter, cigarettes, and a Stay-Free maxi pad even though she’s been menopausal for 14 years. A CLUTCH is what you use for erotic choking.’”

I needed a final topic as time filler, so I pulled one clear out of my ass:

“Do you ever wonder about the validity and effectiveness of your household items? I have this tea at home that’s supposed to be calming and sleep inducing. This specific brand is called Sleepytime and as you may be able to see (aside: I brought the tea box as a prop), the bear is cute, smiling, sacked out and happy. I tried this tea but to no avail – I didn’t fall asleep at all! Then I read the inside of the box flap: ‘Sleepytime Bear has been foraging for herbs since 1970…’ No wonder the goddamn bear is so sacked out and happy, he’s been stoned for the last 42 years!!! But of course I can’t be mad at the bear because he’s so cute and smiley!!!”

Finally, the closing and the plea for cash:

Thank you all so much. Now I shall pass around this tip bucket because, for once, my bony ass would like to supersize it.”

Happy Super Tuesday, everybody!!!

The 84th Annual Nip and Leg Show

Entertainment Tonight and other such news magazines were all over the red carpet bringing you the latest and greatest from the Academy Awards.The winners, the fashions, the styles, the legs and the nip slips. What all of these correspondents fail to focus on, however, is the losers. Wonder why your favorite movie lost? E! won't tell you. The Mental Mailbox will! Here is the rundown you've been waiting for.

Category: Best Picture

Winner: The Artist

Why Moneyball lost: The Natural and Field of Dreams didn't win either. Baseball + Oscar = NO! ESPN has an awards show for sports related hoopla. Try there.

Category: Best Actress

Winner: Meryl Streep as The Iron Lady in the Iron Lady

Why Rooney Mara lost: The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo was BUFUGLY! I mean, slap yo mama BUFUGLY! God don't like no BUFUGLY, and neither does the Academy!

Category: Best Actor

Winner: Jean Dujardin as the Artist in the Artist

Why Gary Oldman lost: Tinker Tailor bla bla bla is just too long a title. Presenters have a limited amount of time to be on stage and announce the victor. By the time "Gary Oldman for Tinker Tailor Tongue Twister" is voiced, the segment is over. It's not economical time use for a show that is already six hours long.

Why Demian Bichir lost: Nobody knew he was one of the nominees.

Category: Best Supporting Actress

Winner: Octavia Spencer as The Help in The Help

Why Janet McTeer lost: Hilary Swank already did the whole woman-man-Academy Award thing for Boys Don't Cry. Fret not, however - Charlotte Bronte didn't win any awards either for pretending to be a man as part of her aspiring novelist schtick.

Category: Best Supporting Actor

Winner: Christopher Plummer as The Gay in Beginners

Why Jonah Hill lost: Cher used to be laughed off screen as well when trying to be taken seriously as an actress. She did give those laughers the ultimate middle finger when she "struck" it big in Moonstruck. Someday, your time will come. Just not anytime soon.

Category: Best Foreign Language Film

Winner: A Separation (Iran) in Persian

Why The Artist Lost: There was no language, foreign or otherwise. Besides, it wasn't nominated in this category.

Category: Best Makeup

Winner: The Iron Lady

Why Albert Nobbs lost: It obviously takes far more effort to make a man look like Margaret Thatcher than it does to make Glenn Close look like a man. Frankly, I figured neither would be that much of a stretch.

Category: Best Costume Design

Winner: The Artist

Why Anonymous lost: If you're anonymous, nobody knows to vote for you.

Why Jane Eyre lost: The costumes are as boring as the novel.

In the interest of honest and fair reporting, I have only given the synopses of REAL categories. Everybody knows the other bullshit categories no one pays attention to are only good fun for Academy Award pools. I think it's high time I rented Silkwood...

You Might Suck at Life If...

Ever walk down the street and think to yourself, “WOW!!!! This idiot REALLY sucks at life.”? Or, better yet, say it out loud? At a very minimum, we encounter people with impoverished life skills at least 300,000 times a day. Idiocy is everywhere and cannot be avoided. It’s in the workplace, the morning commute, happy hour, sometimes even in our dreams. Doesn’t it suck when you cannot escape daily stupidity even when you’re sleeping? I think it’s about time we started pointing the finger back at those who can certainly stand to improve their lot on this planet.

Perhaps the most pervasive example of rampant moronity is on reality television. As we all know, reality TV is the most insipid and inane form of entertainment available. And I’m talking housewives, Kardashians and Dance Moms low. I always thought a housewife cooked, cleaned, maybe worked outside the home while still struggling to raise a family. I also always
thought fame was achieved through hard work and determination. Not these days. The spotlight is cast on you if you’re lucky enough to have a lucrative last name or you have some uncanny ability to toss around glitzy drama. Sorry people, I cannot be on board with the whole “rich white people with problems” motif. These “stars” are so out of touch with ACTUAL reality that they suck at life. Even suckier, it’s splayed out for a national audience to see. SUCKAGE!

EXTREME CHAMPOINSHIP SUCK ALERT!!! If you “star” in a reality series that does not go beyond five episodes, it’s obvious you have no place on television.

A small step above the aforementioned mirth is the reality competition shows. I, for one, actually really enjoy “Dancing With the Stars.” It’s interesting to see some old familiar names and faces. But we all know who infiltrates these programs – the C-list. If you’re on a show like this or “Celebrity Apprentice” and you’re fired in Week 1, you suck at life.

If you are a commentator on World’s Dumbest Criminals, you’ve achieved a new level of suck that not even Richard Hatch has achieved. Tonya Harding? Come on!!! You’re not even a comedian and you’re no funnier on this show. Just…SUCK!!!!

A brief list of people who also suck at life include cell phone driver talkers, slow walking (or completely stopped) sidewalk hoggers, entrance blocking assholes, and George W. Bush.

There is a special place in suck hell for stroller parents. You SSSSUUUUCCCCKKKK with a capital SSSSUUUUCCCCKKKK!!!! I’m not talking about the two who exist that are actually considerate of the world around them. I’m talking about the “world owes me a favor” type. You are not the Queen of Sheba just because you decide to strap your “special bundle” of screaming flesh into a sidewalk stealing tank. Entire sections of town should not be blocked off
when your baby needs a new designer diaper. Restaurant staff should not have to ask their customers to accommodate your jet liner baby carrier because you want to overtake a nine-person table with just you and your sorry sack of germ spewing spawn. Put your thing in one of those baby carrying knapsacks and treat it like the accessory that it is.

I think it’s now time for the Real Housewives…

Ahead and Behind of the Times

As the subject of many a limerick and bar bathroom
scrawling, I pride myself on being part of the social continuum. Obviously,
however, I’m a bit behind the times. Evidently, reading “For a mediocre time,
call Jay” on a wall (I mean ACTUAL wall, not Facebook wall) is old school.
These days, it’s more like “For a mediocre time, send a tweet to @JJayBooty.”
Also, to be “with it,” I need to link Twitter to Facebook to Klout to YouTube
to Google + to my VCR to my walkman to my Atari. I can barely link one keychain
to the next. This process may take a while.

If you’re an active Twitter user, where the character limit
is 140, you’ve probably stopped reading by now. This is already too long, yes? If
this were posted on Facebook, you may have read a few words, clicked “Like,”
and moved on with your day. Flattering as that definitely is, do read on…

I hearken from a day when we wrote phone numbers on napkins,
went online using rotary dial, and tablets came in Excedrin bottles. We’ve gone
from the “me” generation of the 80s to the “i” (intentionally lowercase so as
not to piss off Apple) generation of today. Same idea, different pronoun. I do
not own an iPad, but my iTampon serves me just as well.

In the golden days of yesteryear, whoever had the most toys
was the most popular. Nowadays, whoever has the most followers, likes and trendings
is the person to be. I avoided using the term “fans.” Seems passé. For example,
Justin Beiber (I don’t give a flying crap if I spelled that correctly) has 212
quabillion followers and a Klout score of a perfect 100. All of these Beaver
Hunters put him on top of the world, and it has to be due to YouTube seeing as
MTV hasn’t played a music video since “Vogue.” Much like when you see a twit of
#JETS and nothing else, you may be asking at this juncture, “WHAT’S THE #$%^ING
POINT?!?!?!” Achieving fame and popularity is far less of a process than it
used to be. The spotlight is but a mere few clicks away (smoking toddler,
anyone?) and you no longer have to work as hard as William Hung on American
Idol to achieve notoriety. Having a sex “tape” (“tape” in quotes because
really, who has “One Night in Paris” on VHS?) can’t hurt either.

Sex “tapes” can actually be beneficial, especially if you
are some form of female benefactress. The days of “men are studs, women are
sluts” are gone, and thankfully so. Today, if a man uses sex to get ahead, he
is a womanizer, polygamist, misogynist, asshole, etc., but if a woman does the
very same, not only is the “tape” released but celebrated and rewarded with a
reality series.

I hope you have enjoyed this “then to now” retrospective. Now
if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to turn off my phone, go for a walk, and come
back and watch The Golden Girls. On beta.

Rivered on Riley Road

What would a holiday gathering be without family, booze, illegal narcotics, bratty children, shitty gifts, NRA members, and poker? It would be like sitting on the toilet with nothing to read…mind numbing, nauseating, depressing. Mama sure did do her darnedest to make sure the suicide rate from this year’s jamboree plunged from last year’s.

“Here’s your fucking gift!” she exclaimed to me the second I walked through the door, replete with long cigarette, accompanying voice, and a hug that made me wish a certain San Francisco tigress were still alive.

“Oh GAWD ma, it’s awful!! Where’s the gift receipt?”

“Eff you. You didn’t even open it yet.”

“Ok ok you got me!” I muttered as I tried to maneuver through her maximum security wrapping. If only our nation were this locked down…

“Holy SHIT!” I screamed orgasmically.

“Goddamm it Jason do not write the word ‘orgasmically’ in front of the children,” says mother in that once a year authoritative tone. “Show everyone what the best mother in the world got you.”

“Gramma you’re so lame. I know what sperm is,” my little smart ass 8 year old nephew interjects. What an awful child. I love him.

“What a little shit! Where’d you get that kind of language?” demanded mama. Before he could answer with something like “I learned it by watching YOU, Gramma,” I belted, “COPAGS!!!!!!!!”

“Mother…this is like…the best gift ever! What happened to your 30 year long streak of caring just enough to give the second best?” I asked while the foam around my mouth did not yet make speaking unmanageable.

“Eh, fuck it. I won’t be around next year, and I had $19.95 plus shipping and handling to spare. I wanted to live long enough to see my least favorite child enjoy at least one holiday,” she answered. Ah, yes, the ever famous promise of death I’ve been hearing since 1983 when my great-grandmother had that line trademarked…

“Well crap then let’s get a game going.”

“Ah we can’t yet, there’s cooking, the kids, my chain smoking…”

“Yea yea yea bla bla bla woman gather up the gambling gurus and haul your aging caboose to the table! Child services can watch the kids for a few hours!” I proclaimed impatiently as I had quickly arranged 8 really neato chip stacks and just as many beer bottles. “Come on! Let’s move! $20 No-Limit freezeout. If you’re a child, watch Dora or porn or something!”

It was picturesque…real cards, real chips, real beers, real shitty players. Cards were in the air. Where was ESPN when we needed them? I was even willing to drink Milwaukee’s Best Light like real men!

Hand number one using the best “fucking gift” ever was a lousy Q-3 offsuit. What a bunch of crap. Each hand got progressively worse. Looking at the first Q on several occasions offered promise, but quickly proved a tease when it was accompanied by garbage. I haven’t seen so many offsuit queens since the last time I was in Chelsea! The real queen of the table, however, was dear old mother.

“What the hell, Jason?” mother asks as she is hooking up her nicotine IV. “You wanted to play this and you haven’t seen a flop yet. Look at all these people here exchanging chips and you’re sitting there like a log!”

And then, it happened. The ever cliché fireworks went off…BINGO…BANGO…BONGO! Oh…shit…that was just the scumbag next door shooting holiday dinner. As usual, I was just dealt another Q-5 offsuit. Blah!

With mother continually pestering me to play a hand, I couldn’t help but think “star/asterisk/pound sign/at symbol/squiggly little circle thinger/carat/ampersand/tic tac toe board/BIFF/POW/KABLAM!” Oh, and I thought “fuck you” as well. But, the blinds were on the rise so it was indeed time to join the pokerie. After establishing such a tight table image, it was time to bluff, bitchslap, and bullshit my way to the money. It was a good time as I started raking in a few of the pots with absolute douchebaggery in my hand. I even showed two of the deceptions, much to the dismay of people silly enough to believe me. Then, I retightened to gain some action with the best hands. It’s Poker 101, but I’ll call it “a secret weapon.” Mama was on the rails because she sucked, along with a few others, so we now have the final three. The blinds are chugging along, and chips are merely being shuffled among the three of us until someone who wasn’t me hit a miracle flop against someone who was me. I called an all-in preflop raise with A-J against someone holding J-7. “Beautiful. This shit is mine. Money in the bank,” I thought until the flop came 7-7-bullshit! I couldn’t believe my eyes as my poker future dimmed. The turn and river were as inconsequential as a politician’s promise and I was pummeled into the poker pavement. Moral of story? The best hand doesn’t always win. But there is no shame in that as long as you outlast your mother.

Poker advice for the masses

Hi y’all. I’m Jimbo “The Drunken” Trucker, answering your poker questions from my trailer park in Suffern, NY. I can’t ever seem to get into a WSOP event because I can’t pass a Breathalyzer test [if anyone has a way around that, let me know], so I’ve decided to dedicate my time to YOU, the aspiring poker champions of the world.

The WPT hole cam brought to you by Bud Light? MALARKY! You’ll see it on TV? Who needs that? All you need is one of these here clippings to guide you to superstardom.

POCKET ACES SHOW NO MERCY

Dear Jimbo,

I played a sit-and-go in which somebody in early position moved all-in. They had me outchipped, but I had pocket aces so of course it was an easy call. I lost to their suited 9 10 and I was railed. How can I avoid this in the future?

- Susie, Brooklyn

Dear Susie,

Congratulations! You got your hands on something Congress couldn’t – the Weapons of Mass Destruction. Unfortunately, however, when the cards were revealed, you had to realize it was the worst time to call as suited connectors are statistically best poised to crack those aces, and that’s exactly what happened. Pocket aces are horrible in other scenarios as well. During last year’s EPT in Monte Carlo, Isabelle “No Mercy” Mercier had pocket aces wiped away by Ross Boatman’s pocket 9s. He flopped a set of 9s, and the board tripped 6s in the end, giving him 9s full of 6s over Isabelle’s 6s full of those dreaded pocket rockets. They blew up right in her face and the result was pain, heartache, humiliation, and tilt. Of course, all these chips are in Euro, so that dismay was multiplied by the conversion rate [Today, the Euro is worth $1.31 to the American dollar – OUCH!]. Later on she would once again have those very aces done away with by pocket kings, making her the ultra short stack, and making this lesson horrifically clear – if you are dealt American Airlines, switch to US Air. Muck those aces IMMEDIATELY, if not sooner. In order to avert the sting of being felted, start treating A-A as if it’s 8-3 offsuit. Eliminate “the best starting hand in poker” from your repertoire, and quit giving in to the poker sensationalism created by the Chad Normans and the Vince van Pattens of the world. They tout these “monster” hands only to make for good TV. You can overcome this media manipulation, and the next time you come across this miserable mire, you’ll know better.

TEACH ME HOW TO READ

Dear Jimbo,

I would like to think I am a decent poker player, but I am positive my reading skills need to be better. I am fairly certain I have been moved of the “better hand” on several occasions. How can I guard against this?

- Bill, Milwaukee

Dear Bill,

Drink heavily – and OFTEN! Many poker gurus would advise against this as booze tends to impair judgment and ability, but that horse poo doesn’t get my buy-in. Clearly, there are alcoholic explanations for what we see on TV. Take, for example, WPT Ladies Night IV. The final two competitors, JJ Liu and Kelly Griggs, were in heads-up play for the title. JJ started off with a pocket K-7, dominating Kelly’s Q-7. The flop came J-7-6, giving both ladies middle pair. When the turn came an inconsequential 8, Kelly made what looked like a sensible check and JJ made a move, which elicited an almost immediate all-in raise from Kelly. JJ took a step back, gulped from her flask, and wondered what the hell was going on. Kelly was very evidently on her own generous dose of moonshine as she started chanting “this is my destiny” over and over to the point of nausea. JJ finally tired of this spew and made the amazing call, winning the final hand and the tournament. Come to find out later on, JJ would not have made that call without the help of her friend and mine, Skyy Vodka. That elixir provided the insight and mentality she needed to overcome that all-in move and make the correct read. In the end, Kelly could not get JJ off the better hand. You can apply this to our own game as well. It’s a technique I’ve employed for years - Drink and Think. The next time you get a pocket of Q-Q, let that blurred vision work to your advantage, and before you know it, WOW, you suddenly have a pocket of Q-Q-Q! AMAZING! The key here is not to repeat stupid lines – you certainly do not want to give away any information as to the strength of your hand. Simply sit stoically and pensively, and patiently wait for the flop. When you see it come Q-6-4, look very intently at the board then back at your hand, darting your eyes back and forth at mind-boggling speeds. The proverbial fireworks go off in your head as you realize you hit the dream flop – FIVE QUEENS!!! Your opponents will bet into you, thinking you have crap, because the massively pained expression on your face is indicating weakness. This is the perfect time to come over the top and let your opponents know that you’re not the fish [at least in poker] that they think you are. The Drink and Think method is particularly useful because you no longer have to waste time and effort reading your competitors. The other players will be spending their time misreading YOU, and you can successfully translate their poor reads into winning hands and dollars.

Jimbo’s random thought of the day: Friends don’t let friends play 7-2 offsuit. The next time you see that suspicious hand, report it to the authorities immediately!