I am pleased to announce that the Monkey With a Gun Blog, which previously only wrote about gambling, and then only occasionally a few years ago, has now expanded into ACTUAL gambling in the MONKEY WITH A GUN CARD ROOM, now live on the Poker Mavens website. To get there, click on the link below, enter the password ComplicatedShirts (caps matter, you guys), set up your account, and get ready to play poker for real cash dollars.
When you set up your account, you will immediately be credited with $1,000, but that is only temporary my friend. Use that fake money to play some games, and test out the site. Invite your friends to play some games, and test everything to make sure everything is working right.
In a few days, we will erase that fake cash and start over with real money. If you want to keep playing after the restart, Venmo some real money to me, I will load up your account and we will be playing for real. More news to come, but give the site a tryout for now, and let me know if you want in for the real games.
Inspired by SeaDick’s blog of yesterday covering the latest music, I planted myself in front of my laptop and ridiculously giant extra screen to blog about the Sopranos’ anniversary. Figured I would acknowledge the truth of SeaDick’s allegations regarding my musical proclivities, and move on with some deep thoughts about the greatest television show of all time. Having been called out by SeaDick, I had to at least give him the goddamn common courtesy of checking out this “Spotify” thing, and the new music he is promoting. Anyway, this is awesome!
Alotta guys (two) have been asking me how, exactly, I won eleven grand betting on Ian Happ’s lead off home run at the start of the Cub’s 2018 season, after I mentioned that in a blog a few weeks ago about whether I got roofied in Cabo (I did). Well, here’s the full story.
Some MAGAt Trumpster at the Federalist delivered a broadside last week claiming that “You’re Not Allowed to Knock Trump for Stormy Daniels If You Watch Porn.” Yes, that was the actual headline. The full article is here. So many ways to go with this one, but let’s just hit the high points and then take a deep dive into the logic at play which, although erroneous, is kind of interesting. And, that headline will be a little confusing at first, especially for Republicans, but I promise I to tie this all up like a Christmas bow by the end. So hang in there.
Got a call from Mongo a few weeks ago, who was in Cabo for the week for a wedding. Mongo asked me to come down to Cabo to work on a proposal we needed to get done to get some new business. Mongo said he was staying in some ridiculous house in Cabo, with its own pool and a “casita.” A “casita” is a “small house or outer building.” Mongo said I would actually be doing him a favor if I stayed in the casita so he wouldn’t feel like he was wasting money having that little house out there sitting empty. Wanting to help Mongo out, and considering that the stay would be as free as the salad at Olive Garden, I grabbed a flight to Cabo to go work on the proposal.
Jake and I still debate whose idea it was to get Bronson. The idea to get another dog was probably mine. But I swear to your god and mine that it was Jake’s idea to get a Rottweiler. I had never even met a Rottweiler. I had only seen them in the movies. A scary brute, silently guarding the estate or junk yard, available, if necessary, to kill or maul any intruder.Continue reading →
The kids and I left for Florida the day after Trish’s funeral. The trip served a couple of purposes. Mainly we needed to get Alexa back to school for the end of her freshman year at the University of Miami. We also needed more time to spend together as a family, just the five of us, and figure out how this new life might work without Trish. So on the Thursday after Trish died, the day after her funeral, we loaded up the family truckster and headed out on the 24 hour drive for South Florida.Continue reading →
Strange that I didn’t know the answer to that, but I didn’t, so I asked. Uncle Bud, his real name is Albert, but everyone called him Bud, was my dad’s oldest brother. As the oldest brother, Uncle Bud was the patriarch of the family, at least since my grandpa had died in 1983.Continue reading →
We are getting near the end, but still in that worst time of the year–after the Super Bowl when there are no good sports to watch and there is nothing to do except not get invited to a fancy cotillion where all your friends have a choice between beef and chicken and can spend $200 on a basket of tomatoes that isn’t even full of tomatoes because the bottom was fraudulently stuffed with paper. No worries, because I certainly have better things to do, like clean and wax the basement floor, which is oddly satisfying to me in ways that no one will ever understand. And having time to find that document that just might be worth millions, or maybe even hundreds of millions. Whatever. Life is good!
No better time than this to turn to the Blonde Tracks. So how about another tune from the goddess Dido. Great song here, and I don’t think she has ever been more smoking hot than in this video.
Alotta guys have texted me saying that Dido isn’t that hot, that her face is asymmetrical, and calling her a “Pipes 6.” Well, that is just mean, to both me and her. Fuck those guys. Team Dido all the way.