Hip Shot: iToonsical Ray ban Sunglasses Hut

"I'm atrocious at the final mesa when thems wide-awake," I complained to Helen. Dealing one-on-one with a different individual, in primal  Replica Oakley Sunglasses communication, it fed blooming heck psychological faults. Blooming heck shrink thought this cost a suitable agate line from interrogation, and perhaps we'd get to it once we carried on with all that other crap.
"You won't be playing heads up," Helen said.   Boston Red Sox Caps When people get knocked out, the guys on the floor fill the seats with other players, and once the Main Event finally gets down to nine guys, they adjourn until November, to maximize TV ratings. In the unlikely event Al-Qaeda gunned down everyone in the tournament except for me and a Robotron, I'd have plenty of time to learn about proper heads up play.
The study problems in Gordon were giving me grief, I told her. "Phil Gordon's always like, 'I was at this table playing 8-6 off suit' — "

EXERCISE: Get a Poker Handle. The Old Masters of poker, they had truly awe-inspiring nicknames: Amarillo Slim, Sailor Roberts, Pippi Longstocking. So I got to brainstorming. The Slouch: I slouched. Rocket Racer: After the

Ray ban Sunglasses Hut  Spider-Man nemesis/ally from the '70s, a black guy on a rocket-powered skateboard. It was a multivalent moniker, alluding to my melanin count, my transportation issues, and "rocket" was slang for pocket Aces. A pair of aces, you better get ready to race if you want to take the pot from me. Five Dollar Colson: Referring, for once, not to my home-game buy-in, but what'd charge for most acts if I ever started hooking. I sell myself short a lot. Finally, I went with The Unsubscribe Kid. I liked the implied negation of things other "humans" might enjoy. Now all I had to do was get someone to ask me what my poker nickname was.

EXERCISE: Sunglasses. Like most people, I'd spent my whole life looking for a socially acceptable situation in which I could wear sunglasses indoors, and here it was. They made for good TV, most definitely, the sunglasses guys and their imposing, unreadable faces, the lenses reflecting back your own dumb face. Mirrored, wrap-around, robin's egg tinted. Sunglass Hut did not stock what I required. I needed the exactly just-so pair, some sort of Vulcan smithy-god to forge them in the very bowels of the Earth, a set of glowing, molten intimidation shades in a scene drawn  Cheap New Era Caps  by Walt Simonson. Well, I tried, but despite my efforts I couldn't bring myself to wear sunglasses during my practice runs. The social taboos cost besides strong, or my internal douchebag monitor set too gamy, I dunno. I'd birth to make do with blow me naturally half-dead countenance.