Don't Point That Thing At Me...

**Re-published by request.  Original post appeared Sept 2010.


Let's face it kids; there are some things in this world that we just don't always have the time and patience to deal with.

As a kinda young, sorta hip, reasonably sexy woman, I am often faced with things that I don’t want. Emails about hair loss or Viagra, for example. Brazilian waxes. Math. And more often than not, boners.

 

They seem to come out of nowhere, with the least provocation. I mean, the simple act of waking up in the morning will excite a man to the consistency of a rock. He doesn’t look expectantly at his sheets and say, “Well, are you going to finish this, or what?” Yet my opposable thumbs mean I’m eternally responsible for getting rid of Mr. Wiggly.

Now normally, I heart penises. Really, they’re great. A little funny-looking, not exactly a box of kittens, but no big whoop... sometimes, though, you’re just not in the mood to deal with them. Sometimes you just want to go home, watch the last 6 episodes of "It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia" and Google random stuff.

So what’s a girl to do? A hand job may sound like a good idea but it can quickly become a trap; I learned when I was 17 that the ol' I’m-sure-you-can-do-it-better-yourself excuse will only mean you have a different job. A job called blow. In order to escape both of these, you’ll need to be crafty. Tricky. Horrifically unattractive. Here’s a list of my favorite lines for penis-proofing your evening:

-"Your wiener is so cute!"  Men HATE it when you call their junk "cute".  If he’s Jewish, be sure to note that he has a kosher wiener. Or, if hooking up with a Chinaman, call it a “Wang” and tug on the corner of your eyes while hissing “You like flied lice?” And I’ve found that black men don’t particularly like it when you refer to their penis as a “G-g-g-G UNIT!”

-"Don’t you love my new veneers? They look great, but my teeth are so sharp!" Elaborate using words like “shred” and “puncture”, and make many analogies to the recent Florida shark attacks.

-"I never knew you could get herpes of the hands, but there you go!" Drive the point home with a needlessly complex story about your “Summer of the Goats” on your Uncle Tucker's farm in rural Kentucky.

-"Can you help me put in my diaphragm?" Look, I don’t even know what the hell a diaphragm is. But I think they’re roughly the size and shape of a Frisbee and have something to do with electromagnetism. Chances are, he doesn’t know either. Just pull a random object out of your purse, like an eggbeater or bottle of Nyquil, and lay it expectantly in his hand. When he hesitates, burst into a smile and say, "Oh, Nick! I knew you wanted to have a baby!" This works especially well if his name isn’t Nick.

-"Guess what I have back at my place…?" His eyes will light up eagerly, visions of whipped cream and lesbian twins dancing in his wee head. Wait a few beats to up the anticipation, and then slap your limp wrist against your chest and slur, “Durrrrrrrr”!!! Do this again and again, upping the ante each time, adding drool, a mild seizure, and maybe even a pants crapping or two for good measure.

-"Damn, I'm ITCHY AS A MOTHERFUCKER!!" That's it. Works like a charm.


As you can see, it’s no easy task successfully diffusing a boner. But with good communication and a little thing I like to call “fake cramps”, you’ll be in a cab and on your way home in no time! Done and done!

I'm One Of The Guys; The One With Great Tits...

Hey fellas! I know this is supposed to be "Guys' Night", but I thought you might be willing to make an exception for little ol' me. After all, I'm totally just like one of the guys!

I can completely understand your wanting to exclude females from this gathering. They can be such a pain! They demand too much attention, they're annoying, and they're just sooo high maintenance. Not me... I'm different! I'm not all hung up on labeling a relationship. I'm down for whatever, whenever, wherever. Hi-five!

Don't you hate it when girls are all stuck on what they look like? I'm not like that at all... check it out - jeans and a tiny, tiny t-shirt. Baseball cap with a ponytail through the back. No makeup (except a little mascara and some lip gloss).  If that doesn't make it clear that I'm just like one of the guys, I don't know what does.

Who's up for some buffalo wings?

Hey, huddle up - guy talk for a sec. I just wanna make one thing clear... This is definitely not a transparent ploy to gain your attention. This is in no way some sad attempt to connect with you because it's the only way I know how.

Break!

Hey, can I be in your fantasy football league?  I know I have no business being in it, but I'd love to be able to loudly announce to the guys at work that I'm in a fantasy football league and constantly talk about how my players are performing even though I have no idea what's going on and don't really care, because then they'd know that I'm just one of the guys! I think I'll draft Joe Montana with my first pick.  Then I'll take LeBron James, followed by Indiana Jones.

By the way, I have two brothers and we always wrestle. It's a guy thing.

Why, yes, that IS a Maxim magazine on the back of my toilet next to my scented candle and decorative seashells. I have a subscription! Maxim is the best magazine ever - it's sooo funny. "Top Ten Reasons Why Sorority Girls Are Easy"... Oh my God - sooooo true!

I guess I've always been a tomboy at heart. When all the other little girls in my neighborhood were playing with dolls, I was playing baseball with the boys.  I was horrible at it, and never had any real interest in the sport, but I got to wear pigtails and a cute jersey!

Wanna hear me burp the alphabet?

What's that? No, I don't mind if you ask my friend out.  But just between us guys, she's a total slut and you probably wouldn't want anything to do with her. She doesn't even know when the Superbowl is. I mean, come on.  Hey, just lookin' out, bro.

Who's down for some tackle football?

Nice Ass, Sweet Tits...

Every time I hear some tool screaming out offensive wolf calls to random, unsuspecting women, I can't help but wonder what they could possibly be thinking. Do they really believe, in their tiny little minds, that a declaration of "Hey girl, nice ass!" will receive a favorable reaction? Are the women they're accosting expected to reply, "Oh my God, THANK YOU!! Here, why don't you take my number and give me a call? I like your style, sir!" or something like that?

This morning, when one of the above mentioned asshats went out of his way to tell me that my ass is "phat with a p, shawty", I really began thinking about what must be happening in his brain. Who IS this guy? What does his thought process look like from his perspective?  And here's what I've decided the inner dialogue of a douchebag must be...

Let me know if you agree.



"Hey, baby! I know where you want it, and I can put it there for you! No? WhatEVER, bitch!"

Yeah, I'm yelling at women from my fifteen year old sports car. I'm gonna peel out afterward, crank the volume on my stereo, and hi-five my friend in the passenger seat. And I'm gonna do it because the noise drowns out the sobbing in my head.

If I were to meet you face-to-face at a club, I'd avoid eye contact and look into my Long Island Iced Tea... but look who's avoiding eye contact now! HA HA HA - YEAH BABY.

I haven't been with a woman since I was 17 years old - she was 42. I met her after I yelled "Papa like-y!" and then rode my 10 speed into a ditch... she picked me up out of the ditch and... wait - hold that thought.

"Hey, you red-hot piece of scrumptious! I see what you're selling, and I wanna buy everything you've got in stock! No? Your loss, slut!"

A partial list of things I've made love to:

- A teddy bear

- A sock

- Twelve different types of pillows

- A blow up doll

- A poster of Farrah Fawcett I found in my dad's closet

- A raw steak

- A banana peel

- A chicken breast (cooked, because Salmonella kills)

- A warm twinkie

- A 42 year old who picked me up out of a ditch when I crashed my 10-speed


In high school, I had only three friends; Tony, Marco, and Cody.  Now I only have two friends; Tony and Cody. Marco ended up being gay, and when he told us, I punched him in the face and called him a faggot.  What I really wanted to do was praise him for the courage to reveal such an emotional elephant to us, but I didn't because of the paralyzing fear in my gut that I find men attractive, too. Woah, look at this... TWO chicks at 2 o'clock! Hang on a second.

"What's up, bitches?? Wanna go for a ride? All the seats in this Chevy are occupied, but I could make some room for you.... ON MY FACE! No takers? Suit yourselves, cunts!"

Things I've Yelled At Women From My Car That Have Proven To Be Ineffective:

- I'm overcome by your attractiveness!

- Those jogging shoes are extremely fashionable!

- It's supposed to rain later today!

- You resemble my mother from behind!

- Papa like-y! 

Anyway, yeah... I yell things at women from my car. I yell "Nice ass!" and "Sweet tits!" and I scream "Stuck-up bitch!" or "Whore!" if they ignore me. I have no idea what I'd do if any of them actually answered me favorably. I doubt I perform well in bed, and would probably cry on the pillow next to them. But since that's never happened, I'll just keep on keepin' on.

 

Good Luck, Me...

 

After 2 straight months of diligently working on my game, I've decided to try something new, and invest in myself. I'll be playing the upcoming WSOPc series at Caesars, Atlantic City.  

I'll be taking a stab at it in the following tournaments - if you happen to be in the area on these dates, feel free to stop by and wish me luck or slip me your room key.


Monday, March 4th - Event #4 - No-Limit Hold 'Em - $365 - Ring Event

Wednesday, March 6th - Event #6 - No-Limit Hold 'Em Six Max - $365 - Ring Event

Friday, March 8th - Event #9 - No-Limit Hold 'Em Turbo - $365 - Ring Event

Saturday, March 9th - Ladies No-Limit Hold 'Em - $250 - Non-Ring Event

Sunday, March 10th - Event #11 - No-Limit Hold 'Em - $365 - Ring Event


In the event that I should accidentally do something very right and FT one of those, I plan to play the Main Event as well, which is on Saturday, March 9th ($1675).


Good luck, me.

2012 In Review... A Recap.

 
Well, THAT sucked.  And...



 Ummmm...




Nah, that's it.   

10 Ways To Use KY Jelly During A Hurricane

It is Sunday, October 28, 2012 5:33pm... At 5:29 pm, Dave Inselberg asked me to do a quick write entitled "Ten Ways To Use KY During A Hurricane."

I aim to please, so here you go, Dave...

Ten Ways To Use KY During A Hurricane


10.Smear it on your skin to serve as a rain barrier.

9.  For ass fucking.

8.  For ass fucking.

7.  For ass fucking.

6.  For ass fucking.

5.  For ass fucking.

4.  For ass fucking.

3.  For ass fucking

2.  For ass fucking.

1.  For serious ass fucking.

Amarillo Slim Smiled At Me From The Great Beyond...

Sometimes in life, the order in which certain events play out make you think that things really do happen for a reason...


Yesterday, or maybe the day before... actually, could have been 3 days ago - who knows? When you spend your life in poker rooms at 12 - 30 hours at a clip, the days all blend together. Anyway, SOMETIME earlier this week, I was doing my Twittah thang, and saw a tweet from @PetsAlive, a group dedicated to saving animals from euthanasia, about a dog named Max desperately needing a home.  Something about this dog just got to me... I mean, look at him!!! I decided, on the spot, that I would rescue this dog from shelter life, and in return, he'd rescue me from a life of conditional love.

So... I #SnapCalled and replied to the tweet, saying, "Max can come live with me... How do we do this?".  The shelter is in New York, I live in Delaware, but I even added, "I'll drive there and pick him up if I have to." I expected an immediate response, but didn't get one.  I had a few errands to run, and figured that by the time I was done, I'd definitely have a reply waiting, so I headed out to do what I needed to do, and even picked up a new doggie toy as a "welcome to your new home" gift for Max.

When I got home, I immediately checked Twitter, thinking that after a few hours, someone would DEFINITELY have responded. Nope. Nothing. And I was angry. I mean, did this place want their dogs adopted, or not?? I would think that, given the time sensitive nature of a shelter dog's situation, they would go out of their way to answer a person showing obvious interest, ESPECIALLY one willing to drive across FOUR states to pick the dog up!! 

I was bitching about it to a friend of mine (a cat person - ugh! *rolls eyes) who said "Who cares? Let the fucking dog die!" Nice. Leave it to a cat person to say something stupid. 

But, that phrase... "Let the dog die"... it rang a bell. Loudly. I knew I'd heard that phrase somewhere before, just couldn't put my finger on where. Something told me it was poker related. Hmmm... Where the HELL did I hear that?? Think, Kim, think... it'll come to you. After 5 minutes of attempted recollection, I gave up.

I again checked Twitter, and THIS time, there WAS a response from @PetsAlive, telling me to go to their website and fill out an application (which I did, so wish me and Max luck!!) but there was also a message from my pal Doyle Brunson, aka @TexDolly. Sadly, poker legend Amarillo Slim passed away on April 29; he and Doyle were very close friends.  Because people are, in general, human stains, there have been vicious rumors circulating about Amarillo Slim in the wake of his death - the things being said about him are so malicious in nature that I won't even dignify the bottomfeeders who are spreading these stories by going into specifics, but I'll tell you that the gist of Doyle's message to me was "He had his faults, but don't believe the shit people are saying about Slim".  Not to worry, sir, I don't.

BUT WAIT A SECOND!!! OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD... Doyle!!! THAT'S where I've heard the phrase "Just let the fucking dog die"!! YES!!! I knew it'd come to me somehow! There's a story in Doyle's book "Poker Wisdom Of A Champion" about that phrase!! Now... what the hell was that story about, again? If only my short term memory didn't fuck me in the ass on a regular basis, I'd be able to remember... Hmmm... Here we go again. Think, Kim, think. Oh, fuck this...  

I retrieved the book from it's spot on the shelf and proceeded to look for the story, and found it... right here on page 177. 

Weird how things come together, right? Right. Because on page 176, directly opposite of "Letting The Dog Die" is this picture, of Doyle & Amarillo Slim. The way Slim is posed, it's as if he's saying "Listen to THIS guy... He knows what he's talking about when it comes to what people are saying about me!"

The lesson here? Life is a bitch sometimes... but she does have her reasons. Pay attention when she speaks to you.

                                  

Rest in peace, Amarillo Slim.

Names Have Been Changed To Protect Stupid Motherfuckers...

For those of you who do that thing called.. um... sleep? Yeah, sleep. For those of you who do that, Happy Saturday! For me, it's still Tuesday, but I digress...

Last night, @Jennicide (aka "JAWS") (aka Jennifer Leigh) and I hung out for a while, ranting & raving and exchanging horror stories about drawing to 2 outs, bricking 26 outers, and not being able to fold. <--- All code phrases for other issues, but frankly, the real details are none of your fucking business. Anyhooooo... that bitch makes me laugh. She also makes me think. She gave me some food for thought, and I PIGGED OUT on it. (Thanks, JAWS... you're the best.)

While giving serious consideration to some of the things Jennicide suggested I consider, I was mindlessly going through old blog post drafts and stumbled upon this true story from about 2 summers ago. Reading it reminded me that I'm not exactly a stranger to making bad decisions... and what I (ding! ding! ding! *epiphany*) realized is that in life, just like in poker, even though surrendering sucks balls, you can save yourself a boatload of tilt if you muck your hand as soon as you know you're beat. And you know what sucks bigger and hairier balls than folding?? Drawing dead.

So without further adieu, here it is... the silly little story that will change my life from today forward. Enjoy!


Okay, kiddies... so at long last, here's my camping story - enjoy it. Or don't. Frankly, I'm way too hot to give a shit.

So as you all know, I had another one of my infamous "Who Is She Kidding, This Is Going To Be A Disaster" ideas... This one was entitled "Wouldn't It Be Great If We Went Camping - But Not Just Regular Camping. Wouldn't It Be Great If We Spent A Week In The Total Wilderness With Bears And Wolves And Who Gives A Shit That It's Been Raining For Nineteen Weeks Straight, This Is Gonna Be Awesome!"

Skipping the gristle and getting straight to the bone, it was by far one of my worst Great Ideas ever.... here's how it all went down:

My best friend, who from here forward shall be referred to as "Mr. Vagina", and I hit the road headed for Baldface Mountain in Maine. According to Mapquest, which from here forward shall be referred to as "The Website That Fucked Me Over", the distance to our destination was approximately 230 miles. Mr. Vagina and I calculated that the entire trip, including stops to eat and pee, should take no more than 5 hours. Awesome! We put the Eminem 'Relapse' CD in the stereo and set sail. Or set drive. You know what I fucking mean.



Putting all our trust in The Website That Fucked Me Over was my second most moronic idea of all time, because by following the directions they gave, we were taken so far off our course that we ended up arriving to the mountain 4 hours late. Guess what kids? 4 hours late translates to climbing a mountain (4400' elevation by the way), hiking a mile and a half deep into the forest and setting up a frigging tent in the dark. The pitch dark. The scary, deep in the woods, up in a fucking mountain, hey did I just hear a wolf howl, I can't see JACK SHIT type of dark. Yeah.

MUST...HAVE...FIRE.  Guess what kids? Can't make fire without wood. Guess what else kids?? Every piece of wood in the forest is wet. I manage to find a log that's only about 60% saturated and begin chopping with my itty bitty Playskool-esque hatchet and (no word of a lie) THREE HOURS later, I had managed to chop a tiny hunk out of my new arch nemesis, the damp log.

I threw my little hunk of wood into what Mr. Vagina claimed was our fire ring and told him to get the fire rockin'. An hour and a half later, Mr. Vagina still had not produced fire out of the fucking thing. His parents MUST be cousins, no? (Just FYI folks: this "fire ring" was actually 4 stones in a retarded semi circle... and by the way, that's what Mr. Vagina managed to accomplish during my three hours of hardcore wood chopping labor) So our first day ends in utter disappointment without fire. Oh, and did I mention we forgot to take the sleeping bags out of the car? No big deal though... I had a towel.

If I tell you every detail of the remainder of the trip, you'll be reading until Catholic priests stop playing slap and tickle with little boys, so let me just summarize from here on out:

Day #2

 
- wake up FREEZING under my towel blanket

- four more total hours wasted hiking back down and back up then back down and back up and back down mountain to the car in order to retrieve remaining   gear

- managed to get small fire lit - wood is still soaking wet

- attempt at making burgers failed (I knocked the grill grate over while fleeing prehistoric sized mosquito and burgers got ruined)

- stuck hot dogs on the end of sticks and ate those instead

- begin 2nd attempt at chopping firewood   (which comes to a screeching halt when I realize I've got five open blisters from Day 1's firewood chopping fiasco)

- hike back down mountain and drive 30 miles to buy firewood

- torrential rain starts at 6 pm and DOES NOT STOP

- decide to just go to sleep, telling ourselves "You know what? The hard part is over... our fun can start tomorrow."

Yeah.

- wake up in middle of night to sloshing sounds... tent is leaking

- turn on lantern... we're sitting in a 3 inch puddle

- sleeping bags and entire backpacks including clothing SOAKED

- thunder, lightening and rain does not let up

- Mr. Vagina huddles up in a corner of the tent while I bail out the water.     
  Laziness and homosexual tendencies - there's something penicillin won't cure
  in a fella, right Mr. Vagina???

Yeah. The hard part's over alright.

Day #3any future floods.

- Realizing I'm on my hands and knees covered in mud, bugs and sweat while Mr.Vagina is standing above  me in a squeaky clean rain slicker, I state the  obvious: "You're a fucking pussy, Mr. Clean... GET THE FUCK DOWN HERE  AND HELP ME WITH THIS DIGGING!!!!!"

- Mr. Vagina responds with "Every team has a laborer and an engineer. I'M THE  ENGINEER."

- I throw digging tool at Mr. Vagina and decide that I will poison him later.

- Rain stops FINALLY and Mr. Vagina gets a fire lit

- Successfully make burgers and dogs... eat like kings, laughing about the
  whole thing

- Hiked to a spot on Baldface Mountain called "The Emerald Pool"... Jumped off a 30 foot cliff into the natural spring. Had the time of my life until I realized Mr. Vagina had no intentions of jumping too. Jumped (solo) once more, forcing Mr. Vagina to stand on an adjoining cliff to snap the action shot. Decided this wasn't any fun without a jumping partner.

- Pissed, begin hiking back to site. Asked Mr. Vagina if he was afraid his tampon would have gotten wet if he had jumped. 

- Once back at site, I rolled a huge doob while Mr. Vagina got the fire roaring better than he had the whole trip... Sat back, smoked & watched the dancing flames.

- Begin hearing wolves howling...

- Howling seems to be coming from VERY VERY close proximity to site - start panicking

- Get ambushed by a spinning animal of unknown origin when it runs head first into our dining canopy

- Scream and run like little girls, never finding out what the animal was or  where it went.

- Paranoid for the next 2 hours, Mr. Vagina refuses to turn off blinding lantern so we can enjoy the campfire.

- I Finally convince Mr. Vagina to turn off said blinding lantern, but agree to let him scan the woods every 40 seconds with Bat Signal like flashlight.

- During one of his scans, Mr. Vagina jumps up and yells "IT'S RUNNING RIGHT AT US!"  but does not specify what is running at us or from which direction it is running. BY FAR THE SCARIEST MOMENT IN MY ENTIRE LIFE.


- Turns out Mr. Vagina is just a pink dress wearing pussy and it was nothing.

- We make S'mores and laugh about what a disaster this whole thing is.

- It starts to rain again and I'm not laughing anymore.

Day #4:

- Wake up realizing that I left my shoes outside the tent overnight and they are now a wading pool for mosquitoes.

- Put plastic bags over my feet and wear wet shoes anyway, risking the jungle  rot.

- Dry firewood is now wet because Mr. Vagina moved the tarp I had covering it.

- I throw marshmallow stick at Mr. Vagina, again reminding him of his mind blowing incompetence.

- Hike BACK DOWN mountain and make another 30 mile drive to get more dry firewood. Lug the 60 pounds of wood back up mountain.

- Slip on moss covered rock while lugging wood up mountain and sprain my right hand. In an attempt to rescue me from falling, Mr. Vagina falls as well, busting his shin wide open. Because of our injuries, it takes 3 trips to get the wood to the top of the mountain.

- Mr. Vagina tries and tries and tries but cannot get fire lit.

- I tell Mr. Vagina "I'm soooo glad you came - too bad your father did!" and storm off, announcing that I'm going home and leaving him there alone to become bear food.

- Got pissed because he wasn't scared even a little bit.... Decide I need to take a short walk to cool down. Grab my flashlight and head for the path.

- Come face to face on path with snarling animal, which I could only assume was a wolf. Turns out it was a dog, but snarling nonetheless... Dog shows it's teeth and inches toward me, I raise my Mag Light and ready myself to smash its head in.

- Dog's owner comes prancing around the bend in her fucking L.L. Bean gear and tells me "You need to stop shining the light in her eyes." IS SHE KIDDING ME???? I tell Captain Dumbcunt that her dog just came seconds from death and that she should really have it on a leash. Because I was feeling extra helpful in that moment, I also advised her to go eat a flaming bag of dicks.

- I skulk back to the site and tell Mr. Vagina to get packing... we have no choice but to just leave.

I'd rather swim in raw sewage than ever go camping again.

Turning Japanese, I Think I'm Turning Japanese, I Really Think So

   .

DISCLAIMER: This blog reflects the thoughts, opinions, ideas, near moral bankruptcy and emotional shortcomings of myself; it does not reflect the thoughts, opinions, ideas, and/or body odor of my shadow, my friends, my neighbors, my dog or my raised middle finger.  All rights reserved, all lefts reserved. This blog is subject to change without notice. Any resemblance to actual talent, living or lucky, is unintentional and purely coincidental. Sane and balanced people and their families are not eligible. Beware of dog. Forget the dog, beware of owner, bah dum bah. As seen on TV. One size fits all. Hand wash only, tumble dry on low heat. Do not fold, spindle, or mutilate. No substitutions allowed. For a limited time only. Press hard, you are making five copies. This blog is void to null where prohibited, protected, declared private, taxed, or otherwise restricted. Blog is provided "as is" without any warranties expressed or implied. User assumes all liabilities. Not liable for damages due to use or misuse or inability to understand. Glaring Madness is An Equal Opportunity Offender. No shirt, no shoes, no heat stroke. Quantities are limited while supplies last. Do not write below this line. Falling rock. Falling bridge. Bridge over troubled water. Bridge under troubled waiter. Waiter! There's a fly in my soup. Quantity is never a problem but quality may vary. Since blog is hand-crafted, there will be slight differences in each interpretation. If defects are discovered, do not attempt to fix them yourself, but return your head to its ass of origin.

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This disclaimer does not cover hurricane, lightning, tornado, volcanic eruption, premature ejaculation, earthquake, Quaker Oats, Acts of Bob, misuse, neglect, repair, attempted modification, bugs in the code, brain damage from faulty comprehension skills, high voltage, cosmic rays, missing or altered serial numbers, attempting to actually read this, sonic boom vibrations, electromagnetic radiation from nuclear blasts, and incidents related to airplane crash, ship sinking, motor vehicle accidents, leaky roof, alien attack, broken glass, falling rocks, blue balls, mud slides, winter storm warnings, menstrual cramps, forest fire, flying squirrels, verbal assaults, hostile military takeovers, or house arrest. Other restrictions may apply. Your mileage may vary. My patience may vary. Glaring Madness is a proud sponsor of Pham Le Nguyen from third world Sri Lanka - fourteen cents a month really adds up in some corners of the world. Code used in this blog was made from 100% recycled wing-its and i guess so's. No outlet. No inlet. No deposit, no return. No left turn. No right turn. No u-turn. Turning Japanese, I think I'm turning Japanese, I really think so.

CONTEST ~ Name My Dog

UPDATE: I've received some awesome submissions so far:

@Poker Lawyer - Stu, Proust, Ballz, "Doyle," Brunson," "Zinger," "Dolly," or "Godfather"

@MikeDurand "Zing" "Tank" "Benny"

@barneyboatman @kimshannon BitchBoy

@ohm2k Short Buy

@sweetjamespei Jackpot

@tj coach Pocket Aces

@kari2867 Acr

@gregkuroda Lucky

@larryspraker since you are helping a dog literally hit one of their "outs", go with "outs", "river", "suckout", or the like

@okheresthething Doyle, Brunson, Slimey Gash, BJ, Rimshot, Richocet, Or Trips.

@vocabularry Personally I'd go with Badbeat or Stacks.

@urbanazian Reload

@whoisdavidclark Bink!

@verbgravy I didn't even check the picture, but I'm pretty sure you should him slowroll or busto.

@zebezeba lassie

@55franchise Stay. Think about calling the dog.

@jennyablue Chip

@aclayman60 kitty

@notlikeyou rebuy

@jokerroper rico

@urbanazian Spew, Stuck

All FANTASTIC suggestions! So far, I'm partial to "Bink" and "Dolly". Travis likes "Tank" and LOVES "Chip". Hmmmm... Decisions, decisions.

Tomorrow, my boyfriend (@OnAFoldDraw) and I are going to the animal shelter to adopt a rescue dog. Normal folks get a dog and then name it according to its personality. Like I said, that's what NORMAL people do.

Because what matters to me, above anything else, is that we save a dog from being euthanized, it really doesn't matter what the dog's breed, age, size or sex is. I'll be picking out the dog that most closely fits the name that YOU guys have chosen.

When you think of @kimshannon & @OnAFoldDraw's dog, what do you see it being named? Submit your best dog name choices via Twitter (http://twitter.com/kimshannon) or Facebook (http://facebook.com/kimshannon.kimminentdanger) using the hashtag #NameThatDog. If your submission is chosen, you not only receive the honor of naming our dog, your Twitter name (or your real name, if you don't have a Twitter account) will be the dog's last name!!

Remember, we're choosing our rescue dog based on it's name, so make it a good one!!!

Want Some?

The Borgata Winter Poker Open starts Tuesday, January 17th with the $500 + $60 Deepstack event (half million guarantee). This is your last chance to lock up a piece of my action! $8 per 1%, people. If you're interested, email me at kimshannonpoker@gmail.com to discuss the details. GO ME!!! (Go us!!)