ActionStein

I never really had cause to invent an imaginary friend in my youth due to overwhellming popularity and an abundance of real friends. By the time this fruitful period had waned with the delayed visit from the puberty fairy Im still waiting on, I had washed up on the shores of loserdom, without an imaginary paddle. Rather than revert to the mental recess I had been denied, I had abuses to hide my frustrations instead of allowing them to manifest themselves in my subconscious. Thing is, maybe having an imaginary friend is a neccessary evil. By confronting those parts of your psyche you cant claim ownership of, you can deflect the eventual emotional collapse that comes from repression.
What Im trying to say is I have a gambling problem. This isnt a newsflash, but I think I have found a way to further rationalize my low stakes dependancies. So I created this imaginary friend Im calling ActionStein. ActionStein is unreasonably tall, maybe like six foot four. He wears a cape made of craps felt, and a belt buckle that doubles as a slot machine. His miniture pointed beard belies his hebrew heritage, though he does sport a gold yarmakule with green dollar signs sprinkled about the top. Though he does have the same stiff movements of his predecessor frankenstein, when he walks its more of a monster mash like shimmy than a stilted march forward. Whenever he appears out of nowhere to give me gambling pointers, he always opens by taking large sniffs in the air with his oversized nostrils. After sufficiently taking in the aroma, he’ll turn to me with that twinkle in his eye and say, “You smell that Ed. Maybe the bloodhound in me is fading, but damn if it doesnt smell like action out here.”
Tonight, after tearing up my roommate russell at back gammon, it was time for us to take it to the tourists insteads of each other. We headed to the mgm, declaring a race as we got in our cars. Clearly, the house champ was the first to the poker room employing a wide range of both aggressive and evasive manuvers on the crowded roadways. Russell paid up the GW he owed and we grabbed seats at seperate 1/2 blind no limit tables. Though I was signifigantly high, it was no excuse for the brashness with which I attacked this table. Basically, I found A-10 suited and A-K offsuit on my first two hands and took down pots without havin to show a damn thing. this was arguably the worst thing that could have happened to me, because I had it in my head that I was at a table of pussies. I started bettin real agressive like, and eventually I was gonna get caught. The hand came with a flop of three hearts queen high when a guy bet out twenty and I reraised him all in with my pair of queens ten kicker. He called with ace queen, and I was down half my stack right from the get go. A couple missed flops and strong moves later and I was throwing a raise out with K-J that turned out to be my downfall. The entire time ActionStein was whispering in my ear, “Look at this pussy, you think he can call you? Be a man damnit, this is your pot if you want it bad enough. That bluffin mother fucker wants to make you look the fool. Maybe you like lookin the fool, if thats the case then dont man up, but you have no business at this table lettin a chump like that walk away with your chips.” Once I had pissed away the full two bills, I made my way towards the exit.
Problem is, they make you walk by all those table games, and I did have a few bucks kickin around in my pocket. Maybe you’re right actionstein, that wheel sure does look ready to catch fire, whats a couple bets gonna hurt. So I cashed in for 36 and told myself I would cover my numbers for three rolls and walk away if nothing hit. But of course, when I got one hit, I pressed my bets until there were no longer any bets to be pressed. Then came the craps table and team moulton fared no better. Another twenty eight bucks down the tube two points later and the pockets were now fully bare. How fucking hard would it have been for me to hit that final eight? Forty four, thirty five, fucking six duece, I dont care how we get there, but if that point could have started a hot streak Actionstein was confident in my abilities to get back even.
But as I made the long walk down the corridor of overpriced food shops to the self park, I had to stare down the peanut butter fudge at the fudge shop knowing full well I was unable to provide the neccessary currency. A true gambler goes until there aint no more to go and then he starts borrowing. Thats the one lucky break that I got in that realm, I have enough pride not to go begging to friends when the shit heads south. Either that or my friends been burned so many times they know not to trust me, but regardless, I would bankrupt myself before I would ever stop chasing the dream. Im like the guy in wheel of fortune who knows full well how to solve the puzzle, but figures what could one more spin cost me? Maybe Ill hit the silver fox, and the whole family will be feasting on fifty dollar filets the rest of the week. Im your huckleberry, Sajak.
Then comes the onset of full on gamblers remorse. You know how it goes dude, it comes in many different forms, but they all end the same. Why did I split those sevens against an eight, what the fuck was I thinking? Why didnt I just walk, maybe always bet on black doesnt really mean always, what the fuck was I thinking? I knew that fuck flopped his set, but I still had to reraise my flush draw, what the fuck was I thinking? Wouldnt it be a whole lot easier if instead of beating yourself up you could just blame a lovable yet machavilian characiture of your own disease. Damn you Actionstein, the bagels are on you this mornin you son of a bitch. And all you can really do is smoke a bowl, and lament the fact that you were cursed with a the one son of moses who gives consistently unsound finincial advice. Things could be worse, you could be like my buddy Johnny whose imaginary friend is a thai whore who constantly challenges him to games of connect four that she always wins. Oh, and she has a viscious case of the herp.

ActionStein

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