It was a mehhhhhh time in Dubuque in 2013. Did we have fun? Yes. Did we have some interesting new (or returning) characters? Yes. But did I win any money? No. I lost. A lot.
Thankfully wwhazz wasn’t kicked out of the casino this year, but we did witness an innovative new way to handle obnoxious poker players. After an hour or two of Scientist’s table banter, the poker room manager informed him (via an old, tiny waitress) that he could have another drink ONLY if he drank an entire bottle of water in front of them first. A couple of things here:
Scientist bottoms-upped the thing and chugged it while staring them down…
…but then proceeded to dump some in Timmer’s scotch. Timmer, being involved in a hand at the time, didn’t notice until later.
Also, I was way drunker than anyone at the table but because I kept quiet they just kept feeding me Crown & Cokes.
I was pretty much never ahead except for that first poker game, though I lost everything on the end when Scientist bluffed my ass off and I gave him most of my money. Things went downhill from there: bad craps, bad roulette, bad blackjack, etc.
Wwhazz did have a very interesting idea to try to get into the Al Capone suite at the Julian next year and find Joe to run some games there. So go to Dubuque, but don’t go to any casinos. “Why go to Dubuque then?” you ask. “Two reasons,” I respond, “Paul’s Tavern and Funiculars.”
I saw on Snapchat that Scientist burned old Greenie in the backyard? Why? I don’t understand all of the gobbledygook you people are talking about in the comments. Is Greenie-burning because you lost at the Fantasy Whatever? Or because Rogers sat on his balls and didn’t come back this week? I don’t get it.
Kid Disco yesterday was interesting; I liked the nachos, bloody mary’s, and watching children slowing turn into sleeping pumpkins by jumping up and down in front of a bubble machine for two hours.
Dubuque 2012 (nee my dadchelor party) has now come and gone, and I can say for certain that we did not come out winners this year. More incredibly still, it seems that down is up and now we prefer Diamond Jo’s to Mystique. I don’t know if there’s much more to report on that topic, at least that wouldn’t get us all in trouble.
On the trip I brought up the idea of nominating and voting on a Comment of the Year award here at whazzmaster.com, and it seemed warmly received. The Top Three in my mind are as follows:
rach-o just spent more money on a new bed than any other single thing in our house cost. when i yelled at her, she said i should “feel lucky” because of how much she could have spent, but didn’t…. and also that it’s a “good investment”……
i am so dumb.
i forgot all about that lucrative used bed market)*(&!#%&)*(!#%)&*(#$^*()$@^&*(!#%&*(!#%&*(!#%*()
I fear I shall have no heir… now even a girl one. i am approaching the winter of my life… my vision… becomeing blurred, who is there? is that you, scientist? i can see your apple ball now… throw… the high… heeat..
Who will keep my pocket knives oiled when I ascend into the great beyond? WHO???? who will prostalitze pinkco propaganda upon thy whazzmaster.com? WHO????????????????????// whooooooooooooooooo Away! away! for I will fly to thee… the viewless wings of Poesy. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! #keatsbitchessssssss
So there you go, do you have any Comments Made in 2012 that we should consider for the inaugural award? Let me know.
A devious monkey sent me this:
So we’re down to the wire on the whole having-a-kid front here at WM Central Command- I’m not sure there will be many more posts between now and the Joyous Occasion, but you all’ll be the first to know!
Most of the Whazzmaster.com Krew assembled up near Ontonagon, MI last weekend to yell at each other and eat fried food. And drink beer. And gamble.
But in the middle of all of that we were supposed to play out the epic pitching duel between Madd and Cal. One at-bat for all the marbles… would Scientist burn up Cal with three straight heaters? Or would Cal hit a 500 foot homerun for the ages?
Well, we certainly won’t know this year because Madd forgot the goddamned baseballs. Instead watch what actually happened…
Yes, I’m the star of the hit show: Vegas! This one’s a reboot after four years in development hell. Seal Team Seven dropped into McCarran Airport at 9:30am on Friday and we were checked-in at TheHOTEL by 10:30am.
A little lunch (tequila) and we were off and running at the tables. I won $75 playing craps, and then wandered over where the rest of our group was playing roulette. Played my usual style (heavy on 20, lighter on 12, spread the table to hedge) and in four spins I went [12, 12, blank, 20]. After the back-to-back twelves I was heavyheavyheavy on the 20 when it hit- I think I won $500 or $600 on just the 20. I kept hitting numbers so on an off chance I just threw a hundo on 20 to see if vegas had decided it was my time to fucking SHINE. Nope, not that lucky.
We went and threw down a G-ball on steaks and scotch. I had some roasted marrow bones that grossed out most of the table (though Spacebee did eat some!) and then we headed back to the tables. Went up another $350 at craps and then met everyone for live band karaoke at the House of Blues. Sat and drank beer, vodka, and more during that little run and then they closed the show down around 2:30am (right before I was up on the list to sing Jump Around!)
I’d been drinking since lunchtime (the full list: beer, scotch, vodka, tequila, red wine, and two hundred 7&7’s) so I swayed over to the roulette table again and played some more numbers. I hit the 12 and 20 again and was up about $400 when I decided to take my winnings and quit while I was ahead. I colored up my chips, tipped the dealer, and what I had was a bunch of blacks and one $25 greenie. I threw the greenie on 20 and it hit on the next spin. Boom: $900 holmes. I was so drunk that I didn’t even get excited. I just swayed there and grinned for about 5 minutes, then went to pee.
Two of the folks we were with went to bed 45 seconds before the big score, and then the other four of us were trying to decide what to do. The other couple asked if we wanted to go to bed since we’d been up since 3am, Vegas-time, and I yelled “I’m rich biatch! We’re partyin’!” We went to the Minus 5 Ice Bar in the Mandalay and I bought fur coats for the ladies so they could sit on an ice bench and drink Snowflakes. Spacebee was very wobbly in the ice bar, and everyone thought I was the Incredible Hulk the way I was still functioning like a hue-man given the amount I’d drank. We retired at about 4:30am.
So on Friday I bought into chips for $200 after lunch and when I went to bed I had $2400 in chips in my pocket.
Cue ominous, distant thunder.
I spent some fo the winnings to rent a cabana by the pool on Saturday. They were pretty booked up but they reserved us one and said we had to get downstairs before 10:30a or they’d charge my held card number and give away the reservation. I awoke to a bad (but not too bad, considering) hangover, pulled clothes on, and stumbled down towards the pool at 10am while everyone else slept in or ate breakfast. In the elevator I cursed at the thumping disco music to the amusement of the other occupants. Halfway across the vast Mandalay casino floor I had to stop and give myself a pep talk that I’d make it to the pool. I approached the cabana host counter and asked the nice lady working there if she’d kill me. She looked concerned and said, “…no.” They took me over to the cabana and the host asked if he could get me anything. I asked politely for coffee, and then I curled up in a ball and slept in the corner of the cabana until everyone else showed up (some not until 2pm).
Later in the evening we had dinner and then headed down to Fremont Street. Holy fucking hell that place has gone to shit. By which I mean: it used to be a respite from the dumb bullshit on the strip, but every casino I walked into had $10 or $15 minimum tables and were packed to the gills. The booming music, the collective wal*mart patrons of america clientele, the dancing grannies. I could put up with all that for $3 craps, but no fucking way am I gonna endure that for the same table minimums I would find on the strip.
I lost every bet I made on Saturday.
I lost nearly every bet I made on Sunday.
We went and saw the Love show at The Mirage on Sunday night. Afterwards we wandered into O’Sheas and whooped it up with some $5 craps. Then we walked all the way back to the Monte Carlo and jumped a cab from there back to the hotel due to whining and yelling by the ladyfolk.
This morning I checked my funds and saw that the three dinners, cabana rental, minus 5 ice spectacular, and most of all 48 hours of consecutive losses had brought me back from my winner’s high on Friday. Ah well, we did have a fantastic time and the big score on Friday more than makes up for the dreary gambling on Saturday and Sunday.
[UPDATE] whazzmaster.com is now officially blocked on the Intuit intranet. Probably because of the name of the post, but maybe not.
Well you walk into a restaurant,
Strung out from the road
And you feel the eyes upon you
As you’re shakin’ off the cold
You pretend it doesn’t bother you
But you just want to explode
Lonely horn riff.
Looking back, we did indeed live in charmed times. At one time it appeared that the Brewers would win the World Series, the Badgers would waltz into the National Championship, and Packers would go undefeated and bring home another Super Bowl. One by one those items came off the table, and we looked with longing eyes to the next on the list. By the time we got down to the just the Packers it was no sweat: that was the one we were most sure of.
Apologies to everyone at the party for my abrupt departure; I needed to go somewhere and throw heavy weights around to get my mind off of all the blowjobs those men-in-suits-talking-about-sports were gonna give Eli “Mushroomhead” Manning. My therapy worked fairly well– I worked out real hard and then almost couldn’t walk afterwards.
This would normally be the space where I triumphantly announce that it’s only one month until pitchers and catchers report (Feb 19!) except that with the whole Ryan-Braun-injecting-crushed-up-Flintstones-vitamins-directly-into-his-balls cloud hanging over the Brewers I’m not sure how excited to get about even that. Sorry, didn’t mean to turn this post into a downer.
Hey, next week is wwhazz’s millionth birthday. Let’s all go play air hockey at Union South! LET’S EAT GRANDMA!
The Rose Bowl was what it was: disappointing but fun. We arrived late, late Friday evening and slumped into bed. Saturday was the pep rally on the Santa Monica pier, and we headed down early to get a bite to eat at the Scientist-recommended Mariasol. No sea monster sightings, but I did spy the fishermen/federal marshals hanging out with their “fishing poles.” The marine layer here has been utterly bonkers all weekend. The morning starts out sunny, but by noon you can’t see more than a block away. Case in point, by the time the Badger players arrived at the pep rally it was around 45 degrees and visibility was about 50 yards.
Saturday evening our original plan was to go out in Santa Monica and take it easy. I didn’t want to chance a club with lines and lists, and preferred the idea of just having a six pack in our hotel room. Until, that is, I found out that See-Yew and the Bay Area Badger crew were partying in Pasadena for NYE.
We finagled a ride to Pasadena and back to Santa Monica (on NYE!) and headed out. I met about ten million former fuddruckus direct-reports and drank two gigantic Jameson shots. The shots were curiously world-ending for me; I didn’t leave the room on New Year’s Day and just laid around and moaned loudly. To Spacebee’s credit, she got sick of the moaning and left the room for awhile to see the sights. My total meal consumption on New Year’s Day: hamburger/fries, pepperoni pizza, ice cream & cookies. Sigh.
The day of the Rose Bowl we woke up early and got dressed in our epic multitude of Badger Stuff. Beads, pins, shirts, stickers, sunglasses, and more. The bus to Pasadena arrived late and we sat in traffic for a looong time. We had tickets to the 10:30a-1p Badger Blast tailgate (all-u-can-eat/drink) but didn’t end up getting there until 11:30a. Sad face, but we still managed to get a brat and a few beers.
The game was very exciting, and the only problem was that we were in a micro-island of Badger fans swimming in a sea of Oregon fanatics. It made it all the more sad at the end as it was slow-going getting down the aisle what with Ducks fans dancing in it.
Tuesday was probably the best day we had out in California; the sun was shining in Santa Monica and after checked out we had a few hours to kill so we walked around the downtown area, had luncho at Ye Olde King’s Something-Something, visited the Palisades (bro!), and wandered down the pier one more time to see if we could catch a glimpse of the Monkfish. Alas! No monkfish.
Dubuque was great! Well, not so great as the last time, but a good time was had by all. We also saw CAL and he even played craps with us!
From the top? Ok.
Wwhazz, Lawman and I raced out of town Friday afternoon with a gleam in our eye and the rising feevah. Oh, we played it cool; we sauntered into The Canfield Hotel and answered all questions asked: where we were from, how we were doing, if we knew not to park next to the hotel because they like to keep that lot open for the karaoke patrons, if we had ID, if I knew what kind of name ‘Moneypenny’ was, if we had any singers in our group, if I would retrieve the front desk worker to watch when I returned from dinner and sang, how many people we had with us, when were they arriving, which room did we want, if we wanted this in one credit card transaction or two, and so on and so forth.
Once we were safely ensconced in 227 we unpacked a bit and decorated. On one wall, a 1992-1993 Milwaukee Bucks poster. On the refrigerator, Will Purdue’s size 27 shoe. And IN the fridge? Oh, look closely to your right and you’ll see the treasures buried there.
Soon we were out and about, headed towards Mystique Casino- which is really hands-down the greatest casino in Dubuque. Whatever little Internet cred I have I would like to cash in now in order to say: Mystique equals GREAT and Diamond Jo’s equals DUMP.
The watchword of the weekend: see-saw. Sally saw seashells by the seashore, and then she watched me dump five bills two hours before a triumphant six fold score. Sally, WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY ANYTHING~! I only had two non-craps experiences this time: I won $80 playing roulette and the next day I got straight-up mugged by a blackjack dealer for like a hundo in five minutes. Sad, really, that they had to resort to such skullduggery.
The high(low)light of the trip was when we went to Diamond Jo’s and got treated like scum by their ever-dour team of meanmugging dealers and boxmen. No jokes from that crew and lots of being yelled at for the smallest of infractions. Example: I had been betting $1 Any bets off and on, but pretty consistently. At one point I decided late to bet and reached for my chips. I fumbled grabbing a white chip but, being just at Stick Right I said aloud “dollar any” while the dice were in the air and tossed the chip onto the table before the dice landed. The boxman yelled “NO BET THAT’S NO BET” and then sternly lectured me on when bets could and couldn’t be made. Look, FUCK YOU Diamond Jo’s craps pit; I have booked verbal DOLLAR-FUCKING-ANY bets from Ho-Chunk to Vegas and back. It’s an 11.11% house edge and it’s a 7-to-1 payout on ONE FUCKING DOLLAR. And you’re going to call my bet off and, even worse, give me grief over it? When I’m betting hardways for your dealers all night? How about you just eat shit and die?
At the far opposite end of the scale from the terrible, rude service at Diamond Jo’s Casino was the once-again stellar time we enjoyed at Mystique Casino. The craps crew working over the weekend was in large part the same folks we had a great time with last December. Really fun crew all around, and even though we only roll through once or twice a year we were even remembered by some of the people. We had a few good rolls, a few great rolls, and a few not-so-great rolls, but we had a fun-as-hell time there.
It may be heresy, but the idea that we stay at Mystique instead of the Canfield was even discussed. May not go anywhere, but that’s how much we hate Diamond Jo’s now. Don’t go there; it is terrible.
Anyway, lah-dee-dah and all that- we headed out rather early Sunday morning to get back to Madison for a joint-baby shower-slash-Packer-game. Packers won handily, which was great, because I wasn’t in the greatest head space after a weekend of fooling around in Dubuque.
Ugh, well, we got the news that Braun was roiding (or whatever, dude was drinking some kind of Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde potion) as we sat at the bar in Champagne, eating steaks and listening to wwhazz bitch about being made small of by the host at the entrance. All of our cells started buzzing incessantly as Cubs fans from all over the country poured on the scorn. Whatever, jerks, soon you’ll have Prince Fielder and you can cackle all the way to another mid-division finish in 2012.
I returned home to find that the Brewers had signed Aramis Ramirez to a 3-year deal, and just this morning the Crew traded MAGUHAHEEEEEEEE to the Pirates for a pitcher. I’m worried about Tony Plush, but I have FAITH~! that the Great Mustache will make the right decision and extend his contract.
When someone complains that a thread on whazzmaster is too long I immediately leap into action and open the offending link. “Yup,” I say, “That there is one long ass thread.” And then I go back to doing work I get paid for.
So for you that hate scrolling, and REALLY don’t like looking at those Wal*Mart-brand models in the Packer Rock Anthem video, here’s a new playground for you to gander at. It’s fresh, clean, and filled with the unspoken (until now) promises that The Old Man will appear from the mists to tell us what he’s been up to these past six or seven years.
I can’t wait for Dubuque. I can’t wait for the MaddCal pitcher’s duel. I can’t wait for xmas. I can’t wait until everyone’s babies are born (and there are a shitload in the hopper). I can’t wait until January, when I’m trying to get the eff outta Wisconsin and jet down to San Diego.
Apologies again to all of our pals that spent the weekend up in Crandon! We wish we could have come with but we’re supposed to be partying at our place on the 24th and shit still needed to be done. We’ll be at the Badger/NIU game at Soldier Field next weekend so we had to finish painting, decorating, and start cleaning this weekend.
The good news is that we got everything on the -to-do list finished up. This slophouse is as decorated as it’s gonna get at this point; all we have left to do is wipe it down from top to bottom.
I also learned a few things this weekend:
When it comes to cleaning paint brushes, I am an idiot.
The Brewers got way exposed by the Phillies- I hadn’t seen shitstorm like that in some time, and thought the 2011 Brewers were immune to that sort of thing.
The Packers were great, but I got a little scared at how the Saints were able to squash the secondary. The defense came up with a stop when it absolutely needed to, but not before I screamed at my TV.
Wwhazz was absolutely correct about Trees. The suck, and they’re the messiest fuckers in the plant kingdom. Every day they drop one ton of bullshit into my backyard, which I then clean up, only to have them re-dump the next day. Fuck you come winter, assholes. Die slow.
My dumb cat’s new favorite activity is to sit at the screen door in the back and launch herself at it (the screen) trying to get at the chipmunks running around having sex outside on the patio. Idiot.
Example: literally as I was writing Point 5 in my above manifesto a squirrel came up to the back door and the cat just stared at it- you see, it wasn’t a chipmunk. That idiot is only concerned with chipmunk.