Banned at Poo Mountain

[MicroBob]

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Most entertaining thread in months. thanx Brown.

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Can we re-open the most Valuable Poster poll? I want to change my vote.

[Oski]

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----- Original Message -----
From: "Nick xxxxx" < poomountainpoker@yahoo.com >
To: <support@pokermountain.com>
Sent: Wednesday, February 16, 2005 3:28 PM
Subject: why


>
>
> Please tell me why my account has been locked, I have caused no problems.
>
> Screen name brownthumb1

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lol

I sent an e-mail to poomountainpoker@yahoo.com. I got a response from "Nick."

[Brown Thumb]

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Why were you playing at a crappy site like Poker Mountain?
Why do you spell pot P.O.T.?
Will you please PM me when you are going to play on Party?

Lost Wages

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I have a buddy who was a prop on an online site. His old manager was some kid named Walter69. He started bumming money off of my friend's friends, that would include me. I gave him $50 one time and he keeps bothering me. He invited me to play at Poo Mountain because he has something to do with it.

I am not sure why I spell P.O.T, P.O.T. My best guess is that it was banned from online chat so I put the periods in. I think its cool though and I am smoking some right now. I got hooked up last night. I was almost out and I went to the hotel lounge and looked around. I saw this dude having drinks with two girls. It didn's seem like they were "together." The dude was smiling like a village idiot, so I thought he might be on P.O.T.

I went over and asked them if they got a smoke. The dude told me to kick back for awhile so the girls could finish their drinks. I thought that was weird, but I thought that was great, because he probably had some P.O.T.

I was looking around and the guy seemed a little nervous, like, "what are you looking all around for." I told him I was looking to see if anyone had laptops because I have WIFI. Needless to say, I had to explain to him I would like to bust out a little poker, and that maybe I could play in the bar. He didn't know what I was talking about.

Well, I told him I like to play poker and smoke P.O.T. In fact, I might have told him and the girls that I like P.O.T. before I even sat down, I don't remember.

Well, he told me his cousin had P.O.T. I told him I'd like to meet his cousin. His cousin was one of the girls! I scored some P.O.T. It was low quality, but I don't care because I love P.O.T.

I only was out of my room for 45 minutes and I scored P.O.T. and came back to post here. I didn't have any money to play poker (I forgot that when I was down in the lounge). I can't play until Saturday because I don't have my expenses check until tomorrow when I get back. I played Spades on Yahoo. The players are terrible. The game sucks too, they don't have big mo or little mo. My partner was mad when I told her? I was smoking P.O.T. She wanted to win. I didn't care.

I don't want to PM anyone as to my wherabouts. I will play this weekend. Most of the fun is busting up a table when they don't know how to handle me. I always lose, but I have fun. Would you pay money to watch a replay of a baseball game? Part of the fun is seeing how I lose and how long I last and how many people get bent out of shape when the bustup comes their way.

[Synergistic Explosions]

You read Brautigan, right?

[Brown Thumb]

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You read Brautigan, right?

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What's that?

[Brown Thumb]

I found this: I didn't put it in quotes because it messes it all up.


Coffee

Sometimes life is merely a matter of coffee and whatever intimacy a cup of coffee affords. I once read something about coffee. The thing said that coffee is good for you; it stimulates all the organs.
I thought at first this was a strange way to put it, and not altogether pleasant, but as time goes by I have found out that it makes sense in its own limited way. I'll tell you what I mean.

Yesterday morning I went over to see a girl. I like her. Whatever we had going for us is gone now. She does not care for me. I blew it and wish I hadn't.

I rang the door bell and waited on the stairs. I could hear her moving around upstairs. The way she moved I could tell that she was getting up. I had awakened her.

Then she came down the stairs. I could feel her approach in my stomach. Every step she took stirred my feelings and lead indirectly to her opening the door. She saw me and it did not please her.

Once upon a time it pleased her very much, last week. I wonder where it went, pretending to be naive.

"I feel strange now," she said. "I don't want to talk."

"I want a cup of coffee," I said, because it was the last thing in the world that I wanted. I said it in such a way that it sounded as if I were reading her a telegram from somebody else, a person who really wanted a cup of coffee, who cared about nothing else.

"All right," she said.

I followed her up the stairs. It was ridiculous. She had just put some clothes on. They had not quite adjusted themselves to her body. I could tell you about her ass. We went into the kitchen.

She took a jar of instant coffee off the shelf and put it on the table. She placed a cup next to it, and a spoon. I looked at them. She put a pan full of water on the stove and turned the gas on under it.

All this time she did not say a word. Her clothes adjusted themselves to her body. I won't. She left the kitchen.

Then she went down the stairs and outside to see if she had any mail. I didn't remember seeing any. She came back up the stairs and went into another room. She closed the door after her. I looked at the pan full of water on the stove.

I knew that it would take a year before the water started to boil. It was now October and there was too much water in the pan. That was the problem. I threw half of the water into the sink.

The water would boil faster now. It would take only six months. The house was quiet.

I looked out the back porch. There were sacks of garbage there. I stared at the garbage and tried to figure out what she had been eating lately by studying the containers and peelings and stuff. I couldn't tell a thing.

It was now March. The water started to boil. I was pleased by this.

I looked at the table. There was the jar of instant coffee, the empty cup and the spoon all laid out like a funeral service. These are the things that you need to make a cup of coffee.

When I left the house ten minutes later, the cup of coffee safely inside me like a grave, I said, "Thank you for the cup of coffee."

"You're welcome," she said. Her voice came from behind a closed door. Her voice sounded like another telegram. It was really time for me to leave.

I spent the rest of the day not making coffee. It was a comfort. And evening came, I had dinner in a restaurant and went to a bar. I had some drinks and talked to some people.

We were bar people and said bar things. None of them remembered, and the bar closed. It was two o'clock in the morning. I had to go outside. It was foggy and cold in San Francisco. I wondered about the fog and felt very human and exposed.

I decided to go visit another girl. We had not been friends for over a year. Once we were very close. I wondered what she was thinking about now.

I went to her house. She didn't have a door bell. That was a small victory. One must keep track of all the small victories. I do, anyway.

She answered the door. She was holding a robe in front of her. She didn't believe that she was seeing me. "What do you want?" she said, believing now that she was seeing me. I walked right into the house.

She turned and closed the door in such a way that I could see her profile. She had not bothered to wrap the robe completely around herself. She was just holding the robe in front of herself.

I could see an unbroken line of body running from her head to her feet. It looked kind of strange. Perhaps because it was so late at night.

"What do you want?" she said.

"I want a cup of coffee," I said. What a funny thing to say, to say again for a cup of coffee was not what I really wanted.

She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. She was not pleased to see me. Let the AMA tell us that time heals. I looked at the unbroken line of her body.

"Why don't you have a cup of coffee with me?" I said. "I feel like talking to you. We haven't talked for a long time."

She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. I stared at the unbroken line of her body. This was not good.

"It's too late," she said. "I have to get up in the morning. If you want a cup of coffee, there's instant in the kitchen. I have to go to bed."

The kitchen light was on. I looked down the hall into the kitchen. I didn't feel like going into the kitchen and having another cup of coffee by myself. I didn't feel like going to anybody else's house and asking them for a cup of coffee.

I realized that the day had been committed to a very strange pilgrimage, and I had not planned it that way. At least the jar of instant coffee was not on the table, beside an empty white cup and a spoon.

They say in the spring a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love. Perhaps if he has enough time left over, his fancy can even make room for a cup of coffee.

- richard brautigan

[Synergistic Explosions]

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You read Brautigan, right?

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What's that?

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He's a stoner. First name Richard. Start with In Watermelon Sugar. You write like him. He's dead, suicide.

[Brown Thumb]

This is my version:


P.O.T.

Sometimes life is merely a bag of P.O.T. and whatever intimacy a bag of P.O.T. affords. I once read something about P.O.T. The thing said that P.O.T. is good for you; it stimulates all the organs.

I thought at first this was a strange way to put it, and not altogether pleasant, but as time goes by I have found out that it makes sense in its own limited way. I'll tell you what I mean.

Yesterday morning I went over to see a girl. I like her. Whatever we had going for us is gone now. She does not care for me. I blew it and wish I hadn't. So, I smoked some P.O.T.

I rang the door bell, smoked some P.O.T. and waited on the stairs. I could hear her moving around upstairs. The way she moved I could tell that she was logging of Party Poker. I had rousted her.

Then she came down the stairs. I could feel her approach in my stomach, so I had some P.O.T. Every step she took stirred my feelings and lead indirectly to her opening the door. She saw me and it did not please her, I didn't have my WIFI card for my laptop. We would have to smoke P.O.T. in the house because we could only play on her desktop.

Once upon a time it pleased her very much, last week. I wonder where it went, pretending to be naive (I actually smoked the rest of it leaving her seeds and stems).

"I feel strange now," she said. "I don't want to talk. I really want some P.O.T."

"I want a cup of coffee," I said, because it was the last thing in the world that I wanted. I said it in such a way that it sounded as if I were reading her a telegram from somebody else, a person who really wanted a cup of coffee, who cared about nothing else.

"All right," she said. I had fooled her, she was going to make coffee while I lit up some P.O.T.

I followed her up the stairs. It was ridiculous. She had just put some clothes on. They had not quite adjusted themselves to her body. I could tell you about her ass, but I'd rather smoke P.O.T. We went into the kitchen.

She took a jar of instant coffee off the shelf and put it on the table. She placed a cup next to it, and a spoon. I looked at them. She put a pan full of water on the stove and turned the gas on under it. I ducked my head under the table and took a quick hit from my pocket bong.

All this time she did not say a word. Her clothes adjusted themselves to her body, she developed a reverse camel-toe. I won't. She left the kitchen.

Then she went down the stairs and outside to see if she had any mail. I didn't remember seeing any, I was rolling joints. She came back up the stairs and went into another room. She closed the door after her. I looked at the pan full of water on the stove and got the fvck out of there.

I knew that it would take a year before the water started to boil (ok, I know that's total bullsh!t). It was now October and there was too much water in the pan. That was the problem. I threw half of the water into the sink. I drank the other half.

I logged onto Poker Mountain. The house was quiet.

I looked out the back porch. There were sacks of garbage there, there was more action from the rats than at the Poker Mountain tables. I stared at the garbage and tried to figure out what she had been eating lately by studying the containers and peelings and stuff. I couldn't tell a thing. I remember her ass (I told you I had something to say about it) smelled like lima beans.

It was now March, I am in the kichen way to long. I am almost out of P.O.T. The water started to boil. I was pleased by this.

I looked at the table. There was the jar of instant coffee, the empty cup and the spoon all laid out like a funeral service. These are the things that you need to make a cup of coffee, or so I've heard. I got banned by Poo Mountain, I got the hell out of there.

When I left the house ten minutes later, I said, "Thank you for the cup of coffee you stupid bitch."

"You're welcome," she said. Her voice came from behind a closed door. Her voice sounded like another telegram. It was really time for me to leave. She was hacking into my Party Poker account.

I spent the rest of the day not making coffee, but I smoked lots of P.O.T. It was a comfort. And evening came, I had dinner in a restaurant and went to a bar. I had some drinks and talked to some people. I offered them some P.O.T. because I like to share.

We were bar people and said bar things. None of them remembered, and the bar closed. I smoked some P.O.T. becasue I don't drink. It was two o'clock in the morning. I had to go outside. It was foggy and cold in San Francisco, even though I was in Mexico City. I wondered about the fog and felt very human and exposed. I smoked some P.O.T.

I decided to go visit another girl. We had not been friends for over a year. Once we were very close. I wondered what she was thinking about now. I wanted to hit the P.O.T.

I went to her house. She didn't have a door bell, but I rang it anyway. That was a small victory. One must keep track of all the small victories. I do, anyway. I had a quick happy smoke.

She answered the door. She was holding a robe in front of her. She didn't believe that she was seeing me. "What do you want?" she said, believing now that she was seeing me. I walked right into the house. I asked her if she had cable internet and a wireless router. I was ready to get my poker on.

She turned and closed the door in such a way that I could see her profile, the bitch had a huge-ass nose. No wonder she always made sure she was facing me. She had not bothered to wrap the robe completely around herself, I think she had a sack of balls. She was just holding the robe in front of herself. I just wanted P.O.T. and P.O.K.E.R.

I could see an unbroken line of body running from her head to her feet. The last time I saw so much crack was when they were showing a drug bust on C.O.P.S. It looked kind of strange. Perhaps because it was so late at night. Maybe, I needed more P.O.T.

"What do you want?" she said.

"I want a cup of coffee," I said. What a funny thing to say, to say again for a cup of coffee was not what I really wanted. She knew I was lying when I opened my jacket and showed her 25 perfectly rolled fatties.

She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. She was not pleased to see me. Let the AMA tell us that time heals. I looked at the unbroken line of her body. I wanted to Poke-her-Mountain.

"Why don't you have a cup of coffee with me?" I said. "I feel like talking to you. We haven't talked for a long time." I lit up a fat one.

She looked at me and wheeled slightly on the profile. I stared at the unbroken line of her body. This was not good. I think she forgot to wipe, now I knew I had interrupted her with my unannounced visit.

"It's too late," she said. "I have to get up in the morning. If you want a cup of coffee, there's instant in the kitchen. I have to go to bed." "Cool. I have 24 more fat ones like this."

The kitchen light was on. I looked down the hall into the kitchen. I didn't feel like going into the kitchen and having another cup of coffee by myself. I didn't feel like going to anybody else's house and asking them for a cup of coffee. I saw that she left the internet on. I was in business.

I realized that the day had been committed to a very strange pilgrimage, and I had not planned it that way. At least the jar of instant coffee was not on the table, beside an empty white cup and a spoon. I fired up my laptop as and sucked in a fat hit. "Daddy's home boys."

They say in the spring a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love. Perhaps if he has enough time left over, his fancy can even make room for a bag of P.O.T.

- richard "Brown Thumb" brautigan

[Pokeraddict]

So in 24 hours "Banned at Poo Mountain" has become a top 10 viewed thread in the zoo. I guess the funniest thing is that this ended up being a play money complaint. Surely not the publicity Poker Mountain would want. Hey at least their name is out.

Brownthumb, by the way both poomountain.com and poomountainpoker.com are available, then you could email them right from that domain. [img]/images/graemlins/grin.gif[/img]

[buzzbait]

Nice version, I like yours better. This was an especiialy slick move...
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"All right," she said. I had fooled her, she was going to make coffee while I lit up some P.O.T.


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Brilliant!!

One thing though...
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I asked her if she had cable internet and a wireless router.

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You've really got to figure these things out before visting someone. Seriously.