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After all the ridiculous shit that has happened, I had a chance to make all my money back + 1k on top, but the fkn CARDINALS upset the Lions with 5 turnovers turned into TD's... If that isn't a sign that I should be done gambling, I don't know what is.
I don't know if I should call a gambling hotline or a suicide hotline lol'd
Variance like that would never affect you if you had a bankroll. I considered Pat Barry KOing Del Rosario last night to be a bad beat, and I still believe Del Rosario wins at least eight out of ten times, but it didn't affect my mood even slightly as I understood before the fight that it was a heavyweight match, that there'd be increased variance, and that it was money I could afford to lose.Originally Posted by gabe
If you really can't afford to establish a bankroll and proper bankroll management right now, then I hope you'll at least make it your long-term goal to establish a proper sustainable bankroll; and by "long-term goal", I mean that I hope you'll take every step you can possibly take towards achieving it in the near future.
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I know breh ,she does a judo match inside the cage, relying on the terrible striking of wmma not mercing her in 10 seconds. All her clit huggers and piss flap lickers will make it seem like she has an insane mma game with some high level skills outside of a judo takedown transition to an armbar.
COME AT ME BREHS!
Man... I am drowning in a pool of depression right now.
Frikken A Gabriel!!! Gave you a 3-0 nfl day.... I'm guessing you didn't tail.
I never saw your picks. Saw you mention MN and GB after hand.
I had Seattle, Detroit, Denver, and 49ers +4 and +170 ML... Niners play saved me a k, but I'm still down 1k more than I can chew!
hope i didn't speak too soon... 5 mins left and new england has the ball
man your local let's you have enough credit to bet that big? You got a 10k credit line or something?
It's a local, you wouldnt know it
marry crimbus gabe but some of this betting stuff doesn't add up, I don't see any local letting you bet that big on credit
Dang man. Post #133.. been running hot.
you can request as much credit as you want. if you're maxed out, you can have 'em add more.
plus, i have multiple accounts.
if you're jealous, move to LA and i'll hook ya up lol
make website called "petite armenian twinks"
put up your pics and phone number
????????????????????????????????
profit
Hey pal I have an imaginary friend that has fallen on hard times and needs help as well. We grew up together on 123 Make Believe Road.
Even though he is simply a figment of my imagination he always had trouble holding down a job due to him being a pathological liar and compulsive gambler. But I feel for this guy cause he had a fictional dog that died in hurricane sandy and a fictional kid who got shot in that school.
Not that it should matter but he is east Indian and doesn't wear underarm deodorant because he thinks it causes cancer. He is looking for some type of CEO position. If anything opens up just email
rhimjimdikshit@ismelllikeshit.in
Let me see if I can help him out.
He might have to pretend to have an American name and we will have to give him a SSN
haaaaaaaaaaaaa
Here is some serious help Gabers...I like to read this sometimes when I feel like tilting!...
"I turned £2,000 into £82,000 – then blew the lot in 10 minutes"
What began as fun evenings of poker led to a serious gamblingaddiction for playwright Ranjit Bolt. Here, he describes the lure of the game – and the devastating effects on his life
- Share60
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- Ranjit Bolt
- The Observer, Sunday 23 September 2012
- Jump to comments (64)
"I've gambled online and in live casinos, but neither has the same uniquely sordid appeal as the betting shop": Ranjit Bolt. Photograph: Pal Hansen for the Observer
It is nine o'clock on a Saturday night and I should be at an old friend's party. There are likely to be nice people there, artistic, talented; and the hostess is a wizard cook. It was seven for seven thirty, dress smart but "not too smart"...
I am not at the party however. Nor is my dress remotely smart, consisting as it does of a fisherman's sweater, more holes than wool, and a pair of frayed tracksuit pants smelling faintly of urine. This is my usual garb – my uniform, if you will – when I visit my betting shop of choice in north London.
There is one other punter in the place – a nicotine-stained old guy in a raincoat who is operating a strange roulette system consisting of a plethora of tiny stakes that more or less cancel each another out.
I used to watch small-scale punters like this with contempt. I've always been a big-bet man myself, usually staking the maximum allowable sum in all the major chains (£100) on my preferred game – blackjack. Then one day I found myself in a Ladbrokes shop on a Saturday afternoon with every station occupied. I waited a quarter of an hour for a seat to come vacant. It was then that I realised that the size of the bet didn't count for anything: I was just as desperate and sleazy as the rest of them.
That convinced me of the true nature of my predicament, though sadly it didn't do anything to curtail it. So I would find myself, at 9.50am, hovering on the threshold of William Hill in South End Green, waiting for the joint to open. Hard to retain much self-respect after that. No less pitiful, you might say, than an alcoholic outside the off licence at 9.50am on a winter morning, slapping his cirrhotic sides against the cold.
After wishing my confrere an unacknowledged "Good luck", I make my way to a terminal and park my backside on the sticky black leather seat.
I've gambled online, and in live casinos, but neither has the same, uniquely sordid appeal as the betting shop. It's the tackiness of the betting shop that, for me, puts it without peer as a means of wrecking your life. And among the charms of the betting shop, blackjack has the greatest appeal.
This has something to do, I assume, with the structure of the game: the ability to stand or take another card creates an irresistible illusion of control. With roulette, you spin the wheel, and that's it; horses: once they're off, ditto. Whereas with blackjack, few things can match the adrenaline rush you get when that third card takes you to 20 or, incredibly, to 21.
If you're not familiar with gaming machines, they are, in appearance and construction, not unlike the automatic ticket vendors at railway stations. Though, in this case, in return for the money you feed in, you mostly get nothing back.
The soulless strip lighting of the shop creates a curiously appealing, dismal ambience – a kind of physical equivalent to my own spiritual landscape. I'm starting to think the north London artistes I ought to be rubbing shoulders with at this moment don't know what they're missing as they chew on their boeuf bourguignon and mashed potato canapés and sip Rioja. So, why am I here? Well, clearly because I'm a schmuck, but that's not what I mean; I mean biographically speaking …
For many years an old friend of mine and I have been devotees of poker. It began with evenings of spontaneous, anarchic, life-enhancing mayhem at his flat, escalating from there, by insidious steps, into a serious fortnightly home game complete with league table and annual trophy. Now, if all poker – all gambling games, in fact – are potentially addictive and obsessional, Texas Holdem is both of those things to the power of 10.
Being endowed with just the right, catastrophic psychic make-up, I was pretty soon hooked. One day in February 2005 I asked the old pal in question if there was anywhere you could play Holdem online. He chortled and gave me the name of a "reputable" site. That night I opened an account and began to play.
I started in a restrained way – five or six hours a day – maybe a bit more if I had no work on. Soon I was convinced I'd struck gold. Here, at last, was the steady, reliable source of income I'd been dreaming of ever since giving up a well-paid job in the City to concentrate on, of all things, translating 17th-century French verse comedies.
I couldn't keep this goldmine I'd hit on to myself. I announced arrogantly at dinner parties that I had discovered a new string to my bow, a sure-fire revenue stream. The "fish" (poker speak for bad players) out there had to be seen to be believed. I even managed to convince myself that I was earning a living from the game. It took many weeks of steady, daily losses before a nagging suspicion was born that something might be amiss. A subsequent check of bank and CC statements revealed a £4,000 net loss in a matter of weeks. How?
I was an addict by now, of course, and that kind of self-delusion is standard addict practice. Worse still, because of the peculiar nature of gambling addiction – many experts reckon it's the hardest of all addictions to cure – once it dawned on me that I was in fact losing, I figured the only way to recoup the money was to play more and then yet more.
One time, after playing non-stop for three days, so that the index finger of my right hand had started to tingle from repeatedly clicking the mouse to bet on or fold a hand, I woke to find that somebody had broken into my flat during the night and festooned it with playing cards. They were all over the walls, they were dangling from the curtains. Wherever I went – bathroom to wash, kitchen to make breakfast – they kept popping up.
I dismissed this (despite having once suffered from a bout of manic depression that included delusions) as some sort of short-term optical glitch that was only to be expected in the circumstances, and soon hurried back to my laptop to resume playing.
Then, around lunchtime, I was in the loo, when I looked down and saw that there was a playing card lying in the bottom of the bowl. This was no vague optical effect, either, but a perfectly formed, shiny new king of hearts.
I called my GP, fixed an emergency appointment and got myself straight down there. "You're mad," she said, perhaps more accurately than she'd intended, when I had described the situation. "You have a history of mental problems. You should not be doing this. Go home, switch off your computer, or better still, chuck it in the bin and take this pill and get some sleep."
She placed a large white tablet in my hand. Feeling a whole lot better, I reckoned I would just get a couple more hours' play in, take the tablet and turn in. Unfortunately, I drifted off in the middle of a hand, without having taken the pill, and when I woke up a couple of hours later I was dying...
Well, perhaps not quite. In the ambulance they informed me that I was having a massive atrial fibrillation, brought on by four days and nights without sleep, sprayed something on the roof of my mouth, and asked for my next of kin. On reaching A&E I was attended to with worrying promptness and a drip was inserted in my neck. I was in there all the next day, my pulse returning to normal just 20 minutes before I was scheduled to be medically "rebooted".
All this makes gambling seem a dark and destructive business, and, of course, it can be. But that's pretty obviously not the whole story. Like all addictive activities, it offers astonishing highs – highs as high as the lows are low. If it didn't, who on earth would take it up in the first place? During a lucky streak, for instance, I get a sense of quite astonishing and implausibly sustained wellbeing. There was the time, to cite one of many, when I turned my last £2,000 in the world into £82,000 over a spell of about three weeks. (The fact that I went on to blow the lot in 10 minutes and was suicidal for a fortnight thereafter is another matter.) Regaining a recent loss brings a special pleasure of its own, as any gambler will tell you: a weird, warped sense of redemption.
Equally true, on the other hand, is an observation by Casanova, who had a sideline in gambling and noted that inside every serious gambler lurks a miser. Or, to put it another way, a greedy klutz wanting something for nothing.
But, yes, the highs. Perhaps even more exhilarating than that 80 grand streak was the day when I had gambled everything away except a £5,000 overdraft facility. By this stage I had had to remortgage my flat to the tune of £20,000. I spent the day debating with myself whether or not I should try my luck and see what I could do with that 5k. What had I got to lose? It wasn't even my money, but the bank's.
As usual, the inner demons (the shrinks, the addiction experts, call it this "permission thought") won the argument, and at midnight, came the start of a new 24-hour period, which meant that I was allowed to deposit fresh funds. I transferred the overdraft money to my William Hill account and sat down to a hand of blackjack, staking the maximum allowable amount on one hand of £5,000.
I hit 20 with that hand, won, 20 with the next, won again, won again with the third bet. In the space of two minutes I had not merely quadrupled my 5k overdraft, but could now pay off my mortgage and be, once more, to some degree at least, a free man.
I collapsed on the sofa, numb with joy, sandbagged by bliss. But the demons were of the opinion that I shouldn't stop there. In their judgment this was clearly a streak, and there was at least one more win out there – possibly even blackjack, which pays 150%. I went back to my laptop, put another 5k on and hit blackjack. In 10 minutes, from four consecutive hands, I had made £22,500, and changed my life. I remember sitting in the dark for half an hour with such joy and relief washing over me.
But, for the MOST PART, the order of the day has, inevitably, been self-destruction. I have lost, at a conservative estimate, a quarter of a million pounds over the past seven years. And I am once again remortgaged, for 30k this time.
I do not complain about any of this – not the debt, the near-death experience, not even the huge and horribly dark spells of despair and self-loathing. Nor am I especially plagued when I remember that, but for gambling, I would now be living on a comfortable income from royalties scrimped and saved over 15 years of hard showbiz slog.
There is nothing worse in this world than a sore loser, and nowhere is that more true than in gambling. The tax revenues from the big gaming companies help build schools and hospitals, pay for teachers, doctors and nurses. This is something, I tell myself.
I do sometimes wonder quietly why walking down any major street in London has to be, for me and my fellow gambling addicts, rather like negotiating Scylla and Charybdis – Paddy Power or Betfred here, William Hill or Ladbrokes there. But the resentment doesn't last. I have swallowed my pride, sought professional help, attended GA meetings. At the time of writing I haven't gambled, in any shape or form, for several months.
The other day, for instance, as I approached Finchley Road, near where I live – a thoroughfare positively festooned with betting shops – I conceived a strong urge to have a flutter on the betting machines. What harm could it do, now that I was cured? I found myself walking, like a zombie, towards the nearest of the outlets. I must have forgotten the time I once lost £6,000 trying to win £2 to cover the cost of a piece of broccoli I'd deemed overpriced.
Suddenly, like young Stephen Dedalus in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, as he walks down Lott's Lane in search of stimulus, then suddenly spins round and heads for home, I turned. The pull on me as I headed back toward the bus stop, and home, was astonishingly powerful. The feeling of triumph as I boarded a bus and headed for Hampstead (where any betting shop manager worth his salt will, at my own request, eject me from the premises on sight) was one that, to anybody who hasn't been there, might seem pathetic.
The gambler in me is still looking to recoup, needless to say. But now he does it in different ways. It's a truism to say that no very disastrous experience is without its compensatory positives – its winnings, in other words. What I have gained from gambling is twofold. Firstly, there is a much-needed sense of one's own fallibility that I suspect was lacking in me before the debacle began. Secondly, and perhaps more usefully, I have acquired a measure of immunity to disaster.
Misfortune of sundry kinds, and especially financial, can easily be put into perspective by the mere recollection of the mayhem one has been through. That is a perhaps not inconsiderable boon in these days of, for many of us, unwonted austerity and ongoing financial uncertainty. I am, if you like, a mini Greece, only a stop or two ahead, with a viable reconstruction package already in place, and working. Whether this is all bunkum, and I turn out to be another De Quincy – bragging about how he'd beaten his addiction to opium when he was taking the stuff till the day he died – only time will tell.
Pal youre just a keyboard warrior who lives in his mothers basement secretly fapping to rousey while making fun of her on the internet. Talking on message boards and speculating on what her pussy lips look like and shit. saying she probably has one normal looking one and the other is probably large and protruding and she has to fold it over and secure it before grappling.
I'm gonna drop some real knowledge on this forum. But first I must comment that the photo looks just how I imagined gabe as an old man and his name was "rajit". oh lawd.
Gabe, you are a 105lbs man from hollywood, who claims to be heterosexual, and wants to make it in the entertainment industry. Being straight isn't gonna help you. Being gay isn't gonna help you much either because your are rather "unfortunate" looking. Your "pal" brandis was a 9/10 twink that probably smoked every jew pole in hollywood and all it got him was a role on seaquest dsv.
Gabe wtf this has to be a joke bro, you are like a talentless and unfunny danny devito.
quiet down, you self-hating jewboy.
self-hating jews are too easy to spot.
ryan gosling played one in a movie, that was a nice flick
lol my oddessa deli scene was an "homage" that movie.
but for real, are you telling me Gosling isn't a twink that smoked jew pole to get on 'breaker high"? lol.
he donated a couple swallows for a guest spot on disney channel series "flash forward" starring jew ben foster
what odessa deli scene?
I could have been in the last Superman movie and the third X-Men movie, if I was willing to go homo. Had several big shot queer producers and directors makin me offers when i was younger, under 18 lol (turning 26 in feb)
I can't do that shit. Woulda ended up killin myself. lol maybe i shoulda done it, since that will probably be my fate, anyway.
That socks brah. I just got a call from a jew that buys a ton of blow (because jews love blow) and he knows this other phaget jew in hollywood that needs to rub blow on he underside of his semetic pecker just so he can take a piss in the morning. In order to feed his habit he is doing a remake of "the basketball diaries" and I think you would be perfect for the role of jim carroll's friend who has cancer and he takes him to a peep show.
You will have to read for it though but I think you are a shoe in. and by "read" for it, I mean you will have to sock his joo pecker. its not that bad. cause it seems, like most joos, that the rabbi took a little too much when he gave him the snip.
Dude, I'd go homo if 5d would just give me $100 limits back on reduced juice.
That's a promise, Tony.
Are you insinuating that Tony would somehow grant you special priveledges at 5dimes if you peformed sexual acts on him?
I wouldn't do that bro. Tony is a serious badass, threatening people left and right. He isn't some little jew phaget like oddessa. I'm not that concerned with him sending goons as i am about him throwing brujeria at me.
lol that's christopher moltisantiThat socks brah. I just got a call from a jew that buys a ton of blow (because jews love blow) and he knows this other phaget jew in hollywood that needs to rub blow on he underside of his semetic pecker just so he can take a piss in the morning. In order to feed his habit he is doing a remake of "the basketball diaries" and I think you would be perfect for the role of jim carroll's friend who has cancer and he takes him to a peep show.
You will have to read for it though but I think you are a shoe in. and by "read" for it, I mean you will have to sock his joo pecker. its not that bad. cause it seems, like most joos, that the rabbi took a little too much when he gave him the snip.
gabe, I quit listening to the joe rogan podcast because they never had you on. When is brian redban going to have you as a guest?
I haven't listened in a while, myself. I'll probably never be on it. I'm not gonna ask to be on, so my comedy career needs an upswing for me to be asked. Brian asked me over a year ago, but he was drunk and has since made no mention of it. I could care less right now, more concerned about coming up with 1k lol
last time I was in a hole, it was around 10k-- funny how the stress now at 1k is near identical to when i was at -10k
hey gabe what do you think the chances are that Rogan has smoked jew pole during his hollywood career? i would say pretty high. they probably have odds for it at your local.
-450 Rogan Hasn'they gabe what do you think the chances are that Rogan has smoked jew pole during his hollywood career? i would say pretty high. they probably have odds for it at your local.
-500 George Clooney HAS
LOCKS.
Tony respects honest toughness though.. We didn't see eye to eye right away. Can't be a dik and always give him the last laugh. We have love/hate relationship now. (no homo)
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