I woke up a couple hours before the 12 noon start of the $1500 PLO8 WSOP event. My first real poker tourney.

A bite to eat, a ton of nicotine, and I was excited. Brian, a local Las Vegas thief, drove me to the Rio. I found out Michael Jackson died on the way. Sucked.

I walk in wearing a Susan Marsh Dance T-Shirt. What a circus. Half naked women, postponed starts, and cameras everywhere. I thought I was playing poker. ooops. This was far from civilized poker.

So after I am redirected from one room to another, we start.

Allen Kessler is sitting across from me. Allen Cunningham is on the table behind me, which is right on the ropes. The stage is ten meters away, i mean the platform for pretentious clowns. ooops.

We start, and I win several decent hands. Quickly the table realizes that the dealers have no clue what they are dealing. “The Chainsaw” is asked, by a dealer, to help out on split pots. Sick. I came all the way from Alabama for this joke. Yep.

Then music comes on outta every speaker. Jeff Lisandro is paraded up to the platform, and everyone stops. The place looked like a religious gathering for a couple minutes. I asked the dealer how could this be happening. He said the guy won three bracelets, so deal with it. Seems silly. He already got the bracelets. We were trying to play poker. OOOps.

I lost a big pot with 10 minutes left in the first round.

After that hand, I decided to go on and leave. I left my chips on the table, gave chainsaw my cell number, and told the man in the suit that I wouldn’t play another event, ever. I mean it. What a joke. Las Vegas must be dangerously broke to treat people so poorly.