Got back from the World Series Of Poker at some incredibly early hour in the middle of the night.

As my wife watched the greeting by Hagrid, my 150-pound Caucasian Ovcharka, she said, “you two should get a room.” Hey, he’s my best friend.

I somehow managed to lose six pounds in seven days. Sin City as a fat camp. When you start charging me $17 for a burger, I stop eating. Of course, a $7 beer is no problem.

My complete report will follow in a couple days, as I manage to regain my equilibrium. Quite obviously, my candle only has one end.

Visiting Vegas itself – forget the WSOP – is like being dropped like a halogram in a virtual reality game: Call Of Booty.

Night becomes day, day becomes night. Answers are provided for questions unasked.

Then there are the three-outers, tournament after tournament after tournament.

“If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” – Friedrich Nietzsche

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