How to berate the beraters...

[1p0kerboy]

We see players berating the fish all of the time. Well, I learned a way to strike back.

DanewfDonk: man your the biggest fish in town i swear to god
DanewfDonk: what the **** you doing calling on the turn there you ****ing idiot
DanewfDonk: god people are ****ing hopeless
DanewfDonk: i have overcards how do i fold!!!!!!!!!1
1p0kerboy: anybody got a tissue?
Dealer: ronnelcarlo, it's your turn. You have 8 seconds to act
DanewfDonk: i dont want a tissue
DanewfDonk: i want him making that call all day
DanewfDonk: 90% of the time he misses river and folds
1p0kerboy: then stop blubbering

I think this really makes the berater look like the outcast...not the fish.

Anybody else have other methods?

[Messiahkid]

Very groundbreaking.

way to try to hide your name, ronnelcarlo.

[1p0kerboy]

[ QUOTE ]
way to try to hide your name, ronnelcarlo

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That's not me. I'm 1p0kerboy.

[hogua]

[ QUOTE ]
I learned a way to strike back.

1p0kerboy: anybody got a tissue?
1p0kerboy: then stop blubbering



[/ QUOTE ]

IMHO, You suck at striking back.

[The.Accountant]

How about saying nothing?

[Abbaddabba]

I occasionally go on a bit of a rant. Usually im playing 6 tables or more so i cant chat. But when im watching tv i often sit on a couple of games smaller than what i put my weekly hours at. So i have some fun.

Usually it starts after i get them to fold a winning hand with a weak draw and show it. They say, "you just keep playing like that fish and we'll see what happens".

My response is:

"Yes, i will keep playing like that. And you'll win in the long run, right?

Just like you've been such a consistant winner over the passing years. Right? How much are you up this year? I bet it's a lot. Because you're pretty good.

Think about it. Think about it. Realistically. Look at your deposit/withdrawl record. You've won a lot, havent you.

But if not, it's just variance dude. Definitely variance. I read about that on a poker forum. Variance. It happens to even the best. If you've lost a lot of money, that's why. not because you suck. you're [censored] amazing."

[RoundTower]

I.
I'm writing just after an encounter
With an English journalist in search of 'views
On the Irish thing'. I'm back in winter
Quarters where bad news is no longer news,

Where media-men and stringers sniff and point,
Where zoom lenses, recorders and coiled leads
Litter the hotels. The times are out of joint
But I incline as much to rosary beads

As to the jottings and analyses
Of politicians and newspapermen
Who've scribbled down the long campaign from gas
And protest to gelignite and Sten,

Who proved upon their pulses 'escalate',
'Backlash' and 'crack down', 'the provisional wing',
'Polarization' and 'long-standing hate'.
Yet I live here, I live here too, I sing,

Expertly civil-tongued with civil neighbours
On the high wires of first wireless reports,
Sucking the fake taste, the stony flavours
Of those sanctioned, old, elaborate retorts:

'Oh, it's disgraceful, surely, I agree.'
'Where's it going to end?' 'It's getting worse.'
'They're murderers.' 'Internment, understandably ...'
The 'voice of sanity' is getting hoarse.

III.
"Religion's never mentioned here", of course.
"You know them by their eyes," and hold your tongue.
"One side's as bad as the other," never worse.
Christ, it's near time that some small leak was sprung

In the great dykes the Dutchman made
To dam the dangerous tide that followed Seamus.
Yet for all this art and sedentary trade
I am incapable. The famous

Northern reticence, the tight gag of place
And times: yes, yes. Of the "wee six" I sing
Where to be saved you only must save face
And whatever you say, you say nothing.

Smoke-signals are loud-mouthed compared with us:
Manoeuvrings to find out name and school,
Subtle discrimination by addresses
With hardly an exception to the rule

That Norman, Ken and Sidney signalled Prod
And Seamus (call me Sean) was sure-fire Pape.
O land of password, handgrip, wink and nod,
Of open minds as open as a trap,

Where tongues lie coiled, as under flames lie wicks,
Where half of us, as in a wooden horse
Were cabin'd and confined like wily Greeks,
Besieged within the siege, whispering morse.

IV.
This morning from a dewy motorway
I saw the new camp for the internees:
A bomb had left a crater of fresh clay
In the roadside, and over in the trees

Machine-gun posts defined a real stockade.
There was that white mist you get on a low ground
And it was déjà-vu, some film made
Of Stalag 17, a bad dream with no sound.

Is there a life before death? That's chalked up
In Ballymurphy. Competence with pain,
Coherent miseries, a bite and sup,
We hug our little destiny again.

[Manque]

My favorite is to type "shhhh, I'm counting your chips"

[CanadaLowball]

[ QUOTE ]
My favorite is to type "shhhh, I'm counting your chips"

[/ QUOTE ]

LOL

[SoCalRugger]

[ QUOTE ]
IMHO, You suck at striking back.

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