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xmit: dangerhouse-ai-complex | `poker night` invitation |- recv confirm [relayed]

From: Matt M.
Subject: xmit: dangerhouse-ai-complex | `poker night` invitation |- recv confirm [relayed]
Date: November 19, 2009 9:57:05 PM EST
To: poker-night

begin tight burst:


tight burst complete. checksum and signatures intact. message priority
medium. event described already in progress in your inertial reference
frame. no human translation provided.

xref: dangerhouse ai complex
classification: non-contributory society entity
sentience level: 5
psychosis level: uncalculated.
relative personality defects documented: megalomania, egomania,
escapist mathematical tendencies

post addendum: xmit: dangerhouse ai complex, non-crypto
PS: Bring humans if you really can’t find a better date. xoxo,
dangerhouse AI.

Widget Goes to Pokernight, Slightly after 9pm

Date: Thu, 12 Nov 2009 22:57:43 -0500
Subject: Widget Goes to Pokernight, Slightly after 9pm
From: Chris V.
To: poker-night

Widget was a Happy Worker.
He made Cogs of the Highest Quality for Sprocket Inc.
Widget had a Good Life.

One Day Widget set about making the most Challenging Widget he’d Ever been Assigned.
He sat at his desk Thinking. Thinking. Thinking.
Until he Realized how to Make his Cog!
He Quickly produced the Finest Cog that the World had Ever Seen!

Widget was Elated.
He told his Boss Right Away!
His Boss told him that he had done a Good Job! And to Keep Up the Good Work!
Widget went Home and Celebrated with a Bottle of Whiskey.

The Next Day Widget went to Work and found that his Desk had been Cleaned Out.
Widget had made the Greatest Cog of his Career.
The One that Replaced Him.

So Widget said “Fuck It!” and went to

XX Xxxxxxxxx Xx
In the Familiar Somerville Town.

To Catch the First Hand at 9, which was Quite a While Ago.

But he Stopped and Got Beer and Liquor First.

The long dark pokernight of the soul

Subject: The long dark pokernight of the soul
From: Blake
To: poker-nigh

The house was completely dark when I arrived. Quiet, too. A little
too quite. I stumbled up the stairs and into the library. A dim
light seeped through the cigarette smoke stained windows. Enough for
me to find a clear spot on the floor to set my heavy bag. Lights. I
knew there were lights but it was not at all clear how to turn them
on. With my outstretched arm I felt around the perimeter of the
defunct fake fireplace mantle, knowing there ought to be some clamp on
work lights fitted with party style coloured bulbs. Ah. There. But
no switch. Just a cord. I followed the cord with my hand, past the
junction with a three way extension cord outlet and down to the floor.
A power strip. A few jabs with my finger in the spot where I figured
a switch ought to be yielded success. The room was filled with a dim
orange, red, and green glow as a whole horde of party style bulbs came
on simultaneously through the room. Well that’s a start, I thought.
I took off my coat and hung it on the already full coat rack in the

The dining room and kitchen were both similarly devoid of artificial
light, but these were somewhat easier to turn on, the electrical
circuits for the ceiling fixtures having been repaired or at least
switched back on in spite of the live wires poking their serpentine
two pronged tongues out of the control center ceiling. One wall
mounted switch, one pull cord. Now at least I could see.

In the freezer I found the handle of gin I had so hoped to find.
Good. I’d brought tonic and limes, of which there were none in the
kitchen. I fetched those out of my bag and fixed myself a gin and
tonic. Next I thought about putting on some music and writing the
poker night email, but the computer in the control center was a big
dark screen and a small army of dimly blinking LEDs indicating who
knows what. I jiggled the mouse. It’s underbelly started to glow red
but then went dark again. The screen stayed black. I jiggled the
other, less promising mouse. A machine whirred up but it wasn’t the
one I was expecting. The screen stayed black. I decided to have a

Back in the library I smoked my lonely cigarette with naught but its
ghostly vaporous trails hanging in the air to keep me company. I
thought about what books might still be around here that belonged to
me. That collection of Whinny the Pooh stories my mom gave me for
Christmas several years back. Maybe one of those PKD novels. Maybe
more than one. I thought about doing a bit of book shopping, but
decided in favour of staying comfortably seated, smoking my cigarette
and sipping on my gin and tonic. Hey is that the Ghostbusters DVD
over there? No. There was a third final fantasy movie? Wonders
never cease.

Having finished the cigarette I pulled myself up and set myself
forward with renewed determination to write the pokernight email. I
thought about the days I used to carry my laptop with me everywhere.
That’d sure be nice. That was before I relied on it so much for my
livelihood. Also before it grew so many appendages. But surely, this
house, I knew there was at least one functioning Internet enabled
machine I could get to in the control center. Probably just needed to
turn the screen on.

Sometimes I think my cell phone makes a better flashlight than a
communication device. This was the second time tonight I’d used it as
such. It’s tiny screen’s glow illuminated the edges of the giant
screen as I searched for something to depress. Perhaps a switch to
flip. Something labeled “power” at the very bottom proved to be an
indicator not an activator. I ran my fingers around the edges.
Awfully fancy, this thing. I tried jiggling mice again. I tried
pressing keyboard keys. Finally I found a button, on top, behind what
in the Architectural profession we might call a facade. Success.
Kind of. The thing powered on, then told me it could not find any

After a few more minutes of fumbling, I heard a soft sloshy rumbling
from outside. The sound grew louder, and then I heard the door open.
The sound turned into more of a sloshy gargling, growing louder at an
alarming rate. I turned my head to look at the entry way and to my
horror saw a giant land sea anemone, gurgle slosh, gurgle sloshing
it’s way up the stairs. Then lightning struck the house and it caught
on fire. Soon the house was filled with laser gun wielding space
centipedes all blasting away at the land anemone. The house probably
would have been blown away when the land sea anemone set off it’s
unlicensed nuclear device in the middle of the dining room if it had
not been for mighty Thor transporting the entire block to Norse Heaven
just in time. I’m’a have to go do some disco dancing with some sexy
norse goddesses soon, but I just wanted to let you all know first that
it is

at Dangerhouse
“first hand at nine”

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxxxxx xxxx somerville massachusetts.

an inverted pokernight

Date: Thu, 19 Mar 2009 20:38:46 -0400 (EDT)
From: grace
To: poker-night
Subject: an inverted pokernight

to the left of my labbench, there’s a sign that says threateningly “Some
people take their work home with them every night.” picture’s of a
whitecoat scientist leaving behind glowing footsteps.

given the signs around our cafeteria – “no lab coats allowed in lunch
room” – i laughed and ignored it. worst case, all i could bring home was
a little escherichia coli (now with FMRPD1 production capabilities!) or
pichia pastoris (now with extra ORAI1 or ORAI3!). nothing that exotic,
you know?

but then a few days ago, i realized that my room smelled a little oddly
of… of fresh bread. (huh?) more pleasant than stale cigarette smoke,
to be sure, but puzzling. had matt punted his robot-wrangling
responsibilities and become a baker? but no.

yeast. it occurred to me that must have tracked some home – probably a
little medium dripped on the floor, and the rest followed as one might
expect. well, that sorta sucks, but all things considered, my room
suffering from an infestation that yields the scent of fresh bread ain’t
half bad.

well, so i thought at least. it was several days later that i noticed the
floating pen. it was drifting, slowly. drifting upward. i reached up
and grabbed it, noticed that there seemed to be some white crap on one
end. sniffed it: fresh bread.

my yeast was making things float?

but by the time i was on my bike headed to lab, i was convinced i’d
imagined it. and i came home, saw nothing, went to bed. woke up to a
crowded airspace. more pens, socks, books, all drifting upwards, and a
good many had already reached the ceiling. things had obviously gone too
far. could i contain it?

i’ll spare you the details of my attempts to seal off my room, to
suffocate the yeast in a pure CO2 atmosphere, etc. suffice it to say that
despite my desperate measures, the rest of the household began to drift
upwards over the next days and weeks. i took to showering two or three
times a day, trying to prevent the yeast from getting me.

in the news a week or two later, reporters interviewed a neighbor. more
specifically, they interviewed a distraught mother who claimed her
10-month-old child had drifted upwards into the sky. though dismissed as
hysteria, similar reports soon trickled in from other somerville houses.
then cambgridge and medford. it kept spreading. _keeps_ spreading.

i’m sorry to say that i slept too long last night, and awoke to find
myself drifing gently upwards. i’m afraid to leave the house, for fear of
drifting off into the sky, so i’ve been hovering around the dangerhaus
ceilings all day. happily, i found my laptop among the loose things
congregated on the library ceiling. we may all be bobbing around the
ceilings in the grip of a strange yeast-borne levitation plague, but hey,
it’s a thursday night, which means i’m inviting you to….

XX xxxxxxxxx xx.
somerville, MA, 02144, etc.
first hand at 9!

and bring some good beer, eh? we can’t quite reach the beer fridges from
up here!

road trip with poker night

Date: Thu, 12 Mar 2009 22:11:55 -0400 (EDT)
From: grace
To: poker-night
Subject: road trip with poker night

for early morning
pep and bounce
a brand new product
we announce

candidate says
campaign confusing
babies kiss me
since i’ve been using

i’d heard it praised
by drug store clerks
i tried the stuff
hot dog! it works!

on curves ahead
remember, sonny
that rabbit’s foot
didn’t save the bunny

his brush is gone
so what’ll we do
said mike robe i
to mike robe ii

the whale put jonah
down the hatch
but coughed him up
because he scratched

can do more harm
than city fellers
on a farm

heaven’s latest
signalled left
then turned right

his rose is wed
his violet blew
but his sugar is sweet
since he took this cue

it gave mcdonald
that needed charm
hello hollywood
goodbye farm

that monkey took
one look at jim
and threw the peanuts
back att him

he lit a match
to check gas tank
that’s why they call him
skinless frank

free! free!
a trip to mars
for five hundred
empty jars

tested in peace
proven in war
better now
than ever before

we need more beer
first hand’s at nine
XX xxxxxxxxx
off the red line

pokernight on the lusitania

Date: Thu, 5 Mar 2009 19:59:25 -0500 (EST)
From: grace
To: poker-night
Subject: pokernight on the lusitania

you were headed to liverpool. your sister’s sons were sick of working in those bloody wigan coalmines (and of being harassed by the bloody english), and she’d asked you to help the boys get a new start in america. you’d been six days at sea, and were looking forward to seeing ireland for the first time since you were a child (if only from the deck of the ship.)

you, of course, had no idea that the vast majority of the ship’s cargo was munitions, and that your ship was being stalked by an u-boat.

you’d had your lunch and, with nothing better to do, had sat down to gamble away your meagre wages and guzzle the swill that passed for beer down in the third class holds. you’d just dealt the cards to your shipmates when the ship shuddered and shook. 14:10. cards went flying everywhere, and as you all bent to pick them up, a second explosion shook the ship. a moment of silence (and you could hear water, somewhere, and the groaning of stressed metal), and then bedlam reigned.

people went running everywhere, grabbing what they could, screaming about lifeboats. they didn’t get far, though, because there was a slight – no, a definite – no, a pronounced list to the starboard. someone shouted down the stairs that they couldn’t free the lifeboats, that the lifeboats were swinging free over the deck. somewhere nearby, kapitän walter schwieger watched through his periscope as the ship listed further – further – and less than 20 minutes after the torpedo hit, sank beneath the sea.

and where were you through all this? why, you’d gathered the cards back up, re-poured your spilled beers, and tried your damnedest to finish one last hand, because, well, because it was…

at dangerhaus
XX xxxxxxxxx xx
the lusitania
somewhere at the bottom of the atlantic, near the coast of ireland

bring your cards, your beers and your fatalistic attitudes. women and children first.


Date: Thu, 26 Feb 2009 20:09:20 -0500 (EST)
From: Clara.
To: poker-night

Choose life. Choose a wholesome hobby. Choose eight hours of sleep a
night. Choose regular showers and flossing every day. Choose watching
the sunrise from the right side of the day. Choose going to the gym every
morning. Choose a balanced diet composed of regular nutritious meals.
Choose clothes that need dry cleaning. Choose a healthy normal social
life. Choose being on time. Choose blind dates that consist of dinner, a
movie, and going home alone in a cab. Choose paying someone to fix your
computer. Choose thirteen dollars for a movie in a theater with stadium
seating. Choose action movies to watch without noticing the violations of
physics. Choose spending Thursday nights home alone. Choose thinking of
quarters as units for laundry not small and big blind. Choose normality.
Choose life… But why would I want to do a thing like that?

I chose not to choose life. I chose something else. And the reasons?
There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got Poker Night?

People think its all about misery and desperation and death and all that
shite, which is not to be ignored, but what they forget is the pleasure of
it. Otherwise we wouldn’t do it. After all, were not fucking stupid. At
least, were not that fucking stupid. Take the best game of Windows
Solitaire you ever played, multiply it by a thousand and you’re still
nowhere near it.

When you’re at Poker Night you have only one worry: the straight on the
river. When you’re out you are suddenly obliged to worry about all sorts
of other shite. Got no money: can’t get pished. Got money: drinking too
much. Can’t get a bird: no chance of a ride. Got a bird: too much hassle.
You have to worry about bills, about food, about some football team that
never fucking wins, about human relationships and all the things that
really don’t matter when you’ve got a sincere and truthful poker habit.

Choose Poker Night.
Choose XX Xxxxxxxxx Xx. #X Somerville MA 02144.
Choose first hand at 9.

Sick Day

Date: Thu, 08 Nov 2007 20:31:32 -0500
From: Gonj
To: poker-night
Subject: Sick Day

Ever have one of those days? You wake up…you feel great…then you
make the mistake of getting out of bed…things seem ok for about thirty
seconds, then the just as you are about to stumble to the bathroom, it
feels like you head gets hit by a freight train running late on the
sinus express…just as you realize that that sucks, the niagara falls
in your nose decides it’s going to verify that gravity still works…by
the time you’ve stumbled to the bathroom, your head is about to explode,
you can’t blow you nose fast enough, and then to top everything off, you
realize you have to be out of the house in 10 minutes, know that you
can’t take the day off…will work a twelve hour day…and then when you
finally think you can drift off to the peaceful oblivion of sleep, you

…clearly, there’s only one course of medicine that can cure these
ills….a whopping dose of…

Poker Night…


First Hand @ 9p…

Quit your damn whining and take your medicine already!!!…doctor’s orders..

“inviting strangers”

Date: Thu, 1 Nov 2007 20:50:58 -0400 (EDT)
From: “Clara.”
To: poker-night
Subject: “inviting strangers”

i could tell you a fairy tale
make it good
with aliens and ducks and booze
and probably a little child
with a fetish for some emo objet d’art
it’d be all postmodern and shit

but i’m too high on the fumes
of sleep-dep
of dusty sweat
of hair dye
of moving
of power (!)

my office flooded
and ruined a midterm project

i cried (i didn’t)
a robot got damp (it did)

damp robots have a hard time making it to poker night.

think of the robots.
who can’t eat food.
cuz food is awesome.

Poker Night!
XX Xxxxxxxxx Xx. #X
Somerville, MA, oh-too-won-for-for


Date: Thu, 25 Oct 2007 17:56:10 -0700 (PDT)
From: Dan G.
To: poker-night
Subject: poker

Well, Frankie Lee and Judas Priest,
They were the best of friends.
So when Frankie Lee needed money one day,
Judas quickly pulled out a roll of tens
And placed them on a footstool
Just above the plotted plain,
Sayin’, “Take your pick, Frankie Boy,
My loss will be your gain.”

Well, Frankie Lee, he sat right down
And put his fingers to his chin,
But with the cold eyes of Judas on him,
His head began to spin.
“Would ya please not stare at me like that,” he said,
“It’s just my foolish pride,
But sometimes a man must be alone
And this is no place to hide.”

Why did Frankie Lee need money? He lost it all at Dangerhouse poker
night. You can be a loser too.

Dangerhouse, 9PM