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Poker Night 9pm Dangerhouse

Date: Thu, 18 Oct 2007 20:21:11 -0400
From: “Matt”
To: poker-night
Subject: Poker Night 9pm Dangerhouse

Do not be fooled by this minimalist invitation. There will be good times
tonight, the sort you’ll look back on a decade from now and think “Damn,
thems were some good times, yup.” Of course, by then you’ll have fallen out
with all the friends you knew back now. Dangerhouse will be an ashen pit
surrounded by radioactivity, all because some kid pressed the button in the
basement which drained the swimming pool which was the coolant tank for the
reactor. The microwave will be filled with hamster guts. And try as though
you might have, your cheerleader girlfriend’s brain will have been replaced
with a meteorite by some want-to-be mad scientist.

So you might as well be here again for what might be the last time before it
all goes horribly wrong.

Or maybe it already has gone horribly wrong…
Poker Night
XX Xxxxxxxxx Xx.
Somerville, MA some-zipcode-I-still-haven’t learned.

The first tentacle is at 9pm.

Poker Night – Dangerhouse

Date: Thu, 11 Oct 2007 21:00:10 -0400
From: “Matt”
To: poker-night
Subject: Poker Night – Dangerhouse

[ imagine a poker night email here ]

Poker Night
1st hand 9pm
Dangerhouse
XX Xxxxxxxxx Xx
Somerville MA

[ imagine a witty catch phrase here ]

The Most Dangerous Philosophical Discourse of Modern Times upon the Subjects of Gin, The Universe and Poker

Date: Thu, 04 Oct 2007 19:42:34 -0400
From: Gonj
To: poker-night
Subject: The Most Dangerous Philosophical Discourse of Modern Times upon the
Subjects of Gin, The Universe and Poker

Welcome Ladies and Gentlemen to the Dangerhouse Philosophical Salon…

Withing these hallowed halls of knowledge and learning, you will be able
to find experts aplenty who can provide answers to all the questions of
life, the universe, and everything…

On this fine evening one may expect to find our resident mad roboticist
holding a delightful session in the library covering wide ranging
topics from the color of the sky, to the nature of life, five easy steps
to world domination, or perhaps the shortest path between any two points
in time…(gin is a key ingredient in the last of these)….audience
participation at one’s own risk…

Elsewhere in our historic establishment, the good doctor will be
educating the poor unwashed masses in the arts of procrastination,
employable unemployment, the existential nature of the gimlet, and last,
but certainly not least, his five step journey to enlightenment while
sustaining his body and mind solely on the rich nectar of sleepless
nights and gin induced stupors….

And finally, our carnivorous, fire roasting, drink-making curmudgeon
will provide exquisite drinks from the farthest corners of the earth
that are guaranteed to provide revelations aplenty on the morrow while
at the same time dishing out nuggets o’ jadedness, whispers o’ deafening
volumes, as well as being a good-natured pain in the ass to any
foolishness enough to stumble by…

Our esteemed faculty have assembled after combing the far corners of the
globe and we heartily hope one and all can make the journey to listen
and acquire knowledge that until now had been presumed lost to the bleak
corners of history….

Our evening’s activities will be commencing with the first session
beginning at 9p and will most assuredly continue until all comers have
passed out, been driven to most dastardly beast that is the T, or until
the gin has run dry….

A Night of Dangerous Talk, Veiled Mystery…oh yeah, and maybe a few
hands of poker for those not up to high scholarly pursuits this evening
At Dangerhouse…XX Xxxxxxxxx Xx #X…

Poker Night – 9pm – Dangerhouse

Date: Thu, 20 Sep 2007 19:51:50 -0400
From: “Matt”
To: poker-night
Subject: Poker Night – 9pm – Dangerhouse

Once upon a time, like last week or so, there was a man named Bob, who was a
Nihilist and would have believed in nothing were he to believe in anything
at all. To make a long introduction involving his growing up, going to
school, studying, and getting a job relatively short, he met an Evangelical
Fundamentalist Pagan named Sue. Now Sue, far from believing in nothing,
believed in lots of things. Many of these things violated important physical
laws such as the first, second, and occasionally third laws of entropy. You
know the sort of things I’m talking about, summoning Maxwell’s daemons and
auroras and those goofy crystals that are going to make you feel better if
you sleep with one of them under your pillow every night. Especially that
last one, which I’ve been doing for weeks, and for the shear pounds of
quartz I have under my pillow, I still can’t get out of bed in the morning
before ten. But I am digressing.

Bob and Sue got along like oil and water, which was to say that they seemed
comfortable intermixing in that maintaining your own identity sort of way.
They met on MySpace, where Sue led the Neo-Pagan-gelical Evangelous Boston
meeting group. Admitably, their current project of raising Man-Ray from the
grave was going quite poorly, but the pentagram knitting crafts night was
going swimmingly. They went out for chai a couple of times, found each
other were cute, and it took it from there. Bob thought for a moment that
he might believe in Sue, and Sue thought that Bob might be a reincarnated
avatar of the goddess Inari that she ensnared with a sixth-level love spell
involving goat’s blood she bought at Harvest. Or at least, she reasoned,
he’s better looking than that awful Crowley-Thoth theist she was dating last
month and all his “Love is the Law, baby,” bullshit.

However, sadly unknown to them both, they were going nowhere. Much like this
story. Wow, man, I’m sorry.

…I really lack the ability to continue this farce of clever poker email
writing tonight. We all see through this for what it is, a thinly veiled cry
for human contact. Click click. That was funny. Wonder why you and I are
sitting in front of these computers so alone right now. So alone. This,
this story, this invitation, Bob & Sue, all this, is going nowhere.

You however are going to Poker Night!

( which our marketing department really encourages us to further brand as:
“A fun-filled activity night somewhere in the gray zone between pure
magic and exhilarating nothing!”(tm) and
“Better than Mohegan Sun on crack, or at least the morning
after…”(tm) )

Poker Night
XX Xxxxxxxxx Xx.
Somerville, MA
The hand that shall be first shall be at the hour of nines.

PS. Our diversity lawyers really encourage me to add:
“Apologies to my pagan friends for any perceived religious insensitivity.
Really, ask anyone, I find goth girls totally hot.”

Poker Night 9pm Dangerhouse

Date: Thu, 13 Sep 2007 20:04:48 -0400
From: “Matt”
To: poker-night
Subject: Poker Night 9pm Dangerhouse

>> I am the psychotherapist. Please, describe your problems. Each time
>> you are finished talking, type RET twice.

I have trouble concentrating on the meaningless details of my modern life.

>> Why do you say that?

Mostly I say that because I have trouble concentrating on the
meaningless details of my modern life. Also, because I’m hoping you’ll
diagnose me with ADHD.

>> Is it because because you have trouble concentrating on the
>> meaningless details of your modern life also because you are hoping I
>> shall diagnose you with adhd that you came to me?

Yes, precisely.

>> Earlier you said because you have trouble concentrating on the
>> meaningless details of your modern life also because you are hoping I
>> shall diagnose you with adhd?

I’m having trouble concentrating on what you’re saying. Gee, that
ashtray sure looks delicious. Will you diagnose me with ADHD already?
I’m getting bored.

>> Maybe your plans have something to do with this.

To live a wonderful and charming life on a precise mix of four
amphetamine salts blended more precisely that an artisan Irish
Whiskey? Yes. Those are my plans.

>> Do you drink a lot of whiskey?

Only on Thursdays. No, that’s a lie. Yes.

>> What makes you believe only on Thursdays no that’s a lie yes?

You apparently also drink a lot of whiskey…

>> Do you get drunk often?

Don’t we all? Why don’t we both go to Poker Night?

>> Are you afraid of that?

Only because I live at Dangerhouse…

>> Does it bother you that you live at dangerhouse?

It’s the best thing in a life full of really great stuff.

>> You mentioned that because you have trouble concentrating on the
>> meaningless details of your modern life also because you are hoping I
>> shall diagnose you with adhd?

Ok. Enough. Go to poker night already.

>> Is it because of your life that you are going through all this?

Ummm…

>> Can you elaborate on that?

Ummm…

The above is a real conversation between an individual and a real live
psychotherepist residing in his computer. This clearly demonstrates that
PSYCHOTHEREPY IS EVIL. A conversation like the above can lead into a maze
of self-destruction. Please come to Thetan III cleared Dangerhouse to be
AUDITED tonight. We’ve got the e-meter cranking already, and I’ll have you
know, I’m doing better already.

Personality Test Night
First hand at 9.
XX Xxxxxxxxx Xx.
somewhere off the bow of the SO vessel Freewinds, I think.
in Davis Square.

Jon Travolta loves you. I promise.

Mike doesn’t know what this pokernight email should be about

To: poker-night
From: electroblake
Subject: Mike doesn’t know what this pokernight email should be about
Date: Thu, 6 Sep 2007 21:07:08 -0400

But he thinks it should be about bunnies. Bunnies that do the happy
dance and wave their arms around. You’d better not be writting this
down. Aw. You son of a bitch. Son of a bitch, son of a bitch!

It’s Done!

Pokernight!
tonight
at Dangerhouse!
“first hand at nine”

Oh Joyous Pokernight

To: poker-night
From: electroblake
Subject: Oh Joyous Pokernight
Date: Thu, 23 Aug 2007 20:03:51 -0400

In the event that you find yourself living in a simulated world, the
experts agree that the best thing for you to do is to make yourself
as interesting as possible to the being monitoring the simulation.
The theory being that if you are interesting enough, the being may
decide they want to keep you around and will put you in into future
simulations as well. It is unclear if you will retain any of your
memories from this simulation if you do happen to be copied over, but
the nature vs. nurture argument would suggest that at least some of
your interestingness has to do with your life experiences and
therefore your memories, so it would stand to reason that if you were
copied it would be to the benefit of the being running the
simulation’s entertainment to have you keep at least some subset of
your memories.

There are many cultures that have long held that when a creature dies
they will be reincarnated, and that their actions in this life
dictate the type of creature you will be reincarnated into. It is,
however, far from common to find that a newborn child has a complete
set of life memories. You might suppose that a simulation
sophisticated enough to fool several billion humans would also be
capable of supplying very similar stimuli to a new human child as the
previous incarnation had been exposed to, thus creating a human adult
very similar to the one it had been copied from. Then again, it may
also be a fun entertainment to alter the variables a little bit every
time. How would Gandhi turn out if he had been raised in a Mormon
extremist cult settlement in the Utah desert, for example? What if
Richard Nixon were raised by drunk astronauts? These are questions a
bored history buff with a copy of the latest civilization simulator
might take it upon themselves to answer. There are countless PhD
theses to be written on the effects of slightly alcoholic well water
in roman villages or the effect of a God who pays attention. There
are millions of ways to fuck around with civilization when you’ve got
the power to do whatever the fuck you want.

In terms of surviving as an individual in a simulation, being
interesting and a desirable character in the simulated world you find
yourself in is probably a good idea, but it seems unlikely that when
your life here ends you will wake up clutching your mama’s breasts
sucking down the life milk of another world. It just doesn’t seem
like it would work out well.

If anything, the best a simulated person can likely hope for is to be
copied over to some kind of holding simulation the being running the
simulation runs specifically for holding characters they find
interesting. This could take the form of a world where all babies
are born with a full set of memories. This could be a fun game, as
the being running the simulation would need to maintain an
environment where the individuals involved are comfortable with the
idea of giving birth to complete strangers, who might emerge from the
womb cursing and swearing as they have likely just been stabbed in
the heart six times by the ring leader of a gang of prostitutes or
just died after surviving an experimental aircraft crash only to
struggle through the desert for six hours searching for water,
getting eaten alive by bugs and bitten by snakes and desert wombats.
Could be interesting. Or it could be very much like the popular
vision of heaven, where everyone gets to wear clean white robes and
sleep on clouds and there’s nothing to do all day but drink the
finest of liquors and have sex with beautiful strangers and you’re
never hung over and you don’t have to go to a stupid job in the
morning – but you do have to accept that you and your world were
Created by The Being and you will live in this paradise only so long
as the plug doesn’t get pulled on the whole thing or until The Being
gets a girlfriend and forgets about the whole thing.

It could also be the cases that when you die, you’ll open your eyes
again, squint through the smoke, take a long pull on your cigarette,
gulp down a gin and tonic, and raise the bet two dollars because
somehow you find yourself once again at

Pokernight!
tonight!
at dangerhouse

“first hand at nine”

dangerhouse is XX xxxxxxxxx xx #X in simulated somerville.

Pokernight Fairytale

To: poker-night
From: electroblake
Subject: Pokernight Fairytale
Date: Thu, 16 Aug 2007 19:45:54 -0400

Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there was an office supply
store. It was a magic office supply store, filled with enchanted
staplers and prescient post it notes. If you put one of the post it
notes on the fridge, for example, a shopping list for the food items
you were about to run out of would magically appear. A post it note
on your phone would display the number of the girl who’s call you
were just about to miss. And the staplers were enchanted by demons
and if you tried to use one to say, attach three sheets of paper
together the papers would instantly be transported into the nether-
world in a brief phosphorescent flash accompanied by the demonic
screeching laughter of zombie hyenas.

Nobody liked the magic office supply store. It was creepy, so they
all just went to Staples whenever they needed to buy filing folders
that wouldn’t stain their files with human blood or paperclips that
call fourth the lord satan every time you bent one slightly out of
shape.

The thing was, nobody in the land far far away had an office job.
They all worked in coffee houses and french bistros. There were a
few people who worked at the roller rink. And sure, even roller
rinks and coffee houses need to buy staplers every once in a while,
and so the staples store was able to stay in business for a little
while, but eventually the owners of the store got tired of it and
shut it down and turned it into a competing roller rink.

At first the people of the land far far away were ecstatic to have
another roller rink in town, because everyone thought that the first
roller rink got a little too crowded on saturday nights and some of
them thought that the first roller rink played “limbo” far too often
and “hokey pokey” not often enough (though others thought that they
played “hokey pokey” far to often and “limbo” not often enough) and
thus the town was rapidly torn into two factions. The first roller
rink started playing “limbo” more and more often as the second roller
rink specialized in “hokey pokey” and before you knew it it was
nothing but free skate and “limbo” at the first and nothing but free
skate and “hokey pokey” at the second.

Roller gangs formed shortly thereafter, along with the gang violence
that is to be expected. Eventually it got to be so bad that the
citizens of the land far far away decided that they needed to form a
system of government that could run a law enforcement system to keep
the two factions from fighting.

At first there was some level of success, but for every incident of
roller gang violence the new police department had to open a new
case, and cases involve files, and they needed some way of keeping
documents for one case separate from documents from another case.
Having no other options, the police were forced to buy a stapler, a
box of staples, a filing cabinet, some file folders, and a word
processor from the magic office supply store. Before anyone knew
what was happening, the town was invaded by witches. Then the
zombies came and waged war against the witches. The town was forced
to form a militia to protect its citizens from the invading forces.
This requires another word processor, some paper clips, and ever more
file folders. Soon yak blood was pouring out of every fountain in
the land, frogs were raining from the sky, cats and dogs were living
together, and the lord satan himself started showing up for “hokey
pokey” at the second roller rink.

Of course, blood in the fountains and dead frogs in the streets
required the formation of a public works department. This required
yet another word processor, more staplers and staples, file folders
galore, a case of post it notes, and a set of stamps that stamped out
the words “approved” or “denied” or “canceled”. Soon the sky
blackened. Young babies began reciting Led Zeppelin lyrics, and all
the cats mysteriously disappeared.

The blackened sky put a tax on the towns meager power generation
facilities and a new public works project had to be formed to build a
large nuclear power plant and an electric light bulb factory. Bids
for construction were solicited from local contractors. Even more
file folders were required. The people of the land far far away
begged their elected officials to not buy the file folders from the
magic office supply store, but the officials said they had no other
choice. Then a young boy asked why they didn’t just ask the owner of
the “hokey pokey” roller rink to re-open his staples franchise? The
officials considered this, and decided it was worth a shot, but when
they approached the second roller rink they found that the lord satan
had bought the building from the original owners and refused to do
anything to help the poor townspeople, laughing and spitting fire and
brimstone as he told the people they would have no other choice but
to buy their file folders from the magic office supply store.

And so they did.

And they all turned into toads.

Except for a few of them.

They were gone that night, because they had been at

Pokernight!
tonight!
at Dangerhouse
“first hand at nine”

dangerhouse is XX xxxxxxxxx xx. #X in succulent somerville, ma

pokernight recipe for success #1: Pokernight Poundcake

To: poker-night
From: electroblake
Subject: pokernight recipe for success #1: Pokernight Poundcake
Date: Thu, 9 Aug 2007 21:36:56 -0400

Gather the following ingredients:

6 empty handles Bombay Sapphire
1 overripe abortion joke
2 cups ball bearings
3 killer robot
17 virgins
3 tbs butter
3 eggs
1 cup milk
cigarette butts to taste

Using the bread hook attachment of your industrial sized Kitchenaid
stand mixer, grind the empty handles Bombay Sapphire into a course
mash using setting 2.

Add butter, milk, and eggs. Continue grinding at setting 5 until the
mixture becomes a fine paste. Add cigarette butts.

In a separate room, mix virgins and robots until screaming ceases.
Mix for five additional minutes.

Combine virgin mush with Sapphire paste with a few deft strokes.
Pour into poundcake pan. You may need a larger pan than usual.

Bake at 4000 degrees until abortion joke becomes unfunny. Allow to
cool until joke is funny again. Top with ball bearings. Throw away
immediately. Come to pokernight.

tonight
“first hand at nine”

at

dangerhouse the dangerhouse.

bring booze.

use your $20 bill to buy your Charlie Ticket and show up with 18
shiny $1 coins!

The Dark Spirt of Pokernight

To: poker-night
From: electroblake
Subject: The Dark Spirt of Pokernight
Date: Thu, 2 Aug 2007 21:59:22 -0400

Pokernight has a dark dark spirt!

Don’t eat it!

tonight!
dangerhouse.
“first hand at nine”