Hello everyone, I’m vhallee and I’m not here right now, but please leave a message after the beep.

So we had the Halloween party last weekend, whose main purpose was to dress like Wolverine or the Joker and get drunk. It’s not like I would not dress as the Joker any other day (I do), but on this day you just HAVE to do it. I’m not your average trick-or-treater, but that’s mostly because I’m 24, I guess.

I had to decide which costume I will wear and I had about 2 weeks to do that. As always, I figured I would take the best decision under pressure, aka in the same day when the party was supposed to take place. That was a bad idea, come to think of it, since there was no costume shop open on Saturday afternoon. I wasn’t planning on that.

Ah, no dude, I'm completely ok with skin-tight yellow costumes

This looked like a job for the creative part of my brain, so I started looking around the house to see what I could use to put together a nice costume. I was also unsure of what I would wanna be – my colleagues obviously suggested Dracula or gypsy, since they don’t want me to forget where I come from (Romania). I decided to be a zombie, because I thought it would be the easiest one to make. Pale face? Check (Internet does that to you). Ripped clothing? Check (courtesy of my home country + being chased by dogs). Blood? Check, check, CHECK! I knew there was a reason why I kept hoarding those little ketchup bags from McDonalds, but they all laughed at me. Well, who’s laughing now? (No, seriously, who’s laughing? I hear laughter.)

This is exactly what goes on in my head at any given time

Next step was to decide how to put the costume together. I went to the bathroom and started shredding a T-shirt with more ferocity than a serial killer in a dramatic scene (the one with lots of violin in the background). Armed with some scissors, lots of ketchup bags (aghghhh… the laughter… is back…) and a lot of good will, I proceeded to the bathroom, where the magic would happen. I painted the PokerStrategy.com logo in ketchup on the back, and then tried the same thing on the front (it kinda failed). In the end, the bathroom looked like I had a fight with a zombie female that was on her period.

Once I figured out how to wear it without destroying it, I was ready to go. I also took some extra ketchup packs in case I wanna smear them on my face later on. What I didn’t consider was the possibility of the border guards checking my pockets and finding them, which would make for a nice “I can explain” moment. Luckily, they considered that bulge in my pants to be just a sign of me being happy to see them. Once I got past the border, I obviously took a bus, since zombies are slow, right? The main purpose was to scare old people on the bus, but I didn’t really succeed. They only had that look on their face that said “Son, I’m not mad at you, I’m just… disappointed”. That hurt.

Throughout the trip in the bus I kept my Phil Ivey face on, so that I would be prepared for the party. It worked out pretty well, given the fact that the pictures were quite good (according to other colleagues, I didn’t (want to) see them). So I reached the party and there were already a lot of people there, most of them trying to figure out what the others are (it’s so painful when your costume doesn’t have a distinct identity). I mean I didn’t have to worry about anyone else spraying the PokerStrategy.com logo on the back of their tattered T-shirt.

That's right. I also thought he had kings.

Next thing that I wanted was (besides brains) to get more blood-looking things, so I started with red wine. That was not a bad choice at all, since I wanted to smear it over my face, but I realized that the wine was actually pretty good. Fast forward to a few drinks later and I find myself wearing a wig from the Japanese CM Sergey. From that point on, I was no longer just a zombie – I was zombie Jesus! I actually liked that wig so much that I kept wearing it throughout the evening (thanks, Sergey!) and I also received numerous compliments because of it (apparently that wig really brings out my eyes). The party itself was great but I felt a bit sick throughout the whole thing and that was because I cooked for myself before I left home (Note to self: switch back to junk food, cooked meals don’t work).

I forgot to mention my Australian colleague

I got a ride home with my Australian colleague and badass accountant (crikey, mate!) and I know that I was still wearing that wig. I guess I really liked the compliments about my eyes and I wanted to live those moments a bit longer. Needless to say I wore the wig all the way home. On Monday I had to take the wig with me across the border so that I can return it. Again I was faced with the possibility of having to explain why I carry a wig with my laptop and my bike (cause I’m a hacker who’s into 80’s hair metal bands like Bon Jovi, officer). My colleague didn’t want it back so I had to carry it back home and, obviously, across the border again. God dammit.

Alright, that’s all for now, so join me next time when I will tell you why I’m no longer welcomed in Zimbabwe.

Yours truly,

vhallee 

Beep.

Hello I'm vhallee and these are the voyages of Starship Enterprise. If you’re wondering why I haven’t added a blog in a long time, it means you care. Thank you. I can't promiseI will update the blog regularly, but I will do my best. Your comments have been great so far, so keep 'em coming!

Star date 56789.10. I descended upon Planet HealthCentreum, looking to ease the angry god that was in my mouth again – the tooth ache just returned like in that Alien series except with less Segourney Weaver. Ok this is getting lame.

The problem is that this time, the fecal sausage really hit the fan. How hard? Well, pretty hard, considering the fact that the dentist had to fly in a colleague of his from the other side of Spain, just to deal with my problem. Chances are I'm already in some sort of rare/freakish dentist gazette, but hey, fame doesn't come for free.

HAHAHA GET IT?!

Of course, the dentist didn't tell me things were really scary, instead he just used the “there have been some complications” line. I immediately recognized that I might be quite close to dying, which is why I immediately called my family and told them that I love them all. Then I asked how the cat is doing, because it is my favorite cat, they told me it's doing quite well. The conversation lasted for quite a while and it made my phone credit crumble.

Another thing that made me fear for my life was the costume. It is a well-known fact that the seriousness of any medical-related operation is measured in how strange his suit is: if it's some sort of astronaut suit, you're pretty much done for. Plus the creepy wallpaper with those smiley animals – remember I told you about it?

Also, the dentist he invited was a baby.

This whole operation can simply be described as: I have been drilled by two men in astronaut-like suits, which at one point included a money shot (they said it was water spilling from these utensils but I have a feeling it was my blood at least or something much, much worse). When the whole thing ended, we shook hands, exchanged numbers and agreed to do this again sometimes.

Regarding my now-famous bike, things are going well. I am still alive and all my internal organs are in the same place, but that doesn’t exclude a set of problems that this bike keeps getting me into. Also, I feel it has some sort of effect on me, because it keeps making me do stupid things while on the road. This time I don’t mean things like solving crosswords, playing Russian roulette or playing Russian crosswords (solving crosswords with a gun), but it’s just that I have the tendency to make the worst decisions on the road, when other cars are there as well. I guess that’s how suicidal bikers or low-rank stuntmen feel like. To me, this can only mean one thing: this could be the bike of Satan, if he was into biking.

Now all I need is a Wolf Shirt

That’s it for now; join me next time when I will post the pictures from my annual “Naked clowns fighting to the death with crossbows” championship.

Yours truly,
vhallee

 Hello, I'm vhallee and I can't dance, I can't talk, the only thing about me is the way I walk.

You know, I like biking. It's true that I haven't had a bike in 10 years and that I'm a danger to myself and the others while on the bike (sober), but I do like to ride a bike. I want to ride it like crazy. Yeah. Riding it until it begs for more. What was I saying?

So yeah I thought to myself that a bike would make my life easier (I can rob 8 times more people like this), which is why I went to Carrefour to get one. I'm not too good at picking bikes, simply because I was rarely into contact with these things (first clue of my incompetence: I went to goddamn Carrefour to buy a bike – I know, I know, I pretty much fail at life).

I went to the bike section, and using my trained eye, I checked which bike would be suitable to me, while considering important factors such as optimal tire pressure, gear changing / speed ratio, as well as overall bike metal composition. Well not really, I just took a black bike. Also I seem to have some sort of weird wounds on the back of my feet. I've been told it's because I hit myself against the pedals like an idiot when I'm walking besides it. I say it's a sign.

I also hear voices in my head but all they do is complain.

 

However, I felt it was something special with this bike. Maybe it was its dark color, maybe it was the way it does that low humming sound when I cross alleys at night, maybe it's the fact that the seat split in half when I took a fast bump (apparently I DO have buns of steel), just a week after I bought it. It could be any of those things.

So I somehow managed to break a goddamn bike seat in half when I was taking a curve while standing (and not sitting); it seems that the force with which my ass hit the seat was too much (even though I weigh somewhere around 10kg while wearing a wet Eskimo jacket on me – I get many emails from models asking me for my weight secret).

I had to go back to Carrefour with it, two weeks after I bought the damn thing, and punch the salesman in the ear, kick him in the groin and steal his wallet ask to get it fixed. He looked at me, then he looked at the torn bike seat, then again at me, with a look that said “Are you fucking kidding me?”. He didn't believe I was capable of that. The bike didn't either. And it paid the price.

They replaced the seat and they probably gave me the worst one they had over there, but also the strongest one, probably made of Adamantium. It also has other problems now, as the screw is not too good and it moves as if I put my ass on a boat when I ride this thing. I tried many times to screw it back, it was not so good but I eventually managed to screw it until I was sure it can't be opened back again. Now my seat stays fixed in a weird position and there's nothing I can do about it.

Over the course of the following weeks I broke by back breaks, I crashed several times, I missed social events (sorry guys, I have to take the bike home and I can barely drive it sober), all in all it made me age faster ( I have gray hairs now). I will probably whine more about how life is unfair and how I punished myself by getting this bike.

They feel my pain. YOU could be next.

n00b!

This is the best part:

You answered: SHOULDERS

A born loser. You fail in everything that you do. People dislike you and you tend to spend your time alone. Your type have been known to be heavy gamblers and drinkers. You see the world as a living hell. Money and power is also important to you. But your luck will always fail you. You make a lousy sex partner. You will find it difficult to find a partner in life. Those who chose Armpits are your only chance.

Translation: No, seriously, kill yourself now. You're wasting perfectly good oxygen. Actually there's no need to translate anything, they make it pretty clear. You fail at life, people who wash your shoulders first! 

I believe the number of Facebook-related teen suicides increased dramatically when this test was released.

One more thing: from now on I will try to post some links that I consider interesting. I might be wrong though. Let me know what you think.

BONUS: If The Godfather would have been directed by Spongebob Squarepants.

BONUS 2: Play him off, keyboard cat!

That's it for now, thanks for reading. Join me next time when I will film myself eating soup while standing on my head. Yours truly, vhallee.

Hello I'm vhallee and I'm not afraid of ghosts. Ok, maybe a little.

Our team building events are amazing. Just recently, our first round of paintball and bowling adventure were on the news and there will be a documentary soon on National Geographic channel about them called “PokerStrategy – The pimptastic school of awesomeness”. Also, my right hand is numb from all that autograph signing that I do on my way to buy drugs and Skittles.

Due to the huge success that our paintball experience had, this weekend was the time for the second round. Just like when a Sicilian is celebrating his birthday, company paintball means you can do anything that day and get away with it basically, regardless of the team you are in. The strategy article wasn't translated in time? The video was broken? The news had errors in it? Make them pay. This is also a reason why some don't even join us and they invoke pathetic reasons like 'business meeting', 'leaving the city', 'in prison' or stuff like that. Pansies.

Now there's a little thing you need to take into consideration when playing this game: if your target is closer than, let's say 5 meters, then that's called painball. Of course I learned that the hard way on two separate occasions, both of which were in a distance of 5 meters or less: first time I was hiding behind a hill on the right side of my team's field. I was hidden better than North Korea hides its nukes and I was pretty much sure that I covered that side good enough, which meant that I was only supposed to be careful with the left side. Bad move. As soon as I got up to run towards the middle, I got shot in the ass by someone from the goddamn right side. Also, the shot gave me an ass cramp for the next few minutes. I suck.

Paintball minigun. Be a god among men

Well, I figured since I was still halfway on enemy territory, I might just as well keep going and reach their exit, holding my gun and my left hand up high so anyone could see I'm not a threat. It didn't work out that way, as it only took a minute or so and another enemy who was hidden in the bushes shot me in the ass (what the hell is wrong with you people?). At the end, Lutz aka Xantos told me that I should have been singing to signal the ones who weren't sure if I'm bluffing or I was really down. He also admitted he was the one who shot me in the ass that second time. I did not ask him if he enjoyed it because he had a creepy smile on his face while he was talking to me.

The best picture I could find to show my feelings after two ass cramps. I'm supposed to be the cat there by the way.

Join me next time when I will buy a monkey and take it home just for the fun of it.

Hello, I'm vhallee and I can't believe this is not butter.

I had a pretty bad weekend which I'm trying to believe is not Mother Nature's way of saying she hates me – however, it's hard to think otherwise. By the way, now I'm alive and well, although I have been mentally scarred and I'm thinking of therapy.

It all started when I had a seemingly-innocent tooth ache at work on a Friday. The thing is that it just didn't want to go away – kinda like Nick Carter keeps pretending he's a star to girls over 12. I eventually got home and the evening was not exactly a good one, as the pain was escalating and the only painkiller that I had around was alcohol.

Fuck you, vhallee

I figured that I could just drink beer until I get numb and thus be able to sleep – good idea, right? Well yeah, but not all things went as planned: I got so drunk that, for some weird reason which I can't explain to this day, I felt the need to check my online banking service. By now you realize I did not know my password so I managed to block my account. A lightning bolt striking me would have been good to end the evening in the same fashion.

Next day I went shopping with the spare cash that I had, but my list didn't include shoes, make-up or stuff like that because I went to do some shopping, the manly way: I bought knives, guns and raw meat. Ok maybe that wasn't exactly my shopping list. Moving on.

When I came back I realized my door handle decided to screw me over, which meant that if I were to open the door from the inside, I would always need the key. As for the outer door handle, there's no such thing, as the Spanish doors have a sort of knob. This means that even if the door is unlocked but still shut, you can't get in. That was some useful information and I think I learned my lesson from my previous experience. I talked to the landlord and he said he would have it done on Monday so I just had to not screw it up for the remainder of the weekend. Fearing my own stupidity, I simply stayed inside for two days so I won't have to go through another embarrassing experience again.

My door handle. With lasers. From the future.

All went well and I managed to survive inside the apartment and Monday morning came. I was getting ready to go to work, when I heard a call on the intercom. Two Spanish women started talking fast enough for me to just agree with whatever they were saying so I simply let them get inside, thinking they maybe have some relatives in the block or something. I was wrong. But vhallee-san, my Japanese readers will ask, don't you know opening the door to strangers can get you into trouble or paid sex? I know, I know, I dropped the ball on that one, but I simply didn't care at that time. A few moments later, there's a ring at my door. Now I assumed the worst – the police found a particular drug stash and a particular dead hooker called Rosie – but it was even worse and I was yet to know.

Most image searches for "Jehovah's witness" give you poorly-written comedy strips and 80s movies covers.

Being naïve as I usually am, I open the door and I see two women who did not come to offer me unconditional love because of my Internet fame. No. They were Jehovah's witnesses and they came to save my soul. But I had no time for that – I was supposed to arrive to work because it was rooftop tennis day at PokerStrategy (we have some work-stimulating activities such as playing tennis on the roof of the building, next to the 2 heliports, shark wrestling, bear riding, and others). The bad part was that they were talking Spanish quite fast, which triggers my instant approval for no matter what they asked – in this case they asked to come in and have a talk about spirituality.

What happened next was that they already had me under their evil spell, so I let them in (actually they auto-invited themselves and I simply agreed like a kid going to dome dude's van cause there's candy inside. Then I realized one of them shut the door behind her and there was a weird noise afterwards – that was the noise of the door lock dying on me, meaning that I couldn't open it even with a key now. So I was stuck with two middle-aged women who claimed to have seen Jehovah or something (Jehovah's eye witnesses?) my tooth ache had come back and I was running late. I had to spend almost one hour for the landlord to come and release me from that prison, in which time those women kept on talking.

Let's take a look at that tooth of yours.

Right after I escaped, I went to the dentist because I couldn't take it anymore. However, things went bad over there as well, as the dentist turned out to be an ex-convicted criminal with multiple outstanding convictions, whose favourite weapon was the scalpel. He also had pictures of colourful animals on the ceiling, making it for an even more terrifying experience. He tied me up to the chair, kissed me on my ear and then he said everything's gonna be alright. He then gave me some chloroform and all just went black. I have no idea what happened but my tooth was still hurting and now I also had a weird painful sensation whenever I tried to sit down. Also my wallet was gone. Ok so maybe I exaggerated a little: the dentist was actually friendly, he likes fishing and guitars and he did a great job taking away my pain. But he actually has that scary animal poster on the ceiling which is clear just when you lie down there. Alone. Helpless.

Join me next time when I will try my skill in midget crossbow wrestling and report back.

Disclaimer: The opinions and (mediocre) humour from the following blog do not represent the views of any other PokerStrategy.com employee. In other words, flame me for hating obnoxious little babies, not the others.

Ok so I left Romania at the end of September, destination being Spain, since I live there now and I work in Gibraltar. I went to the airport with my luggage and my computer and the first step was to bribe one of the airport workers there to take care of the computer and not throw it like they do with stuff (that's how it works here). He took the money but at the end of the trip, my computer's metallic structure was a little bent and the cables were somehow pulled off, showing that a great force, combined with unskilled labor, acted upon it. Romanian worker: 1. Me: 0.

The second flight (cause it was a 2-part flight) featured a baby just a few seats away, which fueled my hate for babies even further. That little spawn of Satan decided it would be great to cry screams of death, like we were all going to crash in a mountain full of flaming spikes or something - wait, uhm... no, it was much worse, it was something like one thousand nails were scratching one thousand blackboards. And you have elephant years all of a sudden. And the scratching is done next to a thousand microphones. 

Arggghhh... what are you doing to me?! 

But vhallee, you epitome of manliness – you will ask - why didn't you just beat the living shit out of that little prick? The answer is forced anger management courses, my dear readers. My dad was a strict man since I was 12, when I used to steal money from him to sooth my chewing gum addiction (true story). The moment I heard that baby I thought to myself: “Kid, I don't know where you were born, but I know where you will die.” - that is also the moment where anger management kicked in and prevented me from going physical.  (More)

"A picture is worth a thousand words"

Going by this phrase I'd have to write half a book to make up for what I was actually planning on reporting in this post. Why? Because I utterly failed at Photography this weekend. I was looking forward to a Saturday afternoon of intense battle, pictures of paintsoaked community managers & general carnage. What did I get?  Well actually everything except for the pictures- but I guess the overall success of the afternoon made it so much more frustrating that I didn't get any of it documented.  The reason was simple: I didn't take enough time to check the batteries (which had apparently been drained in some Xbox360 controller (thanks you TheJoker & RobbieV)) meaning they were empty 2 minutes after turning on the camera. 

This is a shame since I was apparently the only one who took a camera. The only picture that was actually taken dates to a few minutes before the carnage started and shows the 'German Line-up' courtesy of Havox's iPhone. Better than nothing :)

From left to right you can see me (looking dangerous), Puschkin81 (who some of you might still remember), OnkelHotte (our head of Education), Dami (from Operations & Product Management), Fenris (Black Member & Product Management) and Havox (also Product Management).

The 6 of us were up against none other than vhallee (who also blogs here ;)), RobbieV, (our Dutch CM), Bakano (our Portuguese CM), Zuchero79 (Italian CM) plus Ph1l1pp3 & Rayvex + girlfriend (from the French Community)(sadly no Team Picture there).  While we were slightly outnumbered we had the far scarier Janitor outfits (compared to their run of the mill military camouflage gear).

Equipped with semi-automatic paintball guns & plenty of motivation we started off our little Germany vs International Battle with some "Touchdown" on barrel littered 'football field'.  Goal was to reach the other team's endzone without getting shot. So fast running, diving behind barrels (barrel-rolls?), and devious flanking maneuvers, right? Wrong! After sprinting in a mad dash for some middle barrels and diving into saftey I was immediately pinned down by the craziest curtain fire I had ever experienced.  Our international squad was hell-bent on redecorating our barrels in new colors & the best strategy would have probably been to simply wait for them to run out of bullets.  Instead I decided to make a mad dash for another barrel and got shot in the leg about 5 meters later. Go figure. We lost soon later after the rest of the team also had to clear the field after having been painted either yellow or orange. Running forwards was obviously the wrong strategy against a team that walled itself behind barrels and blasted as if there was no tomorrow.

After they had refilled their ammunition (I think I had only shot 8 shots or something and was still good) we thus changed our strategy a bit.  Instead of playing aggressively we simply adapted to their sniper approach and eliminated them one by one in good ol' shootout fashion.  Afterwards we would stroll across the field looking cool.

Us

It was pretty awesome and we won the next two matches without much of a problem.  In order not to make it too easy we then switched the field to a more adventurous setting: a capture the flag area with everything from little wood bunker huts, trenches, bamboo fields, and hiding places. Instead of hiding behind barrels we were now crawling through grass, hiding between bamboo, and making cricket sounds to signal for incoming enemies.  I felt like I was right in my element (authentic pictures of the terrain below).  

 

It was therefore not surprising when we won the best of 3 with two consecutive victories.  At this point I had actually managed to only get shot twice in 5 matches + captured the flag once and was quite happy with it. Rambo anyone?

 

We moved on to the next map which was a lot larger, had a huge barrel fort in the middle and included 5 different terrain heights. In a victory frenzy we ignored the barrel fort, sent 3 of our men (Dami, Fenris & Havox had been our Stormtroopers in previous maps as well) along the high ridges and ended up winning the round when Fenris circled the enemy team & eliminated 4 of them by shooting them in the back before they even knew what was going on. We had only lost 1 person that round & were feeling confident to completely crush the upcoming rounds as well.

 

Confidence comes before the fall it says; and lo and behold we actually lost the next match quite clearly. Having switched the sides & as well as decided not to allow the high ground anymore (it was quite imbalanced to say the least) we got to play in the muddy mid-fortress. Things were looking good, or at least I thought they were since I had taken out Ph1l1pp3 and Zuchero and bunkered myself in a strong defensive position.  Little did I know my team was pretty much already eliminated and I would run out of ammo 5 seconds later.  Hoping for my team to still carry it home, I continued to pretend to have ammo in a fake shootout with Vhallee and Rayvex, who as it would later turn out had also been out of ammo.  Great fun. It wasn't until RobbieV showed up and I figured out that I was the last person remaining on the team that I gave up with hands held high.  I guess I should have held my hands higher - since I got shot anyway :D

 

With our record broken we went back to the grass map, where we were handed our next defeat, in a fun match of trench crawling and excessive firing.  It was not until we reverted to the touchdown map that we would start winning again. Yet since this is already getting too long I'll conclude with saying we ended up taking it home with an 8-5 record, while I maintained a solid 11-5 record. [x] Brag.  All in all great fun & I hope we can do it again in the near future. Next time hopefully with even more people and with working cameras :) 

I will destroy everyone in 2009, ok? Good.

Hi everybody, this is vhallee and I just realized I'm wearing two different socks. Welcome to my first ever blog for this year! Have a seat – yeah, right there.

I became quite famous for these columns, and I actually get stopped on the street or other public places. (at Carrefour, for instance – cashier: “That will be $18.4- oh my god, you're vhallee!” Yes I am, madam, yes I am. I also got an email from a Discovery Channel producer: “Hey, I heard you are mildly funny on the internet so we want to feature you on a documentary about trees.”). Also my column was plagiarized by some sites, which is why I wish they will die stricken by a million flaming dicks.

Speaking of that Hadron Collider, a girl from India committed suicide cause she was afraid of the Apocalypse. Now that's being rebel: killing yourself so you won't die. I just had to get this off my chest. 

Picture not exactly related.

Regarding the winter holiday season, I can only say I have much hate for it. There are times when I think “Wow, I'd rather suck on a bunch of dicks than get into the Christmas spirit”, that's kinda how much I hate this time of the year – especially because you have to prove your loved ones that you care about them by buying stuff they will most likely never use (it's either that or I'm pretty bad at picking presents – seriously, a pet nail trimmer is not that bad of a gift). Also the winter means a new fashion season if I'm not mistaking. My general idea about fashion is that you shouldn't dress to look like a firecracker or whorehouse lamp, but looking at some of the people around me makes me want to scoop my eyes out with a plastic spoon and feed them to the ducks.
 

Feel that Christmas spirit... 

The next blog will be about how I actually got here to Gibraltar. Of course, I want to write blogs about happiness, rainbows, guns and maybe cooking (spoiler: no, I do not want that), but this first one will be about my first experience with this place. Also I will try to cover the topic of frogs (frogs are interesting) if I have enough space, but the main problem will be to stay focused. I know I have this problem but I also know I can't really do more things at once, like talking and blinking at the same time. Also I like cheese but I hate milk.

Join me next time when I will dress in white, go to a goth party and take pictures.