EPTI seemed to be a station;
The tracker graphed damnation
And dashed my hopes upon its slopes.
I called my coach, aghast.
"Young padawan," he lectured,
"Your poker game is fractured.
For it to mend, my tilting friend,
You sorely need a cast."
I stammered at the master,
"Encase my screen in plaster?
That course may seem a bit extreme...
I'd give the spew a rest."
"Extract your head from nether,
Put two and two together!"
And so I sat and did just that,
And sought the Pokercast.
I heard of massive winnings,
Degenerates, beginnings,
Of dread duress for Deeb in dress
On this exquisite cast.
I listened through, enraptured,
And soon my tilt was captured;
I let it rage within its cage
And crushed the games at last!
Take heart, my fellow stations
From English-speaking nations!
The stacks you tilt can be rebuilt,
So cast aside defeat!
Forget that runner-runner
With Adam, Mike, and Bunner,
Sagacious gents on donkaments
And tasty breakfast meat.
5/5 imo.
