Gods Help Me, I Just Love a Theme

Well there's been a hooker theme, a stripper theme, and a self-description theme. It appears now that we have the beginnings of a table etiquette theme, what with Rob's exhortation to protect one's hand (and Grump's exhortation to check out Rob's exhortation), and now Mighty CrAAKKer, destroyer of Aces, slayer of kings and tilter of D-bags, lawyer, purveyor of thundering common sense and all-around smart guy, who very recently has contributed not one but two excellent posts, each dealing in their way with the unnecessarily labyrinthine rules of the showdown.

Well far be it from me to step on the throat of a newborn theme.  Let me give it my version of CPR and see if we can't keep it going by me ranting about what is, in my opinion, the worst thing you can do at the table and why.

Actually I'll tell you the why first:  because it is correctable; it is born of ignorance but your questions all have a simple answer.

Here's the scenario: you bluff at a pot, flop turn and river, and your opponent calls down every street, and you are just caught flatfooted and he wins with ace high or fifth pair. And you start in on him:  How could you stay in?  Are you that much of a calling station?  You had nothing! How could you have played that hand like that?

You, sir, are a douchebag. You are a douchebag first and foremost because you mouthed your opponent, that by itself makes you a douchebag second class.  But you got your first-class stripe because by truly being mystified as to what happened there, you are STILL misplaying your hand, even though it's over.  And you're certainly mis-reading things.

Open your eyes, douchebag.  It's simple and I'm even going to repeat myself so that you can actually make sure you got it down just right.  The reality is this:  He knew you were bluffing. His cards didn't matter.  He was playing you, and he got it right and you didn't, so you should just pay the last bet or muck your cards and shut the royal fuck up, because you got picked off and that's nuh-nuh-nuh-nobody's fault but yours (little Zep for the brethren out there).

OK? And by the way, if you knew this already, and were just mad that you lost and kinda got exposed as a 3-street bluffer to those who were paying attention so you were taking it out on the guy who got you, you can ignore the above advice but you're a douchebag first class too, because that's a horrible douchebag thing to do anyway.

So like I promised, you douchebag, I'm going to repeat myself:  He knew you were bluffing. Now for the love of god, go somewhere else.  I think you got some dust on your white track suit; better brush that off or it won't be quite so dazzlingly white.