Actually, I enjoy the semi-continuous Miss Universe stories...and (in response to the original version of #1109) I have contributed to this thread a number of times. BTW, "sonorous"--is that someone from Sonora?
Signs you're a bad chess player
Sort:
I don't know what the hay that word means. English is not my native tongue.
I just starting to learn chess this morning and my fingers are tired from typing. So, you tell us some stories. Yah?
Sonorous and Sonora just sound alike; I made a pun of sorts.
Sonorous = full or loud of sound.
Sonora = a state in Mexico or a town in California.
I'll leave the story telling to you; you're so good at it! 
shit
You know you're a bad chess player when:
Your pawns cry when you move them.
Your rooks think they can move diagonally, thanks to you.
You name your chess peices after pokemon. Pikachu to h4!
e4nf3 wrote:
I don't know what the hay that word means. English is not my native tongue.
I just starting to learn chess this morning and my fingers are tired from typing. So, you tell us some stories. Yah?
Hay means...
why did you do that
and hay is what horses eat
When your opponent says check you wait fror him to hand you money
how about "trolling " the chat window ?
I don't know what more to say...
Wait...gimme a second...
You are a bad chess player when you are on the Greyhound bus, ostensibly (whatever that means) heading for Pasadena. You challenge everyone on the bus (one at a time, of course) to a game of chess...24 people.
Guess what?
Come on...thimk!!!
Yes...you got it. You score 0 to 24 (and you were CHEATING).
Things have turned for the worse. You get to Pasadena and you learn that your Bobby Fischer mattress HAS BEEN STOLEN!!!
"Dern!", you exclaim to yourself (because, yes, once more you are still all alone).
Then you realize: "Nothing worse could possibly happen. This means things will...must, of necessity...get better!"
Life is, indeed, good...you betcha bippy, by golly.
17maimona wrote:
When your opponent says check you wait fror him to hand you money
Dec 23, 2011
0
#1033
e4nf3 wrote:
It is getting close to Christmas and you decide that instead of spending your hard-earned savings on that refurbished Velocity Micro Cruz Tablet T301 with Chess Titans built in, you are going to take a Greyhound Bus trip to Pasadena, where you will hold an all-night, candlelit Novena...two days and nights, in honor of Bobby's 2-day torture and imprisonment...at the...yes...yes...you start drooling in anticipation...Pasadena jail.
You also obtain a torn up mattress from the local flea market (reminiscent of the one that Bobby tore up..."destruction of government property", which they added to his charges).
The mattress has tears, holes, vomit and urine stains...the works...very realistic. You plan to sleep on it, right outside the jailhouse entrance. And, it should fit in the luggage bay below the Greyhound bus, when you roll it up and tie it tightly with a square knot (you learned how to do this when you were a Boy Scout and such knowledge is indespensable).
You tell all your chess buddies on Yahoo chess (all three of them) to put a vacation time on the games. Then, you sneak down the fire escape ladder (you are a little late with the rent and don't want the landlady to see you going) and you head down to the bus terminal, humming your favorite holiday song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NBQvZw7_6rg
Life is very good.
I thought that earnest chess players were supposed to listen to
You are a really, really bad chess player when you plan to stay up all night waiting for Santa so you can challenge him to a game of chess because you've been tossed out of the local chess club on your ear and none of your pals down at the Y will play against you anymore (they claim you've been "stinkin' up the joint"), your ex-girlfriend slapped you across the chops because you took 30 minutes trying to decide what to do in response to e4 and...well...never mind. The horror!
So, there you sit, at the foot of the blinking tree...ornamented with second-hand store rhinestone chess pieces and a smiling, head-bobbing, tinsel-plated Bobby-like angel (well...at least to you he looks like an angel) atop the apex...oatmeal cookies and buttermilk as bait.
Maybe...just maybe...Santa will be a patzer?!
Things are starting to look up.
Unfortunately for you, Santa turns out to be a "Grandpatzer," so after he slaps you around the board a few times, you keep your perfect record, 0-{infinity}.
thinking that posting on what you think make others bad players, makes you a better one.
Profound Zen!?
No, silly. Shows a sense of humor. Nada mas.
Well, you are still waiting for Santa with your oatmeal cookies and buttermilk. You were so absorbed in your projects...Miss Universe, Lottery, Pasadena, Santa...that you forgot to adjust for daylight savings time setback. So, now, you will try again.
Meanwhile, you hear a knock on the door. You go to it in a mixed bag of angst and anticipation. Who is it? Landlady for the rent? Miss Universe? A chess buddy from the Y?
"OK...OK...keep your shirt on...I'm coming."
Funny stuff! I'm glad to know that some of my fellow chessers are also fellow members of the ministry of silly walks. (nudge nudge say no more...)
Lo and behold!!!
You open the door and it is Bobby Fischer himself!!!! (Well, at least his ghost or spirit or a really, really good hologram.)
"They tell me you been lookin' for me," he said, sardonically (whatever that means).
"Well, yeah...sorta."
"Why?"
"I thought maybe we could..."
"You mean, chess?"
"Ah ha."
"You knows...I don't play that no more."
"What?," you ask, perplexed.
"No...no. I just play Fischer Chess. Some call it 960 because it has 960 opening set ups.
You don't have to know nuttin like the Ruy, Sicilian, Caro-Kann...nunna that crap. And nunna that database foolin' around stuff, either. That's a crutch for numb nuts. You just gotta know how to think for yourself."
"Really?"
"Yeah, really. And, I'm gonna show you a few dog and pony tricks...so you can razzle dazzle down at the chess club."
"Dern," you say (but not to yourself because you are certainly not alone now!). "OK!"
You roll up your sleeves in anticipation, and then you grab the plate near the buttermilk and you say to Bobby: "Yo...have a cookie, dude."
Anytime you refer to a knight as a "horse".
When you kibitz in countless blitz games but never play.
You talk about how you could have beat a strong player had you played so-and-so.
You think beating your dad/grandfather/uncle/dog/family member is a sign you are a good chess player.
You claim to be an expert/master when you don't have the rating to prove it.
You think knowing the 4-move checkmate is being good at chess.
You think playing symetrically will get you good results.
You think a 5-minute blitz game is too fast for you.
You press the clock in blitz with the same hand.
You are not a master.
you can only beat your parents w/ 21 checks