Well, I've hit a new low. I think I will reflect on the events of today for years to come, forever associating them with me at my most rock-bottomnest, forever favorably comparing even the darkest days of the future to what transpired this afternoon. After today, I have nowhere to go but up. At least that's comforting.

It all started a few weeks ago when we were visiting with my mother, who among other unsavory things is a devout Pogo addict. Pogo, for the uninitiated, is an online game site where people with nothing better to do -- people numbering in the hundreds of thousands -- spend 24 hours a day playing online slot, card and puzzle games, building up useless tokens and praying to join the minuscule fraction of players who actually win real money from the beast.

As others sat around the table for coffee and whatever, I snuck onto her computer and gave Pogo a whirl. Indeed, it's an addictive site. From slot machines filled with oinking pig graphics to online realizations of everything from Scrabble to Vegas-style slot machines, it's mindblowingly mindless fun.

Today, I set up my own account, even going as far as paying the premium for the ad-less version of the site, which also features exclusive games. My favorite timewaster quickly became Texas Hold 'Em, which is played against real people for real Pogo tokens. Now, you can play on the low side, or you can go into the high roller rooms, where hands can get up to and over 100,000 tokens each. While it may seem surprising considering how many Pogo addicts have token counts numbering in the high millions, I found out quick that token-building takes a considerable amount of time -- much more time than I could ever afford to spend on Pogo Dawt Cawm. The poker stars of Pogo won't have me at their tables with my pitiful token count. Something had to be done.

So, I scoured the Internet, and sure enough, clever housewives have devised systems that, through some means that surely reflect poorly upon Pogo's terms of service, allow newbie players to purchase worthless Pogo tokens for real money. The short version of the story: I'm out 60 bucks for 10 million shiny new Pogo tokens.

That's right, my friends. It's kind of like paying one of your neighbors to come beat Zelda for you. I don't know how the person I paid did it exactly -- I had to grant her access to my account, and I believe she and her network of entrepreneurs sat in a high stakes poker room, playing the cards in her favor until my account clocked in at the paid-for token count. After an hour or two, she sent me an e-mail giving me the go-ahead to play away with my newfound riches. Whenever I enter a game room now, the other players can do nothing but seethe as the sheer volume of tokens I have forces the token counter table to stretch four pixels wider.

Plus, with that many tokens, I can now afford to give my Pogo avatar (they call 'em "My Mini" icons) all sorts of expensive clothes, haircuts and accessories. I told you. New low.

If you'll excuse me, I have to go into the priciest Hold 'Em room and make 100,000 token bets regardless of whether I have a Full House or an 8 high. I haven't felt like this much of a loser since I paid 80.00 for that Candy Apple Kool-Aid. Enjoy your Saturday Night Thread.

Posted by Matt on 03/31/2007. E-mail me!