At the risk of flaming those pesky "P3 is TBC" rumors, I want to mention I dream I had the other night.
So, I'm playing poker. Location undisclosed. And, for some reason, I'm dealt like 20 cards. A good variety of numbers, faces and suits. This is all good for me. For, [yo]u see, a big bet is on the table. It's time for my action. And, given the plethora of cards at my disposal, I'm able to find two face cards AND an Ace. Yes, 21 . . . THE NUTS!!! I check villain's bet . . . then check my cards again, verifying that, indeed, I have 21 -- THE NUTS. And so, sans any iota of potential adverse consequence, I raise all-in, get called, and, naturally, rake chips. Easy game!
But moments later, I find myself in a tricky spot. Once again, I'm facing a sizable bet from a competent and aggressive opponent. And, once again, I have a shit-load of cards at my disposal . . . plenty of face cards. And, I specifically recall having seen several aces, though at the moment, there is no Ace at the ready. Nevertheless, once again, I can make 21 -- THE NUTS. Knowing this, I shove all in. And, here's where things get tricky. This time, many of my cards are ripped to pieces. Really, just shreds of cards. Mind you, the ripped shreds are still valid cards. They can be played. But the problem is, I'm having difficulty finding an Ace. The shredded nature of the cards, combined with the shear magnitude of cards I've been dealt (prolly twenty to thirty cards), is making my search difficult. Time is ticking. Pressure mounts. 7's looked like Aces . . . panic starts setting in . . . The table is looking at me . . . waiting for me to play my hand . . . any moment, my opponents' good manners are bound to give way to the undeniable practicality that the game must move forward, and one of them will surely call the clock. I can feel my face getting red. I'm flustered. I feel like a fool. I just cannot locate one of the several aces I KNOW damn well I'm holding. Then, without warning, fortunately (or, unfortunately, if you believe I ultimately would have located an ace), I awake . . .
Now, upon reflection, I'm not sure what game I was actually playing. Piles of cards to choose from . . . no community cards . . . and, of course, 21 has no actual significance in No Limit Hold'em. Moreover, despite a game so apparently rigged to ensure my ultimate success, I STILL could not make my hand when it really mattered. I'm not a dream interpreter. But, if forced to speculate, I'd say this one was my subconscious intimating, quite plainly, that I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing at the poker tables . . .