Hammer, Meet Junk
The Hammer cost me in Vegas, and the Hammer cost me in Wil Wheaton's tournament tonight. After missing out on a half-dozen open-end straight flush draws I was down to about T800. I pick up the Hammer, raise, and get re-raised by Hughester. Now what? I figure I'll call then push. The flop comes all clubs, I have the deuce of clubs, I push. He thinks a bit, thinks a bit, and then calls. And turns over a red and black ace. A club will deliver a savage acecrack, but its not meant to be and I go out 60th. I then drink a beer (a Pious Monk Dunkel from the Church Brew Works, which is a fab microbrew here) then watch some of the tourney. And then I had a little nap. I think I'll turn in soon and hopefully have a strong finishing kick toward Christmas.
Have a little bit of shopping left, we don't do much gift-giving in my family anymore, thank God. We just eat and drink and be merry, and leave the long lines to the rabble. While I lust for a variety of material goods, I know that every year I'll get at least one thing I want for Christmas. I'll get drunk.