Dream #1
I am eating
lunch in a plank wood restaurant that seems to float in the tree tops. Dot and
Papa are there, and I know lunch must be on Papa, because I have an enormous
lobster on my plate and a plastic bib on my chest. So do Dot and neither one of
us like lobster. This restaurant has a lot of neon beer signs. I touch them as
we walk down the hallway, our lobsters untouched on the table, out to the
floating stairs that take us down to the forest floor.
"Don't
worry about taking us home Papa. We could use some exercise after that lunch,
and Dot said she's never been this deep in the forest before. We'd like to see
some deer, and maybe some bunnies."
We take our
leave, and I seem to know where I'm going. We talk about things that don't make
sense, and a man steps out from the trees. He is over 7 feet tall, a handsome,
coffee colored man, a stretched Denzel Washington. He asks to join us, and I
see that his arms are too long, and so are his fingers. We walk silently until
he grabs Dot by the throat and throws her to the ground. I grab a log the size
of my forearm and go upside his head with it. He flies 25 feet, like he is made
of paper maiche, hits a huge pine. I run forward and bludgeon his face with the
log, screaming like an Amazon while his brains splatter my face. I hand the log to Dot so she can get in on
the action when the alarm goes off.
Dream #2
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I step outside
the front door, and immediately realize that the house is being surrounded by a
large group of unknown ne'er-do-wells. I am certain it doesn't matter who they
are, they are a threat. "Fuck yeah bitches," I say without moving my
lips, "it's motherfucking go time!" I spin back in the house, grab my
Glock and her 30 round clip.
"Guys, we
are being surrounded. Get your weapons, this is not a joke." I slam the
magazine home, and pull back the slide to put one in the pipe. Very smooth,
except when I drop the slide, the pistol mis-feeds and the shell jams the
action. "What the FUCK?" I drop my mag, clear the shell and lock back
the slide. I replace my magazine and hit the slide release. And it jams again.
"What the FUCK? You are a Glock! You are never supposed to malfunction!
Eric, I need the 50 round drum, I've got a mag problem over here, and this is
not a good time!" I am crushed to find that we never loaded the drum, and
can’t find the directions and I realize that
it's too late because the ninja/S.W.A.T./zombies are certain to kill us any
second when the alarm goes off.
Dream #3
I'm trying to
watch TV, but someone is raising a ruckus in my front yard. Probably all the
assholes I find parked there, crammed in all directions. I go inside to write
angry notes to tape to their windshields, but I can't find the correct tone so
they understand that I hate them and would be glad to shoot them if they park
in my flowers again. I wad up the fifteenth ball of paper and throw it in the
floor, and my bedroom windows start rattling thanks to one of my guest's
boomin' system. I grab the shotgun by the door and hurry around the side of the
house to confront them.
"Hey! Is
there a good reason you parked in my gawd-damn yard?"
"We needed
to go to the football game," said stretched out Denzel. I notice that he
has a gold tooth now.
"I don't
really care what you thought you needed to do, I am telling you right now, if
you park your heap in my yard again, I will happily fill your ass full of
buckshot, and I will be completely within in the law. Do you understand
me?" He nods. "I'm glad you hear me. Now, would you like a bottle of
water?"
He follows me to
the front steps, where a tiny Mexican in alligator boots and a ten-gallon hat
stops us. ""Scuse me mees? Choo know whose car that ess? I heet it
wit' my truck, and it 'splode." I look behind him and see the burning
shell of a compact car, and I am thrilled. |