What We're Reading:

G&B: Apologies to Sting

It's been a blast, folks. The Worlds Most Popular Podcast is signing off. Truth to be told, there's not enough hours in the day for ...

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

the party killer dream


Don't know what I'm doing up. Should be sleeping. This cough that I talked about a few days ago hasn't left. The cold has, but not the cough. I'm also really sore - like coughing for ten days kinda sore. The ribs hurt. The back aches. My head continues to bump. Because of this, I've been taking a lot of meds. I think it's starting to play with my dreams. Had an odd one just now just before I woke up to take a nightly dose of Neo Citron. Thought I would tell you about the dream.

Starts off as a houseparty. There's a bunch of people around. Drinking, playing cards, taking in other substances, watching the tele. You know, normal gettogether stuff. This is where it gets weird. One of the guys realize that there's a bank machine in the living room. We all go in there and write forged cheques for different amounts. I guess the cheques came from the parents of whomever home we're partying in. Anyway, we cash them and then buy more drugs with it. We're sitting down and enjoying our time together when we hit a big bang from the upstairs. Some dude murdered a girl! We all run up stairs. The girl is hanging from the roof in a body bag with blood dripping from the top of the bag. The guy is also hanging from a separate body bag hanging from the roof but he's still kicking. We're going crazy around the home wondering what to do. For some reason, someone calls the cops. All the guys who stole that money from the ABM start to get worried. Including me. The cops arrive. Three cruisers. They enter the home from the back door. I'm sitting down. So far so good. I run upstairs. Don't know why, I just do. The dude who killed his girlfriend escapes from the bodybag and starts to chase me. He starts to yell that it was because they were different races and they couldn't be together. The guy's white. Girl was Indian. I run downstairs to the cops. I look back to see where the attacker is. He looks like the Wrestler Sting. Evil eyes and blood dripping from his face.

I wake up.



I really should cut back on the Neo Citron.