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what i did last night

I don’t normally do this, but I have to share the dream I just woke up from…

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I’m in Maryland, and suddenly decide my calling is being a rap star*. So I grab my toothbrush and my notebook of scathing rhymes and head for Phoenix.

Apparently Phoenix is the new place where rappers get rich or die trying.

Once I’m back in the 602, I start looking for music moguls to give my demos to. While I’m looking for one specific executive, I meet Mos Def and he’s actually a huge dickhead. I, of course, quickly turn him around with my charm* and our shared love of liberal political propaganda*.

Anyway, Mos Def and I start walking downtown to find his pal, the exec I want to meet. On our way we run into Kim Kardashian who also happens to be a thugged-out chick rapper* in this dreamario (that’s “dream + “scenario” for those who can’t keep up with my invented words). I think K-Kard is a lesbian because she seems very jealous of the blossoming friendship I have with Mos Def… and keeps tossing around sexual innuendo about my Irish Box* (her term, not mine, I have better names for it).

We, this motley crew!, head for a music festival that’s right on the edge of the desert wilderness in Fountain Hills. (Think golf course community meets redneck bar.) As we begin our search for Executive, we pass a row of kids half-buried in holes; Butts and legs wiggling in the air, heads submerged in dirt*. I make jokes about “reverse prairie dogs”* as we pass.

The path we’re walking leads us straight into the desert and we continue*, weaving through cacti and tumbleweed. A mile later, Mos Def is walking ahead as K-Kard and I reminisce about the old water parks* of Phoenix. Suddenly, Mos shouts about some titties. His yelling becomes more frantic and we jog up to him. He’s standing over a severed torso complete with decaying boobs*. Next to that is the fresher-looking corpse of a young blonde.

As we wait for authorities to arrive, we look around the area. The sun is setting and we see Native Americans, covered in red and yellow feathers, performing ceremonial dances on the mesas surrounding us*.

Finally, detective Matthew Perry arrives. He begins to run in circles around the crime scene*. No speaking, no assessing the bodies. Just running in silent circles.

Mos Def, K-Kard and I walk into the sunset holding hands*.

*Denotes a “WTF” moment.

———-

That is probably the strangest dream I’ve had in years, which is saying something because two nights ago I dreamt of a groundhog on steroids attacking me.

I can only deduce that someone has been slipping things into my bedtime vodka.

What’s the strangest dream you’ve ever had?

Comments

  1. Amazing. I just woke up this morning furious with Rick Springfield and my local cafe, Floyd’s, from the dream I had last night. I go to this coffee shop at least six days and week, I know the owner and all the baristas, as well as a number of other regulars. In my dream, Rick Springfield was the barista, I was sitting in my usual spot typing away as I do every day, when I got some really bad news on the phone. What the news was, I don’t know, I just know it was Really Bad, like shocking, stunning news. I go to Rick Springfield, I need a beer. Rick asks for ID, which is a little odd, 1)because I’m a regular 2) I’m obviously of legal age. But I give him my ID. He studies it, looks at me, studies it some more, says, “sorry bro, this isn’t you” WTF Rick Springfield!? I tell him it is me, he says no way. I start pulling out credit cards and old IDs, pretty much everything in my wallet to prove I’m of age, but Rick Springfield won’t budge. He’s scared of losing his job. So I’m all, “look Rick Springfield, I’m here every fucking day, call someone else, call any of the other baristas, call Jack the owner, they’ll vouch for me, I’m over 21” So Rick Springfield calls the owner, who says, “yes, of course Sean’s over 21, and he just received some horrible news, give him whatever he wants, on the house” Rick Springfield apologizes profusely, goes to pour my pint, and the keg runs out. I wake up. Today could be a weird one.

    • That sounds like your subconscious is trying to tell you in a roundabout way, “You need a beer.” But if you go to Floyd’s today and Rick Springfield is there… Run. Run far, fast.

  2. Probably this: http://2at2.net/blog/2007/03/23/i-am-such-a-geek/ but go through my blog and just search on “dream”. There’s lots of fun ones in there.

  3. OK, I have so many weird ones that I almost can’t think of just one. But then I had a whopper last night.

    I dreamed that I had to have both of my arms amputated, I’m not really sure why. But in the dream, I was mostly upset because I wouldn’t be able to tweeze my eyebrows anymore, and I didn’t trust anyone else to do it for me.

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