Dream Cheating

Last night I dream cheated on my wife. Relax, it was rated PG-13. And didn't make a whole lot of sense. But for the purposes of giving Dream-L the details so that she can hunt down and kill the woman who 'stole her man' here's the low-down.

I was in college or more likely high-school and my class was holed up in a big fancy hotel for some sort of academic conference. I remember taking rides up glass elevators and there were security dudes in black suits all over the place. Also my brother was getting married, only in the dream my brother was older than me and most likely my cousin Kevin. I spent a long time in the cafeteria eating pizza.

We were then assigned small groups to work on our projects which were kind of like biographies. I'm pretty sure mine was on populist statesman William Jennings Bryant but it might also have been on the Arizona Cardinals all-pro WR Larry Fitzgerald. Anyhow, we had to present our reports as partners, and a short girl in a vintage concert t-shirt with very short black hair picked me and we went to her room to practice. Then she seduced me with indie-pop. I still remember when she handed me the CD (CDs, how quaint!) and the band was called Chase and the cover looked kind of like the Shins 'Chutes Too Narrow'. They sounded pretty good too. Then she totally kissed me.

So there you go, L. Sick your dream-self on that hussy who dreamkissed your man. I'm sure there will be little left of her when you'r through.

That Barack Obama Sure Is One Nice Guy

If indeed the power's that be monitor blogs, suffice to say I'm likely to be whisked away to some sort of detention center for the story I am about to tell.

Last night, to the surprise of nobody, least of all me, I was cruising around Hyde Park with Barack Obama in his black SUV with the bullet proof tinted windows. It was just me and Obama, 'chewing the fat' as they say, until the driver was forced to pull down the wrong alley and all hell broke loose. Suddenly, the other black SUVs that had been flanking us were nowhere to be found and it was like some scene out of a Harrison Ford as President movie. The windows around us began to crackle with the 'pack-pack-pack' of bullets being refused entry until enough got through and the driver was scagged. 'oh no!,' I yelled as I turned to the side to take any incoming fire that our good president might receive from my side of the truck. But this was all unnecessary as Barack had a plan.

Before escaping I went to help the driver and was told not to worry, he was merely a highly convincing robot. Obama and I then made our getaway, ducking and rolling out all action hero style before some sort of explosion destroyed the vehicle in a riotous orange fireball. The entire time our president elect was one cool customer, and all I could lament as we used a top secret path back to his home was the utter ruination of my shoes, befouled by oil and blood from the inexplicably bleedy robot driver.

Inside Mr Obama's home I found spacious, comfortably furnished rooms, fancy yes, but not the kind of fancy where you don't sit on the sofa. The kind of fancy where you maybe even put your feet up on the ottomans. For some reason the Obamas hadn't switched over DVD or Blu-ray yet and had a vast collection of VHS movies. I'm pretty sure Barack told me to pick one out that I could borrow while he went and got me a new pair of shoes from upstairs, you see, we're the same size.

Of course this was an incredibly lucid dream and not reality. I realized this when Obama and I left his place after some time and both transformed into vigilante werewolves, saving the Hyde Park populace from a plague of rogue timberwolves that had wandered down from Canada because of the severe cold. Unfortunately, I ended up losing the VHS copy of Big Trouble in Little China to the ravenous maw of a wolf.

However I'm left with the impression that Barack Obama sure is one nice guy.