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I Had A Dream
And Thankfully Woke Up


I claim to rarely dream.

I am told this is false, that I must dream, or I'd go insane.

Hmmm?

Well this morning at 1:18, I awoke from a terrible dream next to a dreamy girl.

I listened for any sound, in hopes of possibly using the Claymore she sleeps with on some hoodrat intruder, but no such luck.

I was awakened in fright by a damned dream and damned it was.

It probably had something to do with the fact that I made the mistake of taking an allergy pill and a muscle relaxer yesterday afternoon and slept through my scheduled meeting with Big Ron. As his uncle, Tattoo Rick would have said, "LaFond, ya shit-the-bed!" Ron was cooler about it than his uncle would have been when I called, agreeing that we'd get together again on Tuesday as planned.

Well, that's as much as I can read into the following dream.

I was walking to the Shamrock to meet Big Ron in the middle of July, hot as balls out there, when I passed a Hindu cab driver broken down on the side of the road. I inquired if he were alright and he said, "Yes, but my daughter not so good. Please, sir, could you deliver her rice? She owns the New Delhi Restaurant next to the bar you are no doubt headed to? You shall eat for free, sir!"

So, hoping Big Ron liked what the lady was cooking, I agreed, and much to my chagrin, the dothead opened his trunk and pointed to a 120-pound sack of Hyderabad Basmati Rice.

Fifteen minutes later, huffing and puffing, I walk past the Shamrock to the former parking lot, where a fairy tale place in the shape of a golden elephant now stood, grunted to Big Ron trough the open bar door that I'd be right there, and preceded through the gong shaped door to this place. I am greeted by this beguiling beauty behind the counter, who winks at me with eyes the size of billiard balls and takes the rice off my back with four of her eight hands—and I run like hell out of there into the bar next door.

The barmaid was passed out on the bar top under Big Ron, who seemed like he had better things to do than talk to me, so I headed home.

As I turned the corner onto White Avenue I ran smack into Slick Willy—that's right, former President William Jefferson Clinton—who had a flushed complexion and a frightened look on his face. He looked at me, as if hoping I were someone he knew, then his face twitched and he said, "Excuse me."

I grabbed the sleeve of his suit coat and said, "Bill, where's your Secret Service detail?"

He stammered, "I, don't know—I'm lost."

Then he looked over his shoulder in fright and his jaw dropped.

Looking behind me to follow his gaze, there was a pink bus full of gay clowns and screaming antifa bitches wearing pink scarves speeding towards us and Bill mumbled, "That bitch cancelled my detail—she said she'd send every screaming queer in the world after me if she did—" I was then dragging Bill down the alley, stumbling over trash cans as he mumbled incoherently and the pink bus full of screaming freaks rumbled by.

As Bill and I were brushing ourselves off he looked down at me and said, "Do you know any sluts? I mean, I'll be lucky to live to midnight. I'd like one last ride at the rodeo."

As I did a mental inventory of known and available sluts the house behind us disintegrated and the pink bus ran us over and there I was stuck under Slick Willy, whose legs were caught under the wheels of the bus...

And I woke up.

That's it, hopefully the last dream I'll ever have.

Being a Bad Man in a Worse World

Fighting Smart: Boxing, Agonistics & Survival

https://www.amazon.com/Being-Bad-Man-Worse-World/dp/1544898304/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1490813450&sr=1-1

Add Comment
Sam J.April 24, 2017 10:52 PM UTC

That was wild. I never dream or at least I don't remember them. The ones I do remember are usually nightmares so I, like you, hope I don't dream.
IshmaelApril 24, 2017 9:21 AM UTC

James, I was ok with the dream until you threw in the gay clowns!
guestApril 24, 2017 8:01 AM UTC

You'll like this: Our State-Corporate Plantation Economy

http://www.oftwominds.com/blogapr17/corp-plantation4-17.html

"We've been persuaded that the state-cartel Plantation Economy is "capitalist," but it isn't. It's a rentier skimming machine.

I have often discussed the manner in which the U.S. economy is a Plantation Economy, meaning it has a built-in financial hierarchy with corporations at the top dominating a vast populace of debt-serfs/ wage slaves with little functional freedom to escape the system's neofeudal bonds."