2002-12-27 | ZEN ARCADE/AFTERMATH PARTY

I had some strange dreams last night.

I have this one recurring dream. There's this place where I have to run up this wide gutter thing with fierce water running down it, and I always think I'm not going to make it up, but I always do.

I think in last nights version Stephanie ran up there with me.

Then we ended up at some dudes apartment, with a bunch of people I haven't seen in a long time. Then somebody next door was shooting guns. I don't remember any details, but it was an interesting dream.

In this other dream, Steve-o of Jackass fame saved somebodies life, and they were talking about how they judged him wrong, because he was such a nice guy behind it all. It was weird though, because it was Steve-o's face, but they kept calling him Bam Margera. Must be Ryan talking about CKY all the time. Margeranal overexposure!

I had some strange dreams that I wrote down while I was in California:

There was one where the entire city of Long Beach was having a punk rock party. A bunch of Bradley Nowell look-alikes drinking cheap beer and listening to....well...Sublime.

Dave is a cop in real life, and I guess he was in the dream, too.

We were saying to him, "Good thing you didn't have to work tonight", because he would've had a busy night of arresting people.

Then I was in an arcade, and I met the head honcho of Matador Records, and we talked about Pavement and stuff, then he started talking to me about signing a contract with them.

But in the morning, everything was somber. Somebodies baby had died. Everyone was standing outside depressed and silent. It was a dark day, and even the inside of the house was dark. It was a very gloomy dream.

At one point I went outside to spit, and it was having trouble coming out, so I was clearing my throat, and everybody was already nauseous because somebodies baby died, so watching me sort of dry heave made everybody start choking, and some of them were vomiting.

Another dream:

We take this exit off the freeway, and take a sharp right into a Wendys. (Dave and I)

We're eating our lunch peacefully, as some young Cambodian gangster wannabes (there's a lot of Cambodian gang members in Long Beach) start making a fuss, and being assholes.

For some reason there was a shopping cart in the way of my table, so I kind of pushed it aside.

I guess I pushed it too hard, because it went right into the back of the chair that one of the Cambodians was sitting in.

All of a sudden he pulls out this long silver tube. It was about ten to fifteen feet long, and it resembled one of those tubes that come out of the back of your dryer. It was a hard peice of metal, but it was flexible. It went from side to side like a slithering snake.

As soon as the cart hit the back of his chair, he pulled out the snake as if it was a reflex, and flung it back at me without looking.

It barely missed.

I start running out of there, and everybody else does to.

Before he leaves, Dave punches the guy in the back of the head and says some shit to him.

When the two Cambodians come out of Wendys, they suddenly have an army of more then 20 Cambodians, from teenagers to elderly people, in matching white outfits.

But by the time they reach Dave, he has already armed himself with some nunchucks that he got out of his trunk before you could say Jello Biafra.

One of the Cambodians pulls out a pair of nunchucks from out of nowhere, but it's too late. Dave has already nonchalantly smacked him on his cranium with ease.

He then proceeded to mow through the "army" in about ten seconds, like a modern day Bruce Lee.

Dave=Nun-Chuck Taylor, master of deadly oriental weaponry.

In the blink of an eye, they are all face down on the ground, as Dave had instructed them to "get the fuck down!", and they immediately complied.

Whenever one tries to get up, Dave walks over there, and unceremoniously, throws them back on the ground.

I was trying to be macho, too. I'd just raise my hand and say "stay down, asshole!"

I don't remember what happened after that. I guess the police probably came and beat them some more, or arrested them, or beat them some more as they were arresting them.

So those were a few weeks ago. I wish I could remember the other dreams that I had from last night. They would've made for great movies. I've got to start leaving a notebook next to the bed again.

I'm going to hire a midget to be my dream secretary.

I'll wake him up in the middle of the night and say, "Guido, get this....", and proceed to rattle off the details of my whacky dreams.

I will be shocked when Guido doesn't show up for the second night of work. I will open up the notebook and see this:

LAST NIGHTS DREAM:

GUIDO, TIRED OF HIS NEW BOSSES ANTICS, AND UNCOMFORTABLE IN HIS NEW WORKING ENVIRONMENT, COMES TO BOSSES HOUSE IN MIDDLE OF NIGHT, STABS HIM IN THE BOOTY, THEN PROCEEDS TO BURN DOWN HIS HOUSE USING A GASOLINE DOUSED NOTEBOOK AS THE FIRESTARTER.

THE END.

- premature ejaculation | tantra +