14 May 2011
399
R. Linda:
It all started like this: I had gone out to dinner last night and had a steak with lobster and shrimp on top. I'm sure you've seen it advertised on the telly, and well, it looked so bloody good I had to have me one. I will say it was delicious, the meat was as tender as slicing butter and I was in Texas heaven I was. The only two negatives were that both Ton and I were too full to order the lovely cheesecake for dessert and the second, her Jameson Sour was weak and tasteless. But other than that, all was enjoyable.
We had left the boyos with their sitter so no need to rush home. We decided since the evening was mild and spring was in full bloom, to head on to Michael's to pick up a couple of picture frames Ton wanted to send with pictures of the boyos to her dragon of a mam. So while she did that I walked over to an antique auto show that was being held in the parking lot. I still can't get used to the idea of the stirring wheel on the other side of the car, but I have learned for me own survival to drive on the wrong side with me wrong side steering column. Anyway, we left the area happy and passed a very busy ice cream stand when we both said, "YUM." So I turned back around and got us two cones which we sat enjoying the buzz of springtime sounds. But one thing, me stomach was a wee bit dicey and so was Ton's.
"Well, the ice cream will coat our tums," said she and we finished up and went home. By the time we got there, both of us were feeling distinctly unwell. I thought the seafood was a wee bit off. She stayed up watching the telly, but I was so bad I went up to bed. And therein is where the terrible dream came to life.
I was dreaming I was back in Denmark, and I was on Stroget Street sitting on a bench and trying not to clutch me aching stomach as passersby looked at me. I would attempt a weak smile, but I was sitting there to get some air and hoping that the illness would pass. Suddenly this big black limo comes pulling by really slow and this be not the norm because you can't drive motors on this particular street, as it goes passed me the dark tinted window slowly rolls down and there be Nancy Pelosi looking at me over her sunglasses. I do know I felt decidedly uncomfortable, like she was sizing me up and in the background, there was Madonna's Material Girl playing and people were singing in Danish along with it, which confused and for some reason, upset me.
Next thing I have me head in me hands and I feel a hand patting me on the shoulder, and I look up and it is Nancy Pelosi.
"There, there, you'll be ok. You just had too much fish." She said.
I looked up and it was like I'd known her and this was perfectly normal. I nodded but said nothing, so she picked up the non-conversation.
"So are you voting for Newt Gingrich? Are you going to make Aunt Nancy angry with you?"
"Huh?" I said, me head snapping up. Newt Gingrich? That's like saying me second choice be Ron Paul. Hells no!
"You know Gabriel, you really want to write me in for President." She said looking deep into my eyes.
I had to get up and run. Yes, I did, I knew if I looked into those eyes she'd have me writing petitions to get her name on the ballot, so off I took coat tails flying, me heels kicking me arse as I got way, far away from her. Me stomach now was really dodgy and me throat was raw as I tried to catch me breath. I looked to see where I was and I was outside a pub in Ireland. I must have flown! A familiar voice was telling me to come inside and have a jar, which would relax me and the dickey tum. So I went in and I sat down, and the voice ordered up a Jameson Sour and though the person next to me, was doing the ordering, I couldn't see him clearly, but the sour arrived and I thought that a sour with alcohol would truly ruin me upset tum. But the person encouraged me to drink it.
I took a sip and there coming into me vision was Weasil! Yes, damn it I went from Pelosi to Weasil and I don't know which one be the worse to be keeping company with. So overcome was I, I got up and mindlessly went off to a backroom where I was met by a girl in an Islamic headscarf welcoming me to "the party." For a second I thought that was unusual this was Ireland and then thought well we have progressed beyond the French, or maybe not. I know stupid thought it was the headscarf, but that was what it was. She handed me a brochure and told me to take a table and enjoy. The room was dark, but it was filled with people and I searched for an empty place at a table and found one. I looked at the brochure and had quite the shock, there was a picture of Nancy Pelosi with her arm around Diane Sawyer and like in the Harry Potter flicks they were both moving and Diane was looking up at me and saying on the side to Nancy, "He's a terrible man, he never writes anything positive about me and I am starting to not like him." And Nancy did the same thing! Out of the side of her mouth, she says to Sawyer, "Well, I could have told you that, he's a registered Republican!"
WOW. So I turned the brochure over so I wouldn't have to see or listen to them. I was looking around nervously when an elbow in me side got me attention. Weasil had magically appeared and was sitting next to me. He leaned into me and said, "Yer noze in Denimarkie yer kin drink at da agie a 16."
"Drink what?" I asked mindlessly.
"Alkeyhall. Yer kin purchass acahol, I mean." He was obviously drunk. I know it's hard to know when he is because he doesn't speak like the rest of us, but take me word he was drunk. But I wasn't thinking about his being drunk I was wondering how I got back to Denmark.
"Hey, yer wan me ta go gits Pelosi fer ya?" He slurred.
"Hells no!" I had the gumption to protest. "Have another drink and be quiet."
"I dunt drink when Ima out." He said with a hiccup.
"Since when? You always drink when you're out, when did this become a rule for you?"
Before he could answer the young thing in the headscarf came over and asked if we'd like to have a piece of Mexican flan. I was baffled, Denmark? Mexican Flan?
Weasil answered her with this gem, "I dunt eat flan, I dunt like the consistency (hiccup), texture."
"Consistency?" I asked, "How much more gay can you get?"
"Well, I have some leftover chocolate cake," the girl said.
"I dunt eat leftovers, dey makes me dummy rumble." He said holding his stomach.
"Dummy? Tummy. You are the dummy," I said as she put a piece of chocolate cake in front of each of us anyway. I sat there watching Weasil scrape the icing off the cake and pile it in a big mess on the side of the table.
"I hope you forget that's there and put your arm in it," I said grossed out and entirely forgetting me own tummy upset. I jumped because when I looked to my left Wolfie was staring at me like I was an idiot.
"What?" I said to him. "Where'd you come from?"
"Nothing, and nowhere. Just wondering why you would be at a Nancy Pelosi fundraiser and not at Vivienne's. We are in Denmark after all."
"Vivienne?" I asked all a wonder.
"Yeah Vivienne, your sister." He said with a sneer.
My sister? In me dream I didn't have a sister and if I did it would be me real one Sheila. It was so confusing. Before I could say anything more, Joel Gray came out dressed like the announcer in Cabaret.
"Let's get this Nancy Pelosi kick-off going, shall we?" He said to the roar of the crowd.
But instead of Nancy therein came Diane Sawyer who took the mic from Gray and turned toward me table.
"Before we bring Nancy out, I have something to say to this," she pointed at me table, "this . . . dreadful man sitting there. Notice Gabe I'm wearing a skirt so you can't see my fat ass. Notice that David Muir is not here and that I'm lighting up for another reason besides David. I am all a-light because you Mr. O'Sullivan are going to be forced to sit through a Democrat giving a campaign speech. Yes, I know, I know, you go right ahead and protest loudly Mr. O. but you are going to sit through it!"
I shouted at her, "NOOO!" But some unseen hands had duct taped me to me chair with Wolfie looking at me with something masked behind his eyes that I knew couldn't be good and Weasil HAD put his arm in the icing and was using me shirt to clean it off. I was offended and insulted all at the same time. But then something wonderful happened, Nancy Pelosi wasn't there. No, nowhere in sight. The crowd was murmuring to itself, Wolfie continued to stare at me, and Weasil . . . wasn't there! Things were looking up.
"SO . . . " I turned to Wolfie, "You want a date with my sister, what was her name again? Oh yeah, Vivienne? Is that what this be about?"
"Maybe," he grumbled, his eyes glued on me. "More importantly I think you have covert information on Newt Gingrich and you won't share it with a fellow journalist."
"Do I?" I asked trying to think if I in fact did. So I offered this true story. "Well, no I don't know much about the man just that when I first moved here, being not Denmark, New Hampshire, I borrowed a friend's car which happened to be a brand new black Cadillac with gold trim. I was going to Barnes and Noble to pick up a book I ordered when I got to the lip of the parking lot and a police officer waved me by the other cars waiting to get in the lot. I was like wow, drive a Cadillac and not only is the road yours, you get preferential treatment from the police. But as I pulled on in the rest of the officers were craning their necks looking in the back of me borrowed drive to see (and I only figured this out later) if Newt was in the backseat. It seems he was expected for a book signing and I didn't know, and they thought I was his limo ride! That's the closest I've been to Newt who still hadn't arrived by the time I ran in and rode back out." Before I could say anything more to a bored Wolfie, Weasil ran in with a laundry bag over his shoulder.
"Ey, ey I got er," he announced.
"I told you not to," Wolfie said and Weasil's bright, shining, and drunk face fell.
"WHO?" I asked but they ignored me.
"Yeah, but I thought she'd be more fun an cuz yer arse be drunk and his arse be drunk an . . . an . . . an we needies us sum one ta drive us home!" Weasil said.
"I for one, am not drunk," I protested to unhearing ears.
"Den why iz yer pants zipper in da backie?" Weasil asked me.
I had a devil of a time twisting in me chair, but sure enough me pants were on backwards. I was stunned.
"Tole yer arse yer were drunkie," Weas said, opening a large laundry bag he had dragged in. Out popped Pelosi's head and she looked at Weasil and said, "How am I to drive you lot home when you carried me here?"
"She has a point," Wolfie pointed out, "what car?"
"That reminds me, help me out I have a speech to give," she said struggling with the bag.
"Ah whatever," Wolfie said, motioning Weasil to help her out of the bag.
"I need to go home," I said struggling against the duct tape.
"You're here now, you might as well sit back and take it all in," Wolfie said taking a sip of an evil-looking liquid that hissed when he swirled it.
Meanwhile, Pelosi had climbed out of the bag with Weasil giving her a hand. She looked at him and a thought struck her. "You're the creepy-looking guy who disappeared after we had that drink in the Irish pub aren't you?"
"Irish pub, then there WAS one and I was in Ireland!" I said all excited and then not so excited because I was really in Denmark with a sister named Vivienne that Wolfie wanted to date, and I was accused of going to vote for Newt Gingrich and I had just watched Nancy Pelosi helped out of a laundry bag by Weasil and I was duct taped to a chair with me pants on backward, and it was just so totally bizarre.
"I'm leaving," Wolfie said throwing some Danish change on the table. I noticed they weren't stuck to his pinkie like I had done on me trip there. SIGH.
"You're leaving? Leaving me with HIM and HER?" I craned me head toward Weasil and Pelosi.
"Yup, I am. You weren't forthcoming about Gingrich and now I have to actually do some work." He turned on his heel in disgust and left me, the rat. I knew I better wake up soon or I would be finding meself sitting in Bin Laden's bedroom next waiting to see the man's porn collection. Which is exactly what happened. Next thing I know Bin Laden is sitting on the floor in a brown blanket surfing the telly stations and I be sitting next to him still taped to the chair, a turban on me head and me pants still on backwards.
"You think your sister Vivienne is on the telly today?" He asked me.
"I don't have a sister Vivienne." I corrected him.
"Yes, you do. I watch her all the time. She cleans house in skivvies." He said still clicking the stations.
"SHE DOES NOT!?" I was indignant.
"Oh yes, she does. Ah here is she." He said and put the clicker down watching. I looked and sure enough, there was Vivienne dressed in white thigh-high hose with a feather duster and not much else. This could not be I said to meself, but wait a minute she looked very familiar.
"Hey, do you think you can make that image bigger or move me chair closer?"
"Make you closer can't make image bigger," Bin Laden said getting up and sliding me to the front of the telly.
"OH MY OH MY OH MY! TURN IT OFF, YOU'LL BLIND ME!" I shouted as he quickly snapped it off.
"What's wrong, she's not pretty for a Westerner?" He asked.
"She isn't . . . SHE, SHE, SHE is Katie Couric with those mean, mean eyes!" I was near tears in fear. "SHE HATES ME TOO!" I shouted and he looked at me with something akin to understanding and pity.
"Well, we have that in common, she never says anything nice about me either." He said with a sigh.
I looked at him gobsmacked. The audacity of the man.
Then I woke up. I was a cold sweaty mess. It seemed so real. Too much fish I thought, swimming bad dreams in me brain starring people who don't like me in them. How did I get from Denmark to Ireland, back to Denmark, to the mention of Mexican flan to Pakistan? How was it I was dressed so awkwardly and not one single person had the gumption to tell me I was not appropriately attired for an evening out. Why Nancy Pelosi? Or for that matter newspeople and then Bin Laden? Was I dream-impaired or what? I must do something about all these stupid dreams I have, none of them makes any sense, they just scare me or I scare meself, whichever. But the positive is you seem to enjoy me craziness. Says a lot about you too, HAHAHA!
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
It all started like this: I had gone out to dinner last night and had a steak with lobster and shrimp on top. I'm sure you've seen it advertised on the telly, and well, it looked so bloody good I had to have me one. I will say it was delicious, the meat was as tender as slicing butter and I was in Texas heaven I was. The only two negatives were that both Ton and I were too full to order the lovely cheesecake for dessert and the second, her Jameson Sour was weak and tasteless. But other than that, all was enjoyable.
We had left the boyos with their sitter so no need to rush home. We decided since the evening was mild and spring was in full bloom, to head on to Michael's to pick up a couple of picture frames Ton wanted to send with pictures of the boyos to her dragon of a mam. So while she did that I walked over to an antique auto show that was being held in the parking lot. I still can't get used to the idea of the stirring wheel on the other side of the car, but I have learned for me own survival to drive on the wrong side with me wrong side steering column. Anyway, we left the area happy and passed a very busy ice cream stand when we both said, "YUM." So I turned back around and got us two cones which we sat enjoying the buzz of springtime sounds. But one thing, me stomach was a wee bit dicey and so was Ton's.
"Well, the ice cream will coat our tums," said she and we finished up and went home. By the time we got there, both of us were feeling distinctly unwell. I thought the seafood was a wee bit off. She stayed up watching the telly, but I was so bad I went up to bed. And therein is where the terrible dream came to life.
I was dreaming I was back in Denmark, and I was on Stroget Street sitting on a bench and trying not to clutch me aching stomach as passersby looked at me. I would attempt a weak smile, but I was sitting there to get some air and hoping that the illness would pass. Suddenly this big black limo comes pulling by really slow and this be not the norm because you can't drive motors on this particular street, as it goes passed me the dark tinted window slowly rolls down and there be Nancy Pelosi looking at me over her sunglasses. I do know I felt decidedly uncomfortable, like she was sizing me up and in the background, there was Madonna's Material Girl playing and people were singing in Danish along with it, which confused and for some reason, upset me.
Next thing I have me head in me hands and I feel a hand patting me on the shoulder, and I look up and it is Nancy Pelosi.
"There, there, you'll be ok. You just had too much fish." She said.
I looked up and it was like I'd known her and this was perfectly normal. I nodded but said nothing, so she picked up the non-conversation.
"So are you voting for Newt Gingrich? Are you going to make Aunt Nancy angry with you?"
"Huh?" I said, me head snapping up. Newt Gingrich? That's like saying me second choice be Ron Paul. Hells no!
"You know Gabriel, you really want to write me in for President." She said looking deep into my eyes.
I had to get up and run. Yes, I did, I knew if I looked into those eyes she'd have me writing petitions to get her name on the ballot, so off I took coat tails flying, me heels kicking me arse as I got way, far away from her. Me stomach now was really dodgy and me throat was raw as I tried to catch me breath. I looked to see where I was and I was outside a pub in Ireland. I must have flown! A familiar voice was telling me to come inside and have a jar, which would relax me and the dickey tum. So I went in and I sat down, and the voice ordered up a Jameson Sour and though the person next to me, was doing the ordering, I couldn't see him clearly, but the sour arrived and I thought that a sour with alcohol would truly ruin me upset tum. But the person encouraged me to drink it.
I took a sip and there coming into me vision was Weasil! Yes, damn it I went from Pelosi to Weasil and I don't know which one be the worse to be keeping company with. So overcome was I, I got up and mindlessly went off to a backroom where I was met by a girl in an Islamic headscarf welcoming me to "the party." For a second I thought that was unusual this was Ireland and then thought well we have progressed beyond the French, or maybe not. I know stupid thought it was the headscarf, but that was what it was. She handed me a brochure and told me to take a table and enjoy. The room was dark, but it was filled with people and I searched for an empty place at a table and found one. I looked at the brochure and had quite the shock, there was a picture of Nancy Pelosi with her arm around Diane Sawyer and like in the Harry Potter flicks they were both moving and Diane was looking up at me and saying on the side to Nancy, "He's a terrible man, he never writes anything positive about me and I am starting to not like him." And Nancy did the same thing! Out of the side of her mouth, she says to Sawyer, "Well, I could have told you that, he's a registered Republican!"
WOW. So I turned the brochure over so I wouldn't have to see or listen to them. I was looking around nervously when an elbow in me side got me attention. Weasil had magically appeared and was sitting next to me. He leaned into me and said, "Yer noze in Denimarkie yer kin drink at da agie a 16."
"Drink what?" I asked mindlessly.
"Alkeyhall. Yer kin purchass acahol, I mean." He was obviously drunk. I know it's hard to know when he is because he doesn't speak like the rest of us, but take me word he was drunk. But I wasn't thinking about his being drunk I was wondering how I got back to Denmark.
"Hey, yer wan me ta go gits Pelosi fer ya?" He slurred.
"Hells no!" I had the gumption to protest. "Have another drink and be quiet."
"I dunt drink when Ima out." He said with a hiccup.
"Since when? You always drink when you're out, when did this become a rule for you?"
Before he could answer the young thing in the headscarf came over and asked if we'd like to have a piece of Mexican flan. I was baffled, Denmark? Mexican Flan?
Weasil answered her with this gem, "I dunt eat flan, I dunt like the consistency (hiccup), texture."
"Consistency?" I asked, "How much more gay can you get?"
"Well, I have some leftover chocolate cake," the girl said.
"I dunt eat leftovers, dey makes me dummy rumble." He said holding his stomach.
"Dummy? Tummy. You are the dummy," I said as she put a piece of chocolate cake in front of each of us anyway. I sat there watching Weasil scrape the icing off the cake and pile it in a big mess on the side of the table.
"I hope you forget that's there and put your arm in it," I said grossed out and entirely forgetting me own tummy upset. I jumped because when I looked to my left Wolfie was staring at me like I was an idiot.
"What?" I said to him. "Where'd you come from?"
"Nothing, and nowhere. Just wondering why you would be at a Nancy Pelosi fundraiser and not at Vivienne's. We are in Denmark after all."
"Vivienne?" I asked all a wonder.
"Yeah Vivienne, your sister." He said with a sneer.
My sister? In me dream I didn't have a sister and if I did it would be me real one Sheila. It was so confusing. Before I could say anything more, Joel Gray came out dressed like the announcer in Cabaret.
"Let's get this Nancy Pelosi kick-off going, shall we?" He said to the roar of the crowd.
But instead of Nancy therein came Diane Sawyer who took the mic from Gray and turned toward me table.
"Before we bring Nancy out, I have something to say to this," she pointed at me table, "this . . . dreadful man sitting there. Notice Gabe I'm wearing a skirt so you can't see my fat ass. Notice that David Muir is not here and that I'm lighting up for another reason besides David. I am all a-light because you Mr. O'Sullivan are going to be forced to sit through a Democrat giving a campaign speech. Yes, I know, I know, you go right ahead and protest loudly Mr. O. but you are going to sit through it!"
I shouted at her, "NOOO!" But some unseen hands had duct taped me to me chair with Wolfie looking at me with something masked behind his eyes that I knew couldn't be good and Weasil HAD put his arm in the icing and was using me shirt to clean it off. I was offended and insulted all at the same time. But then something wonderful happened, Nancy Pelosi wasn't there. No, nowhere in sight. The crowd was murmuring to itself, Wolfie continued to stare at me, and Weasil . . . wasn't there! Things were looking up.
"SO . . . " I turned to Wolfie, "You want a date with my sister, what was her name again? Oh yeah, Vivienne? Is that what this be about?"
"Maybe," he grumbled, his eyes glued on me. "More importantly I think you have covert information on Newt Gingrich and you won't share it with a fellow journalist."
"Do I?" I asked trying to think if I in fact did. So I offered this true story. "Well, no I don't know much about the man just that when I first moved here, being not Denmark, New Hampshire, I borrowed a friend's car which happened to be a brand new black Cadillac with gold trim. I was going to Barnes and Noble to pick up a book I ordered when I got to the lip of the parking lot and a police officer waved me by the other cars waiting to get in the lot. I was like wow, drive a Cadillac and not only is the road yours, you get preferential treatment from the police. But as I pulled on in the rest of the officers were craning their necks looking in the back of me borrowed drive to see (and I only figured this out later) if Newt was in the backseat. It seems he was expected for a book signing and I didn't know, and they thought I was his limo ride! That's the closest I've been to Newt who still hadn't arrived by the time I ran in and rode back out." Before I could say anything more to a bored Wolfie, Weasil ran in with a laundry bag over his shoulder.
"Ey, ey I got er," he announced.
"I told you not to," Wolfie said and Weasil's bright, shining, and drunk face fell.
"WHO?" I asked but they ignored me.
"Yeah, but I thought she'd be more fun an cuz yer arse be drunk and his arse be drunk an . . . an . . . an we needies us sum one ta drive us home!" Weasil said.
"I for one, am not drunk," I protested to unhearing ears.
"Den why iz yer pants zipper in da backie?" Weasil asked me.
I had a devil of a time twisting in me chair, but sure enough me pants were on backwards. I was stunned.
"Tole yer arse yer were drunkie," Weas said, opening a large laundry bag he had dragged in. Out popped Pelosi's head and she looked at Weasil and said, "How am I to drive you lot home when you carried me here?"
"She has a point," Wolfie pointed out, "what car?"
"That reminds me, help me out I have a speech to give," she said struggling with the bag.
"Ah whatever," Wolfie said, motioning Weasil to help her out of the bag.
"I need to go home," I said struggling against the duct tape.
"You're here now, you might as well sit back and take it all in," Wolfie said taking a sip of an evil-looking liquid that hissed when he swirled it.
Meanwhile, Pelosi had climbed out of the bag with Weasil giving her a hand. She looked at him and a thought struck her. "You're the creepy-looking guy who disappeared after we had that drink in the Irish pub aren't you?"
"Irish pub, then there WAS one and I was in Ireland!" I said all excited and then not so excited because I was really in Denmark with a sister named Vivienne that Wolfie wanted to date, and I was accused of going to vote for Newt Gingrich and I had just watched Nancy Pelosi helped out of a laundry bag by Weasil and I was duct taped to a chair with me pants on backward, and it was just so totally bizarre.
"I'm leaving," Wolfie said throwing some Danish change on the table. I noticed they weren't stuck to his pinkie like I had done on me trip there. SIGH.
"You're leaving? Leaving me with HIM and HER?" I craned me head toward Weasil and Pelosi.
"Yup, I am. You weren't forthcoming about Gingrich and now I have to actually do some work." He turned on his heel in disgust and left me, the rat. I knew I better wake up soon or I would be finding meself sitting in Bin Laden's bedroom next waiting to see the man's porn collection. Which is exactly what happened. Next thing I know Bin Laden is sitting on the floor in a brown blanket surfing the telly stations and I be sitting next to him still taped to the chair, a turban on me head and me pants still on backwards.
"You think your sister Vivienne is on the telly today?" He asked me.
"I don't have a sister Vivienne." I corrected him.
"Yes, you do. I watch her all the time. She cleans house in skivvies." He said still clicking the stations.
"SHE DOES NOT!?" I was indignant.
"Oh yes, she does. Ah here is she." He said and put the clicker down watching. I looked and sure enough, there was Vivienne dressed in white thigh-high hose with a feather duster and not much else. This could not be I said to meself, but wait a minute she looked very familiar.
"Hey, do you think you can make that image bigger or move me chair closer?"
"Make you closer can't make image bigger," Bin Laden said getting up and sliding me to the front of the telly.
"OH MY OH MY OH MY! TURN IT OFF, YOU'LL BLIND ME!" I shouted as he quickly snapped it off.
"What's wrong, she's not pretty for a Westerner?" He asked.
"She isn't . . . SHE, SHE, SHE is Katie Couric with those mean, mean eyes!" I was near tears in fear. "SHE HATES ME TOO!" I shouted and he looked at me with something akin to understanding and pity.
"Well, we have that in common, she never says anything nice about me either." He said with a sigh.
I looked at him gobsmacked. The audacity of the man.
Then I woke up. I was a cold sweaty mess. It seemed so real. Too much fish I thought, swimming bad dreams in me brain starring people who don't like me in them. How did I get from Denmark to Ireland, back to Denmark, to the mention of Mexican flan to Pakistan? How was it I was dressed so awkwardly and not one single person had the gumption to tell me I was not appropriately attired for an evening out. Why Nancy Pelosi? Or for that matter newspeople and then Bin Laden? Was I dream-impaired or what? I must do something about all these stupid dreams I have, none of them makes any sense, they just scare me or I scare meself, whichever. But the positive is you seem to enjoy me craziness. Says a lot about you too, HAHAHA!
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
3 comments:
Looking at you like you are an idiot? Vivienne? Masked look? Evil brew? Bored? Best yet, Nancy Pelosi in a laundry bag? INDEED. LOL
"Dream Impaired" yes, perfectly put. :)~
LOL
YEP! Your nightmares are the stuff that gives me good stuff to read and laugh about! Told you not to eat weird stuff and sleep on it!
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