No. 118 (essentialsaltes) wrote,
No. 118
essentialsaltes

After-Eating-Homemade-Chili Dream Theater

Dr. Pookie and I have just moved into some sort of college dorm/apartment. Amongst our possessions is some sort of basket or hutch full of rabbits. This gave some of the other residents the idea that we were Jewish. The dorm/apartment manager gave me a key to the mailbox, and then another one "for the cats". I went down toward the mailroom. Some girls perform an odd little song and dance routine that mentions rabbits, which somehow ties in with their misconception that I am Jewish. I then achieve the mailroom, which was crowded with lots of other residents. There was a row of regular sized mailboxes, and then beneath it there were a few tiny mailboxes, which I correctly deduced were "for the cats". I opened both of our boxes and retrieved the many small parcels and items inside. My mom had sent us 'care packages' of food: the boxes were packed with candy bars and cookies and one large wrapped snack cake thing. The snack cake elicited some comments of admiration. I come to the awareness that this is some sort of special treat -- the McRib of snack cakes, if you will -- rarely available and for a limited time. A very tall chubby dude offers me a buck for it. I'm not an aficianado, so it sounds like a good deal to me. There is some grumbling among the others present, and it is decided to have an auction. We go out into the atrium, and I ask "Do I hear a buck?" Someone shouts yes. "Who'll go higher?" Very tall chubby dude says, "Fifty Bucks." That takes the wind out of everybody else's sails. He wins. I go over to him as he pulls out his wallet, and he pulls out five huge orange bills. Huge like sheet of paper sized. I examine them, and they are printed only on one side. I remonstrate, "These are not legal tender." Very tall chubby dude just smiles. It appears that when I came over to get paid, his confederate feloniously purloined the McRib of packaged snack cakes. I am *pissed off*. I demand my money. He refuses. "What's your name?" "Burt Fastlast," replies very tall chubby dude. I stomp off, plotting revenge.

I'm sitting with friends at a huge lunch table at an Amusement Park. I'm eating a pasta dish called "Mi-Go". A kid [who closely resembles the kid in Bad Santa] runs up and shouts "I go, you go, we all go for Mi-Go!" and taking a piece of paper in hand, he thrusts it into my pasta. I get up and a chase ensues. I capture him, and then some sort of trial ensues, with my friends as judges, counsel and jury. Withering under ian_tiberius's trenchant questioning, I admit that I may have exaggerated how injured I felt by this assault on my pasta, "in order to gain sympathy". The jury murmurs angrily. There was a bit more of this, and *you* were there, and *you* were there... but it's all gotten vague.
Tags: dream
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