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7:00 a.m. - 2004-09-29

WHERE'S SIGOURNEY WEAVER WHEN YOU NEED HER?

Normally I try not to delve into my dreams here, but this one begs for analysis. It just caused me to wake up in a cold sweat about ten minutes ago.

Here it is:

Susie and I go to a friend's apartment.

I know that this friend moved to San Diego a few months ago and expect the apartment to be empty.

We start getting ... ummmm ... physical in the apartment when Susie says she doesn't want to go any further because her monthly visitor George Van Leeting is in the hizzouse.

(She does not call her period "George Van Leeting" in real life or in the dream. I just threw that out there because I'm still delerious from fitful sleep).

So we stop getting physical and I hear a moan from the bedroom in this apartment.

I go to the bedroom and there's a beautiful woman in the bed who beckons me to the bed.

I go to the bed and this woman makes me sit on the bed and straddles my lap.

Susie's watching and I'm all "Well...you can't finish the job and this gal can."

Susie's all "I really wish you wouldn't do this" but it's out of my control because this beautiful woman is really assertive.

The woman takes her top off and while she has a beautiful front, I look in a mirror on the wall behind her and her back is covered in a thick fur.

I touch her back to make sure I can believe what I'm seeing and sure enough, she's all hairy.

This kind of repulses me and before we can get it on Marvin Gaye-style, I kinda gently push her off my lap and decide to leave the bedroom with my wife and my pride.

This apparently infuriates the beautiful woman in the bed.

Okay ... here's where it gets weird.

A lasso comes shooting out of the woman's vagina and lassos Susie around the head.

The lasso yanks Susie over to the bed and pulls Susie into the woman's vagina.

I stand there by the bedroom door in horror as the woman's face becomes Susie's face, as this body has apparently sucked Susie into itself and become a hybrid of Susie and whatever it was before.

It then tries to lasso me as I'm scurrying out the door. It gets my hand, but I shake it off and slam the door shut and go running into the night.

That's it.

And ... as always ... it doesn't translate nearly as scary as it actually was.

Goddammit.

I hate when strange alien-like creatures try to lasso me into their vaginas in my sleep and force me to get up and share their activities with the world only to make me look like a humongous dumbass.

CURSE YOU STRANGE ALIEN-LIKE CREATURES!!



I'm not sure if I mentioned it, but we had a yard sale this past Saturday.

It was actually the worst yard sale we have ever had, netting $305.

And $150 of that was the sale of Andrew's prized playhouse that the kid NEVER played in.

We set the playhouse up at the end of the driveway so that people would see it first.

We had about a hundred people ask how much we were asking for it.

Since I paid something like $270 for it, I wasn't taking any less than $150.

I figured it'd be the first thing that would sell. Somebody would come along and snatch it right up since it had never been outside, barely been played in and was for all intents and purposes, brand fucking new.

By 8 a.m. I told Susie we should hang a sign on it saying "Don't Ask" or "More Than You're Willing To Pay" because as soon as people heard "$150" they were walking away from it in droves.

We closed the sale down at noon.

At 11:55 a.m. a woman pulls up ... our first customer in about 20 minutes.

She asks about the house and I wearily said it was $150 but we were probably going to try and sell it in our local buy-sell-trade magazine because nobody had $150 on their person to buy it.

This lady did.

And she did.

(Buy it).

After we sold it, Susie felt horrible about it.

She kept saying "What if Andrew were to grow into it? What if we sold it before he was old enough to enjoy it?"

She may have been right and in about a year or so, Andrew's going to say "Hey Pops. What the fuck happened to that house thing that was in my playroom? I wanna play with it now."

At that point, I'm putting another Dora DVD in and telling him to shut his little trap.


Speaking of which ...

I know a kid in Kansas whose mother is too damned mean to buy this CD for her.

Touche, beeyotch.

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