at Jennifer’s here.
Betraying us here.
Don’t worry we have an awesome one from Chuckles on deck, plus I’ve got Oprah.
Chuckles, who is a genius at remembering dream details, gives us another highly detailed, first-person sci-fi actioner dream featuring a decent chunk of the Law and Order cast. The only thing keeping it from being ultra-awesome is that Michael Moriarty wasn’t in it. Also noted: Jennifer’s hilarious and very familiar Elton John and Brendan Fraser dream.
The dream starts in media res, that’s “in the middle of the action” for you plebians, as I walk out of a dense jungle onto a muddy mangrove breach. I am exploring a new planet with my friend E and we are hacking our way through the root systems of the trees to get to the blue ocean that we can see through gaps in the foliage. We are discussing the various merits of assorted bands like Super Furry Animals, Of Montreal, Le Loup, Sound Team, and Georgie James. I believe E was very specifically trying to get me clued into Spoon and Pavement. There were a whole troop of people following us, but I wasn’t paying attention to them because I was busy hacking a path with a machete and frequently fending off ferocious native animals. Most of these animals were -equivalents like cobra-equivalents that had the body shape of a cobra but were lime green and had leafy natural camouflage like some of the sea horse species. This coloration was much appreciated because the foliage was all browns and the cobras stuck out. (I am not colorblind in my dreams, which is almost poetic.) There were also poisonous frogs that had a disturbing propensity to leap toward us, but being expeditiously experienced explorers, E and I were expertly batting the frogs away from our persons. We made a game of trying to bop the leafy, lime-green cobras with the flying frogs.
After some time, we reached a muddy sort of beach that was like a shallow channel that ran parallel to the real beach line some twenty yards further. The channel was of varying depth but never more than a six feet or so. We trudged through it and hacked a path to the real beach and cleared a path for our expedition. After clearing a patch of beach, the ground turned from mud to entirely white sand and matched the rest of the beach like there had never been mangroves growing in it.
The expedition began setting up tents and atmospheric monitoring gear under the watchful leadership of S. Epatha Merkerson. Lenny was there with Benjamin Bratt and they set up a big flat screen display and wisecracked about the apparent lameness of the local wildlife. They did not regard the lime-green cobras as much of a threat because the cobras could not move faster than a slug on the sand. The cobras’ leafy scales caught on the sand. The frogs remained tennis practice for anyone interested in smacking a frog with a clipboard. E and I wandered up the shores for a few hours while they set up camp and came to a marshy area about three hours north along the coast of the beach and then turned around and headed back to the camp.
After the camp had been set up, Lenny, B. Bratt and S.E. Merkerson called me and E over for our instructions and briefing. Apparently, our main reason for this expedition was for Skidoo product testing. The big flat screen display had a schematic for some new type of underwater ramjet-equipped Skidoo. It looked like a big whistle that you strapped into and dangled behind. Once you started it with a little forward motion, the special water ramjet would accelerate you for a period of time that was to be determined by our product testing. E and I stripped down to our Hawai’ian Speedo-styled bathing suits and then Lenny started making wisecracks about how we would only be able to have less flow-resistance if we had a full body electrolysis treatments. Then B. Bratt made the crack that such a treatment would also be the only thing that could make us look any gayer and E then said, “Well I am gay, so what is that supposed to mean?” Lenny and B. Bratt looked embarassed and apologized saying that it was “hard to break old habits.” S. Epatha Merkerson told everyone to “cut it out” and get to work.
Lenny and B. Bratt then handed us our ramjet Skidoos. They were only about the size of your average whistle and had straps for a finger. I thought we were being messed with more, but Lenny pointed out the scale on the six foot+ flat screen display and assured us that he wasn’t fooling around. E and I strapped on our flippers and our ramjet-ring Skidoos and waded out into the crystal clear ocean. The sandy beach only lasted for about ten feet before dropping off sharply. E and I gave each other one of those “here goes nothing” looks while Lenny, B. Bratt, and S. Epatha Merkerson watched us from the shore with clipboards and pens in hand. They were now all wearing lab coats and sunglasses. Lenny had a white streak of sunscreen on his nose.
As soon as I kicked my flippers while holding out my hands like Superman, I shot off like a rocket underwater. The ramjet-rings worked marvelously. E and I made it to the marshy area in about ten minutes and then shot all the way back before the rings ran out of power. S. Epatha Merkerson said that was excellent but now it was time for a shallow water test. I didn’t really understand this because E and I had not held our hands more than six inches underwater the whole time. Nevertheless, Lieutenant Van Buren must not be disobeyed so I strapped on a new ring, a snorkel and waded into the muddy channel. I had to dodge some frogs and lime-green cobras, but the ring worked once I squatted in the water and pushed off.
Unfortunately, the ring worked too well. It felt like I was being dragged through a muddy puddle which is basically exactly what it was doing. I kept hitting sticks and getting goo in my snorkel. After a bit, I realized that all the cobras were after me. I was moving pretty fast, not as fast as in the ocean, but fast enough that the cobras kept missing. I got to the marshy area and turned around.
The ring was loosing power faster than before, probably due to the fouled water and all the resistance of trying to drag me through mud a few times. On the way back, I was moving at about 75% of the speed as before and the cobras were getting really close with their strikes. I also had a train of frogs following me now. In order to avoid getting bitten by a cobra, I flipped over on my back and managed to grab a stick and started swatting the cobras like and action hero sword fighting while being dragged by one arm. It was pretty badass. Then the ring failed.
I was about 50 yards from the expedition site and I had to get up from the mud and start foot slogging it while fighting off a horde of bounding frogs and cobras hanging from the branches overhead. As I finally made it back to the camp, with sticks and mud and leaves plastered all over my body, I realized that everyone was laughing at me. S. Epatha Merkerson had insisted on the shallow water test as a joke. It wasn’t quite so funny when the wave of frogs that had been following me came into sight. Everyone had to fight them off, frogs were knocked flying in all directions.
I woke up giggling.
Back to the Mandos in question:
I rarely remember my dreams, and that’s why this one is so odd.
Somehow, it involves George Clooney. It’s not very long and a little vague.
So, George Clooney and I are visiting Western Canada (why we’re in each
other’s company I don’t remember), and we decide to steal money or
something from somewhere, probably to do with oil. On our team is a
12-year-old girl with dark hair wearing a pink sweatshirt. Somehow,
we’ve already pulled off the heist, and are using my aunt’s house as a
staging ground. We have an enormous attack helicopter parked in her
living room (our escape vehicle), where we’re watching TV. The
12-year-old girl is bored and goes upstairs to play with the other kids.
My aunt lets in some guests, and they turn out to be a SWAT team. They
somehow fail to notice the attack helicopter in the living room and
instead go upstairs, where the anonymous 12-year-old girl spills the beans.
But I am unconcerned, because I know that George Clooney and his star
power will talk them out of it. And somehow, he does.
But then I notice that something awful has happened. Three of my teeth
in a row have just fallen out. They don’t look like teeth at all, but
they look like little versions of those round bones you sometimes see
inside of big steaks. I check my mouth in a mirror, and my mouth is
actually full of shark-like teeth, and they’re growing back. Probably
another consequence of being in the company of George Clooney. I keep
feeling the gums with my tongue.
Meanwhile, my mother (who is also there) and my aunt scold me for not
taking care of my health (ie, seeing a dentist and other things. Must
remember to make a dental appointment.)
Anyway, I’m about to start arguing with them, but then I wake up. I
notice I’ve been feeling my teeth with my tongue the whole time!
BP sends this ultra BP dream to us:
I was going to see Buffalo Tom; of course, they were playing in a
dive bar, in a grungy part of town. As I was hanging, I noticed that
the building we were in, part of an industrial complex that had been
rattily converted to a bar, was actually kind of cool. Along the
river, near a thriving commercial area, and otherwise in a generally
decent shape other than, you know, kind of abandoned.
My kind of buildings.
I thought it might be worthwhile to take a run at getting someone to
fund an adaptive reuse development, so I contacted some city
officials, and arranged for a tour. One or two of my college profs
decided to come along, and so did Buffalo Tom. It was more
interesting than getting back on the bus.
Abandoned industrial buildings are relatively dangerous…. so after
walking through the ground floor and along the river, we were going
to walk around the streets, when one of our party offered to take us
through the upper floors. It was Mike Rowe, who apparently had
worked in this factory before becoming a cable TV celebrity on the
West Coast. The building had been a metal fabrication plant, and he
led us to a material lift platform.
Which was savagely dangerous; it was supported at two points in the
center, so if we weren’t completely balanced, it would ‘teeter-
totter’ and dump people off. “So it’s essential that you hold on
tight” said Mike Rowe with a smirk as he grabbed the control box,
which was hanging from a cable.
As we were getting situated, one of the Buffalo Tom guys came running
from a dark corridor, jumping on the platform and throwing us all off
as we yelled at him to be fuckin careful, what are you an idiot?
“I’m a drummer” he said. [PP adds “heh, effing drummers!”] Then, hurrying out behind him came a young
woman, straightening her dress and pulling up her panties, and it all
became clear. Or clearer.
At this point, I realized one of the members of the group was Rudy
Giuliani. As the girl straightened her clothes, Rudy’s eyes got that
bright sheen they get when he talks about 9-11, and his tongue darted
at his lips like a lizard. Re-pulsive.
So up we went. R-e-e-a-a-l-l-l-l-y slowly, like industrial lifts do,
grinding and shuddering and swaying side to side. Through near-total
darkness. Occasionally, the lift is disoriented by projections,
leaving us hanging by our hands, all the while Mike Rowe is rattling
on and on about working in this place.
Eventually, we get to an upper landing, and the platform shudders to
a stop, with much noise and banging. Mike Rowe smiled. I think he’s
bitter about all the poop. We all walked off onto the rooftop, while
Mike Rowe talked about the history of the business. I kind of walked
to one side, and peering around a corner of the structure, saw…..a
playground. Kids playing kickball, running around, flying kites.
Pointing this out to Mike, he said “Well, there IS another way up.
But that one’s no fun.” as he grinned. Suddenly, he noticed someone
walking our way from the playground, and hurriedly continued “…but
it’s time we got going. We can just go out this way…” and as he
led us back away from the playground, we jumped him [Rudy] and threw him
down on the rooftop, holding him down under a piece of corrugated steel.
As we’re holding him, the man from the playground comes around the
corner; he looks astoundingly like Ed Harris. He greeted Mike, who
muttered something from underneath the steel, and said to us “Has
this guy been giving you a tough time? Yeah, we never liked him
around here. MIke, I think we might just have you stick around for
eight hours or so.” and then he directed a worker to use a
backloader’s bucket to hold the corrugated steel in place.
That’s when I woke up. But I like to think that then we all grabbed
Giuliani and pitched him down the lift shaft.
Continuing our trend of dream cameos featuring celebrities and pets, I had this one Monday night.
So I am in some long, wooden building, like barracks of some kind but it is divided into alcoves of some sort. Everyone is unpacking. I think it is a camp of some sort. I go to the alcove next door because I need to borrow a hanger or something. This is the first sign that this is a dream. Well, in the next alcove who is there but Nicole Kidman! This doesn’t seem like too big a deal in my dream. She is very polite and helpful, of course. She sees that Smokey Dog is there and she is happy to see him. She acts like they are old friends. She says she’s about to take a nap and she wants to snuggle buggle with Smoke Dog. I think, well that is very sweet, but I am worried that she could be possibly disappointed in Smokey, or perhaps she has some romanticized notions about dogs in general. I mention that it would be fine because Smokes loves to snuggle buggle, but does she happen to…know…about full frito?
She says that she is used to dogs and she knows their ways. I then worry about her waking up covered in dog hair because he sheds like Chewbacca if Chewbacca were a pug dog. Again, she seems fine with it. I wake up just as I wonder to myself if Smokes has his butt juice on “squirt”
I’m just too much of a nervous wreck in my dream to feel comfortable with Smokes not stinking or hairing up Nicole Kidman, who seemed quite nice.
[PP adds- this is amazing, because the dream I will post for tomorrow fits this theme, also nothing could be more Chuckles than this dream]
Steven Colbert and I were walking around the Mall and he was heckling the monuments and museums for not having enough Imperialist iconography. We strolled through the Capitol building and he said that while it was clearly a building that emphasized our power as a country, he thought it could do more to display that power. He wanted to mount huge cannons on the various Congressional office buildings, similar to the ones you would see on a battleship. Then we walked into my kitchen and he proceeded to say that he spoke Sindarin and would communicate with my tarantula for me. He took Helob out of his/her/it/bird/spider’s terrarium and was holding her/him/it/bird/spider and stroking him/her/it/bird/spider. Helob started crawling up Steven Colbert’s arm and Steven Colbert became a little antsy at this. He kept replacing Helob on his left palm but Helob kept crawling up his arm. Finally, Steven Colbert put Helob back in his palm and rapped her/him/it/bird/spider with his finger and said something in Elvish. Helob then bit Steven Colbert in the meat of his palm and Colbert threw him/her/it/bird/spider to the floor and started stomping on her/him/it/bird/spider and cursing in Sindarin. I freaked out and cradled the mush of Helob and cried. When my tears hit the battered corpse, Helob came back to life and began cursing at me for not feeding him/her/it/bird/spider enough.
This one wasn’t as detailed as Chuckles’ usually are because it just didn’t last that long.
Ozzy and I were going out for sushi and we ended up at a sushi-boat sushi bar. Now I have never been to a sushi-boat sushi-bar with the conveyor belt actually going, but it seemed as natural as kiss-my-hand. This is how dreams are. Anyway, Ozzy and I are stuffing our faces with yummy sushi but he is totally hammered (as usual I guess, or maybe he just seems that way). He was kind of acting like a drunken muppet. What I mean by that is Ozzy always reminds me of Animal from the muppets, and he was just being very amiable and wasted. The problem is I wanted him to sing “Iron Man” and he just couldn’t get the words out. So I grabbed his cheeks with my fingers and I sang the song while moving his mouth like the neighbor mom in Better Off Dead making what’s-her-name say “Christ-mas Christ-mas” except I wasn’t saying “Christ-mas” I was saying “I am Iron Man!”
Chuckles, who happens to have vivid dreams that he actually remembers/is honest enough to share sends us this awesome head scratcher:
The dream starts by fading in from a formless light show. I am wearing a tuxedo and standing a large, elaborately dressed dining room. I look to my right and Paul Rudd is standing next to me in a tuxedo. He has a short beard, like in that movie about fishermen. People are filing into the dining hall and taking their assigned seats, most of them dressed for a wedding. A dude comes walking into the dining wearing a blue shirt and blue pants.
I say to Paul Rudd, “Check out this guy. He looks like he lost his mullet.” The man suddenly has a tan and his shirt has the sleeves cut off, as do his pant legs.
Paul Rudd says, “He looks like he fell off the back of the Blue Collar Comedy Tour.”
I say, “You know how I know he’s a redneck? Because he is wearing a tuxedo t-shirt to a wedding.” The man is now wearing a tuxedo t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and blue cutoff shorts.
Paul Rudd says, “You know how I know he’s a redneck? Because he is wearing Oakley wrap-around sunglasses.” The man is now wearing Oakley wrap-around sunglasses, a cutoff tuxedo t-shirt, blue cutoff shorts and has a deep tan.
I say, “You know how I know he’s a redneck? Because he is wearing blue pants.”
A waiter walks around ringing a gong and everyone sits down and starts eating food that is served by a guy in a tuxedo and a woman in a wedding dress. As soon as we are finished, another gong rings and we all file out and get on a tour bus. Somebody that looks like the mother of the bride at the front of the tour bus is trying to tell us about our destination, but everyone is too loud and I can’t hear the person. Paul Rudd is rather distressed by this. He tries to get people nearby to shut up, with no results.
We get off the bus in a cemetery. Indira freaking Gandhi is waiting for us and we are supposed to follow some sort of path that the Mahatma himself walked through this very cemetery to ensure good luck and peace on the marriage. Paul Rudd and I are walking right behind the wedding party and stopping to meditate at every shrine like we are supposed to, while everyone else keeps talking and smoking and drinking. They are littering quite a bit. Every time we get to a shrine, Rudd and I do this prayer bowing and hand clapping thing while people throw empty beer cans and cigarette butts at us. Indira Gandhi is rather distressed and says something about how “…this is the last time I try to educate the heathens…” Eventually we get to the end of the trail and most of the wedding party and guests have ditched and are desecrating the cemetery. Paul Rudd apologizes to Indira Gandhi and suggests that the two of us steal a couple of bicycles from the construction site over the hill and ride them back to the banquet hall and steal the wedding cake.
We run up to the construction site and grab the first two unlocked bikes we find and the construction workers laugh at us like this a damn mentos commercial. We bike away as fast as we can and leave jets of gravel in our wake. We bike down country lanes, highways and then cut through a city and into some tunnels that are packed with stopped cars. It is here that I realize that my brakes do not work well enough to slow me down. Paul Rudd makes a sharp left turn and yells at me as I go careening off the road over a pile of pipes and into a crowd of people. I continue knocking people aside into I jump off the bike and land on a pile of pipes. The bike slams into the tunnel wall. After dusting myself off, I get back on my bike and try to catch my fellow cake thief. The alarm goes off and I wake up.