Chuckles Guest Post: Jeff Kober and James Gandolfini

PP says:  I don’t think I know if I know if Alberto Gonzalez is familiar with Jeff Kober, although he is now.

Below: James Gandolfini, although to be more accurate I think Chuckles dreamt about Tony Soprano.



This one happened last Friday night.  I was sober and went to sleep early to wake up for a morning rendezvous for my nephew’s birthday party.

The dream started with me standing on a hill looking out over a city on a peninsula.  It was a sunny day and I was looking at the water with binoculars.  As an undercover Environmental Protection Agency operative, I was about to infiltrate a ring of poachers.  We were having some sort of meeting in the ruins of an old piping station, some place with a lot of crumpling masonry and big pipes running everywhere.  I met with Jeff Kober.  He said that if I told anyone about this, I would be cut up and used as chum.  He had a big flensing knife that he menaced me with while saying this.  I said that I needed some money and reminded him that he had approached me in the bar last night.  We walked down a giant cement pipe to a secluded beach.  James Gandolfini was dressed like a longshoreman and directing people with a cigar.  He was yelling and cursing at everyone to work faster and saying that he was going to cut off all our balls if we didn’t bait the hooks faster.  The hooks were the size of my head.  Everyone was baiting really thing fishing lines with pot roast sized chunks of meat.  There was a small boat out in the bay dropping chum in the water.  We sent two chumps out into the water with fins and the long lines.  They swam out toward the little boat and were sucked under when they got out to deep water.

Gandolfini started screaming at us to haul in the lines and heave ho.  There was a lot of cursing, f-bombs, c-bombs and such at us as Gadolfini did not appreciate our effort at hauling in the lines.  We were pulling like mad and then I started to see this gigantic white shape under the water.  We kept pulling and this enormous pasty white shark came up to the surface.  We were only able to pull most of its head out of the water onto the rocky beach.  A team of men in SCUBA gear jumped into the water and swam down alongside the shark.  It looked like something that lived without much light.  It had enormous eyes and just sort of gasped for water.  It was probably 30 feet thick and a few hundred long, but it only waved its fins lazily in the water.  I looked around and knew that we were poaching the Giant Cave Shark of the Lesser Upper Bay, but I did not know why or how I was supposed to arrest 50 men armed with fishhooks the size of my head and flensing knives. 

James Gandolfini was pacing back and forth and swearing at the time it was taking the SCUBA divers to come back up.  Jeff Kober directed all of us on the beach to start removing the hooks from the shark’s mouth.  The shark had very tiny teeth for its size,  they were the size of normal great white shark teeth, so it looked like a really big lamprey mouth.  Some of the guys had to climb into the mouth to undue the hooks and when they got toward the back of the mouth, it twitched and they were swallowed.  Gandolfini then asked all the new guys to fill out W-4s and I pocketed one because it had listed the company name as “James Gandolfini’s Poached Nuts and Other Criminal Activities Emporium.”  I thought I might need it for evidence.

The SCUBA divers surfaced dragging a net with two enormous globes, like 10 feet around.  James Gandolfini ran up to them and inspected them.  He said that they were good specimens and that we could release the shark and that these would fetch a fine price at auction.  I realized that we weren’t just poaching the Giant Cave Shark, but the Giant Cave Shark’s nuts.  We had just castrated a 300 foot long shark.  I woke up after the shark sunk back under the water in the bay.

Brando Guest Post: Patrick Muldoon

Brando writes us:

Celebrity dream cameo: Patrick Muldoon

I had a dream involving Patrick Muldoon (Starship Troopers, Melrose Place) and possibly Dina Meyer (also of Starship Troopers). I think this is because I’ve read too many interviews with Paul Verhoeven, or possibly because I watched the Seinfeld rerun where Jerry lies about watching Melrose Place. Either way, I am scared.

Here’s what happened:

The Lovely Becky and I were getting on a plane. The cabin was open, so you could see right into the cockpit. The ceiling also had a large glass sunroof very much like my Subaru Forester’s. We were flying to some sort of academic convention. Muldoon and someone who might have been Meyer came on as the pilot and co-pilot. I didn’t recognize him as Patrick Muldoon, but rather as someone who I immediately did not trust to fly this convertible Airbus properly. I started dream sweating.

Adorable Girlfriend, the Uncanny Canadian, and Res Publica were also on the plane, but we were not sitting together. AG and UC were together a few rows in front of us, and Res was in their row on the other side of the aisle. I have a feeling Pinko Punko was on the plane, but don’t recall seeing him.

Captain (!) Muldoon started babbling about the flight. We took off. The plane banked hard left, then started flying upside down. We were not pleased. Stuff fell into the sunroof and I was about to plotz. But Muldoon straightened the plane out and said, laughing, that this was going to be a fun flight. Immediately, everything became smooth and he turned off the seatbelt sign.

I got up and went to the back of the plane. UC also came back, and we sat down and raided the liquor bottles on the drink cart, mostly because this convertible Airbus was not equipped with stewardesses [flight attendants -Ed]. I absolutely cannot recall what UC looked like in the dream. It’s almost as if, in true Canadian fashion, he felt it would be impolite to impose his the memory of his appearance on me. I do remember we were laughing and talking about stuff that would annoy AG, probably music or videogames [anything -Ed].

At one point, I looked up, and I saw the plane flying very slowly about 100 feet over a river. We approached a bridge that looked like the Queensboro, although we were definitely not in New York. The bridge had these giant balloons, about the size of hot air baloons, tied to it. Muldoon came on the com and talked about how we were going to see something really cool. The bigger baloons exploded, and thousands of small baloons flew out from them and filled the sky. (In Muldoon’s defense, it did look pretty awesome.)

However, all the passengers now noticed that we were flying right above a river and toward a bridge. Res yelled out to Muldoon, “Oh my God, what the fuck are you doing?!” Muldoon made some comment that he was just trying to show us something interesting.

AG stood up and marched from her seat to the cockpit. All I remember is that she was blond and very DKNY. She was intimidating, but I sensed that her powers would be used for good, not evil. My point of view switched as if I was sitting on the instrument panel of the cockpit. AG leaned over to Muldoon and, a calm yet threatening voice, said, “I want you to stop these shenanigans and fly us to our final destination now.”

Muldoon protested a bit, saying he was only trying to have fun. Before he got very far, AG, said, “Think very carefully about the next words coming out of your mouth.”

Muldoon swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. All shenanigans ceased and soon we were back at a smooth cruising altitude.

One last note: I did not go into the lavatory, so I could not confirm if there was Sink Lettuce aboard. But it felt like the kind of flight Sink Lettuce would enjoy.

Pinko says:  That dream was awesome.  AG kicks buttinski!

James Wolcott

Yikes!  This one is too salady for CDC.  But you can read about it here.

George W. Bush

This one was very painful to me, because it featured an arrogant, foolish, incompetent hoseface President cobag.  Also it was super weird!

So, apparently the government is trying to come up with a new policy in relation to this scientific finding published in Science recently. Since nobody really knows how government works, I think in my dream I was figuring out exactly how the current administration works.  How they accomplish new policy is all down to the Decider in Chief, but they can never ask him his opinion directly, they apparently poll him/have him answer surveys.  These surveys come in the form of scantron/answer “bubble” forms.  So Bush has to fill out these forms like he’s taking the SAT.  He’s pissed off all the time because all he does all day is fill in little bubbles for “strongly agree/somewhat agree/no opinion/etc.” with a number 2 pencil.  You can imagine how his responses could be skewed by munchloaves writing slimy poll questions, and also by his own total stupidity. Somehow, he has to answer a survey about this Science paper.  Of course, he knows nothing about it, nor does he want to know.  He just madly fills in bubbles with that clenched face pissed off look.  I’m pissed off because I’m trying to tell him that he can take the time to actually read the documents, and then barely mark the form and have some aid/clerk fill in the rest of the bubbles, but he won’t listen.  He’s just acting like an annoying, paranoid baby.  I kind of hoped Cheney would have come in and just smacked him upside the head, but that never happened.  The whole time I was pissed because I was having a dream about George Effwad Bushbag.

Telly Savalas and Desi Arnaz- ROWR!

Jennifer sends us this season opener- thanks, Jennifer!



She writes:

I had these two dreams relatively close together. I was obviously steeped in the horn-dogginess of youth… both dreams were about intimate knowledge of two famous men. One was Desi Arnaz and the other was Telly Savalas. All I remember about Desi was being in the bathtub with him. I think I was even a little disgusted during the dream, not only upon waking. I don’t remember any particulars except how livery Desi’s lips looked…

I remember a tad more about Telly. I was doing the Vendulu [Intriguing. Wait, what?? -Ed] thing with Telly in the middle of Wasson’s department store. We were underneath some hanging rack of nasty polyester clothes. I’m not sure what was worse, getting caught, or being with Telly. Hindsight tells me it was being with Telly.

I have nothing against Telly or Desi, but they are not my cup of tea. I think my subconscious was just being a smart ass. Or maybe… maybe I was indeed steeped in horn-doginess and just needed a MAN, BABY! Both Desi and Telly were stereotypical macho specimens. Telly with his bald head and Desi… well he was Mr. Latin. Maybe my hormones were just telling me to go find a man and stop trying to focus on finals!!!

Curse their sexy wiles!  They put a spell on you!1!! Also, yikes!!!!!

Uma Thurman?


The dream begins where I’m riding a bus and I’m making very nice conversation with the cute blonde sitting in front of me. She looks like Jessica Simpson with the face of Reese Witherspoon (I briefly remember what Reese Witherspoon looks like, having watched Just Like Heaven on the bus ride to NYC with AG) , but introduces herself to me as Uma Thurman. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think that name sounds familiar, but I’m unable to make any specific connection. As Uma and I continue to chat about sanskrit texts and the Dharma Initiative (I’ve been wasting waaay too much time playing the Lost Experience), a young man sitting to the right of the bus interrupts us and asks Uma Thurman for an autograph and gushes about how excited he is to meet her and all the typical stuff that fans do. Uma indulges him, but shortly thereafter, she breaks down crying and explains to me how horrible the intrusion of privacy is and how it is eating her alive. She further goes on to say that I’m the only person she’s ever met that doesn’t seem to know who she is or wants anything out of her. Around this point I begin to wonder if she’s some kind of celebrity.

The next thing I know, we’ve arrived at our destination and are in some kind of theatre. Uma and I have apparently become very close in the intervening time, and she tells me that she will be doing some performance and wants me to sing with her and will I pick out a song for us to sing. Now I’m pretty worried here. For one, I’m under the impression that Uma is trained in operatic singing and the musical selections are far too advanced for someone like myself. She seems to think that I not only have the ability to sing, but also am familiar with all of these French songs, seeing as I’m Canadian and all. Every time I think I know a song, I realize that I don’t know a single lyric, and I’m too nervous to sight-read. We bicker about the singing thing for a short while when Uma’s manager or agent checks on the situation and has a freak-out that me, a rank amateur, will be performing with Uma. He tells Uma that her career will be over if I sing in public with her. I’m off the hook!

Tim Allen and Drew Carey



If this one happened in real life, I’d do it all the same.

I am attending the US Open tennis tournament.  I am with someone, possibly the Nutter, maybe the Random Randroid.  It is unclear.  It certainly is not fulsome, thus akin to real life as he is never around.  These details are not important to the dream itself, just a little insider information for the sticklers.  Everywhere  around the stadium, instead of the normal advertising signs, there are photos of Tim Allen.  Just his smiling portrait, no labeling, nothing.  It is creepy a la Third World Dictator or possibly Jeb Bush’s guest bedroom bathroom. It somehow became apparent in the dream that the Allen images were an ad campaign for his comeback sitcom. 


For the first part of the dream we are sitting pretty high up in Arthur Ashe stadium and the stadium is full but quiet, later the stadium is empty, but we are still up top (I’ll never get good seats I guess).  Then Drew Carey shows up, apparently he is producing and co-starring in the Tim Allen sitcom.  He is excited to tell us what it is all about.  He starts in by saying it is about how hard it is to be a conservative in Hollywood.  At this point, with every word he tries to get out of his mouth, I make a walrus or seal noise really loudly.  


Drew Carey: “No you see, it’s…”




Drew Carey: “It’s actually pretty fu-“




Drew Carey: “I think you-“




Drew Carey: “Please just wat-“




It just kept going like that. I wish I could have done that to him for reals.  I don’t know why.  He was being annoying and the show sounded pretty dumb.  Kind of like something that Pajamas Media might exec-produce.  I can’t wait for the show about Instapundit.  I mean Emeril and Tony Kornheiser…

I Blame the Cobagitator


So this mystery AWESOME person cobagitated onto Three Bulls! some cool new headers for our page, and one of the headers had the lovely and talented MB-B on it.  Of course nothing could be more 3B than MB-B.  But what did I proceed to do last night?  Dream about MB-B.  I can’t give tons of details because another person in the dream I work with, and since outing of Pinko Punko is an omnipresent possibility, I can’t dish on work cobaggery, but here is the dream:

I had to babysit these three kids, a girl and a boy and some non-descript baby.  Nothing really happened.  Then the parents got home.  The parents were MB-B (radiant and youthful) and this person I work with.  A person who may be described as X,Y, and Z.  Let’s just say he doesn’t know karate in the same was that James Brown doesn’t.  And they hated each other.  She was the responsible one, and he was kind of the messed up one.  She still totally had to bust his hump when they came home, and they were totally yelling at ech other, but then she said “would you just shut up for one second so I can pay the babysitter?” to him, and then she turned to me and said “I’m so sorry for all of this.  I hope the children were good for you.”  And I was thinking, lady, you gotta lose his guy.  The kids were upset that their parents were fighting and the baby started to cry and I was “I just gotta get out of here.”  Deep down I was excited to have met young Meredith Baxter-Birney, though. 

Hugo Weaving, Bruce Lee, Hope Chest-Chuckles EXCLUSIVE

Chuckles had this awesome, if disturbingly vivid dream.  I wonder if he censored anything? I have also dreamt about the stud rockers Hope Chest.  More on that later.
This dream started out like so many others.  I was jogging along a beach stark naked.  I was utterly alone, but there were beach houses everywhere, just above the high water mark.  It was early in the morning, in the pre-dawn gray and felt like it was going to storm most of the day.  My body was basically the same as it is now and every now and then the camera perspective would shift and I would watch myself jog.  I think that the next time I go jogging I will wear some tighty whiteys.

After proceeding for what felt like a couple miles, I encountered a sandy street and jogged on the sidewalk.  This part of the beach was distinctly unsafe as there was no dune protecting the town from the waves.   There were sand drifts and puddles with seaweed in them all over the road.  I kept jogging and found myself in front of the boardwalk entertainment district.  It wasn’t quite open but there were a few dudes setting up some equipment.  I walked over, dangly bits and all, and asked them what they were doing.

“We are opening a new VR terminal MMOG [Massive multiplayer online game? -Ed.]!  Would you like to give it a shot?”
“Hell yeah!”
They set up some chairs and starting wiring a net of electrodes to my skull, rather like the one in Future
Strange Days (With Ralph Fiennes and way too much naked Juliette Lewis).  The webbing of electrodes was connected to a thick black cable, maybe three or four inches in diameter and was surprisingly heavy.  They said that I would be met with a trainer once I was inside and that I was to have fun and obey the rules.  These two statements seemed oddly contradictory to me.

Once the techs jammed the big black cable into a socket, I sort of flipped out.  In my dream, it was like going through the monolith.  Or perhaps how I imagine seizures to be for the poor bastards that have them.  I think I was actually thrashing around on my bed because I woke up with a ton of new bruises.  The flashes of light and color went on for about as long as I had been jogging and then I was standing in an arena that bore an uncanny resemblance to the inside of a pac-man game, but with pac-man style high-rises and no walls.  Just a big black-ish cube with soft edges and little dots in regular rows and large dots interspersed around at uneven intervals.  There was a tiki bar and tiki bandstand over my left shoulder and some extremely pixellated guys in black suits with unfocused faces.  I walked up to the bar.  There was a hot, petite female bartender serving drinks to no one.  She would make a drink and then place it as if there was an invisible person and then make some more and then clean the drinks off the counter.  I sidled up to the bar.

“Listen, stranger, as much as I appreciate teh view, I can’t let you in the bar naked.” She said without looking at me too much.

“How do I get clothes in this place?”

“Where is you trainer?”

“I just got here, they said he would be here when I arrived.”

“And here I am.”  I turned around and the new voice was Hugo Weaving as Elrond.  “This place is governed by some basic rules of MMOG etiquette.  As you are an experienced gamer, we need not discuss those.  Let’s skip ahead to images and clothing.”

“Right on.  Where is Earendil?”  I am still a bit of a jerk in my dreams, I guess.

“Shut up, you need to concentrate on an image of clothing to make those clothes appear on your avatar.”  Hugo Weaving turned into Mitzi Del Bra from Priscilla (or whatever his character’s name in that movie was).

“So if I concentrate on an image, I can make myself look like that image?  What about my body?”

“Yes, but we haven’t worked all of the kinks out, you might not want to do that.  The security protocols think of it as a virus attack for some reason.”  Hugo Weaving turned into Agent Smith.  His voice changed with every image change.

“Right on.  So if I wanted to….”  I concentrated on being lithe and ripped and wearing some pants.  I felt something shift in my head.

“Hey!  I said that was forbidden!  Now look what you have done!”  Hugo was backing away quickly and the fuzzy guys in suits were drifting slowly towards me as I looked around.  I looked down at my body.  I was wearing some balck pants and stylish slippers.  I sent my viewing perspective away to get a third person look at myself.  I looked exactly like Bruce Lee from Enter the Dragon.  “Do I know kung fu?”

“Stop! You are disrupting the integrity of the server?”  Hugo was panicking.  The bartender had stopped making drinks and was looking at me.  “How about some music, babe?”  I asked the bartender.  I thought really hard and Hope Chest rose out of the band stand and started jamming.  The bartender changed into some smoking threads.  Her birthday suit. [f*** yeah! -Ed.]

“Sweet.  I got the fight music, the sparring partners and the prize.  Let’s tear this shit up.”

As the security protocol avatars got closer and closer they became more distinct.  “You are virus.  Virus must be eradicated and removed from the server.  Server integrity must be maintained.”  They all chanted in unison.  They didn’t walk so much as move like a laggy avatar.  They would drift smoothly over the ground and down the walls of the cube, but occaisonally their bodies would shift to the next frame of the walking animation.  They were probably animated for about 10 frames per second.  The first one drifted into range.  I kicked him in the face so fast, I thought I had been animated by Stephen Chow.  I barely even felt it before the SP avatar was flying through the air backward.  “Apparently, I do know kung fu…awesome.”  I leaped through the air in a bicycle kick and sent another avatar flying.  This went on for several minutes before I noticed that every time I knocked the hell out of one of the avatars they stood up faster and better rezzed.  They also started to fight better.  It was still a hellaciously unholy beatdown, but it got steadily more challenging.  At one point I glanced over at the bar and I think there were some people drinking and cheering, but I think that I had rendered them there myself for a WRN and 3B cheering section.  They weren’t really there like Hope Chest was.  At least, they didn’t feel as real as the music.  Which got craizer and crazier as I got wilder and wilder in the fight.  At one point, I decided to have a foot race.  I took off running toward the pac-man high-rises.  The avatars all chased after me yelling, “HUT HUT HUT HUT HUT HUT HUT HUT HUT HUT HUT HUT” like in the Blues Brothers.  “This game is going to make billions,” I screamed as I ran up the side of one building and jumped to another.

The pellets were everywhere.  This is about the time I noticed that they weren’t really painted on the floor so much as just floating above it.  I knocked them all over the place as I ran faster and faster around, over and between the little down town of the cube.  I stared grabbing them and whipping them at the security programs.  They didn’t have a whole lot of effect, so I grabbed one of the bigger ones.  All of the avatars stopped and so did the music.  The bartender screamed wordlessly.  I grinned and threw it at the group of avatars.  They went flying like bowling pins and even made the same noise as a strike.  I ran to the next and concentrated really carefully.  When I opened my eyes, I had a pile of the large ‘power’ pellets and started throwing them like they were going on sale.  This was awesome.  I was blowing the hell out of everything.  Bits of the high-rises were falling off and crushing security avatars and some off the programs were exploding in showers of bits when I nailed them dead on.

Bits of static and binary code started leaking in through the holes I was punching through everything.  Hugo Weaving came running up in a suit and screamed about how I had crashed his server and we were all going to lose our minds.  “Says you, Hugo.”  I ran to the bartender and asked her how to unplug.  She showed me a hand sign and disappeared.  I made the sign.  And woke up in the chair on the boardwalk.  The bartender was sitting on another chair I hadn’t seen behind the big mainframe (a giant black cube) and it was raining and really windy.  The techs were all screaming about the water and the incoming hurricane.  They took off running as bits of palm trees started landing around us.  I was still naked.  So was the bartender.  I looked around and noticed only board walk, waves coming up onto the street, pine trees and tumbleweeds.  No palm trees anywhere but fronds were constantly smakcing me in the face.

The bartender wouldn’t wake up.  I unhooked her electrode web and tried shaking her.  She stirred but didn’t wake up. I picked her up and started running along the beach back to my house.  Along the way, it was really windy and there was a lot of aggressive sea life liying on the beach trying to get me.  Crabs and lobsters scuttled around snapping at me from ponds left by waves, sharks and eels flopped around gnashing their teeth at me.  I ran faster.  When I reached the part of the beach where I had started the dream, I woke up.

Apparently, I don’t get the girl.  Even in my own head, I don’t get the girl.  Well, that is how it is sometimes.

The Malkin Dream

A short note before we get into the craziness: it has become clear to me that many people are having Celebrity Dream Cameos and they are not sharing them with our readers. This is selfish. I will not name names but I expect several dreams to be submitted to my private e-mail 3bulls at gmail dot com. That being said I have had dreams with Bruce Willis, Sylvester Stallone and Pop Renaissance in them. The Bruce Willis one was just like watching a bad action movie, but the ending was really creepy, like Outer Limits creepy. The Sly one was just weird. It was like Rambo 27 in the future and nothing really happened. Except the riff from Happy Mondays’ “Loose Fit” kept repeating and it was exceptionally creepy as well. It is odd when dreams have a soundtrack and I know it was not because that song was playing on my alarm clock. That would be an awesome alarm clock.

The Malkin dream:

So I was dreaming about something else that I don’t remember and then it shifted to me being on the computer and I was reading a blog post that was something like this:

Note to Readers: Someone had some orange popsicles in the Blogger freezer, I hope you don’t mind that I took them. Thanx!

-Michelle Malkin

Obviously since this is a dream, nothing strikes one as weird, it seemed very natural-like there was a work fridge shared by all bloggers. I mean I think we know who keeps abandoning smelly leftovers and who keeps getting KFC to taunt the rest of us that have to have PBJ every day. Anyway, there was an update:

UPDATE: It had just come to my attention that the orange popsicles were left in the freezer by an unhinged lefty blogger Auguste who would like nothing more that for me and my unborn child to become dehydrated. I am NOT sorry I took the popsicles, my family’s welfare comes first and I defy anyone that wants to hurt my child!!!!

-Michelle Malkin

I was all wow, she really turned on a dime there, and also, Malkin’s preggers? I had better get over there to help her with this negativity, it might be bad for the baby. Before I could have a heart to heart with Michelle I had to somehow go to work with Jesse. He apparently worked at the American Enterprise Institute (AEI). They were in this old buiding, kind of like an old New York Banck building, with a grey stone classical facade. The building said something else, but had some cheap banner that was pretty small hanging over the corner of one side that said “AEI”. I told Jesse that nobody was going to take them seriously and that the sign looked trashy.

I don’t remember what happened at work, because all of a sudden I was counseling Michelle about her negativity and mood swings. I told her that that craziness could hurt the baby- like if she didn’t keep herself in check the baby would be OK, but somehow something weird would happen and the baby would disappear (like poof out of her womb). So she was trying to be happy and less negative and we were feeling really positive, but then she would just go psycho, like cartoonishly so, and I would just say “NO MICHELLE, THE BABY!!!!!!!!” and she would snap out of it. I don’t remember what happened after that. The main this I remembered was that she somehow had to be hydrated and she was mad at Auguste because she had eaten his popsicles.


I picked this image of La Malkin because she looks both motherly and maybe a little dehydrated.

I think that was the weirdest one yet, but I bet Chuckles are weirder, and yet he won’t share. Cobag.