Yesterday I was driving Erik Noisewater (age 4) to school and telling him about the dream I had. I said my recently departed Aunt Linda was in the dream, and she was young and beautiful. And I was so happy she was alive somehow. Then, of course, by the end of the dream I learned that she was dead after all. I told Erik that I was crying but couldn't remember if I was crying in the dream or while I was awake after it was over. He said, "But parents don't cry." I told him parents cry too. I said I hardly ever cry, and when I do I almost never do it in front of anyone - so he just hasn't seen me cry is all. Then I reminded him that he has seen his mother cry. To which he said, "Yeah she cries and you just go, 'I know! I know!'"
Wow, the way he said that, the way he imitated my response to his mom crying - it was bad hearing that. There was an incident the other night and I was not exactly the most empathetic husband of all time. I don't want to make it seem like this is dinner every night at the Noisewater dining room table, but it happened. I think everyone is breaking down in these damn COVID times. It's tough. It's wearing on everyone.
I had a dream last night where my good friend, HLP*, and I were transported back to various times in history. What an amazing opportunity! We could have saved the Kennedy brothers from being assassinated, stopped the world wars that cost the world so many lives, and maybe even smacked the AIDS monkey in the head with a crowbar.** But instead the first thing that occurred to us that we could do for the good of mankind went something like this, "Holy shit! We can travel through time seeing all kinds of legendary rock bands!"
HLP and I were discussing what shows we had been to during out time travels. One of us saw Black Sabbath with Ozzy Osbourne in the 1970's, and on another night in the 1970's we saw Blue Oyster Cult. Seeing B.O.C. is not that exciting of an opportunity, but that is all we could find playing that night. And they didn't even play "Don't Fear the Reaper!" Now that I think about it, HLP and I could have been yelling out for them to play that song when it hadn't even been written yet. Trippy, right?
We found our potential Holy Grail when we skimmed through the newspaper to to see that Jimi Hendrix was playing that night! This must be what the Ziggy of our rock and roll "Quantum Leap" has been wanting us to see. It was all so clear now! The only problem was that it was sold out. First we tried to sneak through the front door, but the doorman busted us and kicked us to the curb. We then found a way to get in through the back door. This led us to the backstage area, but from there there was no way to get to where we could see the stage. We decided to hide behind some folding tables where we could hear the show perfectly and see Jimi playing from time to time when he walked by a door with a window on it.
At one point Jimi happened to glance through the window and looked right at me. I didn't know what else to do, so I just smiled and waved. Mr. Hendrix stopped playing at this point and said, "Hold on a minute. We got a couple white boys*** back here." I thought for sure our goose (or geese) was cooked, but he asked the crowd if we should be let into the show. The crowd responded with an uproarious applause, and we came out and saluted the crowd to a standing ovation. HLP and I found some seats, but people kept arriving and kicking us out (we had no tickets, if you'll recall). Some seats that I sat in I had to leave even before anyone got there because my knees were hitting the head of the person in front of me. I found it odd at the time that some seats had more leg room than others, but maybe it was like that in the early 1970's. I'll never know because I can't really time travel.
Sometimes you just find that perfect Google Image.
With all the time I spent worrying if I would be thrown out, if a ticket-holding patron would arrive to take my seat, or if my knees would graze somebody's ear and piss them off, I realized that I wasn't paying much attention to why I was there: Jimi. Fucking. Hendrix. I will say that dream-time-traveling Kenneth was impressed with his playing, but Jimi didn't play one single, solitary song I had ever heard before.
So, what does it all mean? Are the rock gods inside my insane brain trying to tell me something?
- Maybe I should just enjoy the moment more and not worry so much about little details?
- Perhaps it's a telling story about how I'm too overly concerned with rock music?
- Help me out, Seven Readers. Maybe there is a hidden meaning that I'm missing?
*This acronym stands for Heterosexual Life Partner. He has been a good buddy of mine since junior high, all through this blog's inception, and right up until now. We text one another just about every day about sports and music, so I would say life partner still applies.
**I'm sorry if any animal lovers are offended by this. Believe me when I say that it wouldn't be easy because I find monkeys so adorable. But I would hypothetically smash that little guy's infected nose right into the back of his disease-ridden skull for the good of mankind. But he would get a pass if Zeppelin or someone else awesome was playing that night.
***We weren't the least bit offended when he said "white boys" because he delivered it with no malice at all, and in fact, a great deal of warmth. Dream Jimi was extremely kind and gracious. He was everything I imagined him to be, but I just wish he played some songs that I knew! I mean, I have heard his whole catalog, so from what reservoir was he digging through for that night's deep cuts? I'll have to ask Dream Jimi if I ever have the pleasure of meeting him again, and while I'm at it I'll thank him for letting me and my "white boy" friend into the show.
I had a really vivid dream the other night where I was a professional baseball player in the midst of a heated game. I had gotten on first and was excited about stealing second. Did I mention I was Black? I'm a white dude, in case you didn't know.
I got off to a big lead, and as the pitcher went into his stretch, I got a great jump towards second. I had it stolen easy, but as I got to where the base should have been, the bag was nowhere to be found! I had beaten the throw by a mile and was frantically looking around for the base when I was tagged by the shortstop. When the umpire called me out, I was absolutely irate and hopping up and down.
The umpires got together for a long deliberation, during which time I was pleading my case to anyone who would listen. I remember discussing the matter with a Japanese teammate through his interpreter. I let him know that I was a born base stealer and it's how I made my living, and to deny me of the tangible base to take, they were denying me of my God given right! The two Japanese men seemed to agree with me based on the looks of disapproval on their faces. I can still picture them shaking their heads in disgust and disbelief about my situation.
I saw that the umpires looked to be wrapping up their discussion, so I said to my manager that if he didn't plan on arguing to the point of getting thrown out of the game, I was going to. He assured me that it was his plan to do so, but when I asked him what kind of theatrics he would be displaying during his potential upcoming tantrum, I wasn't impressed with what he had in mind. I suggested he try pulling up the second base they had just put in as well as all three other bases before being dragged off the field to demonstrate what little respect these umpires had for the bases and the rules of baseball in general. He acted as if he was considering it, but I got the feeling he was sticking to a low-key fit that in no way was elevating himself to the passion that the situation demanded.
Sure enough, the umps called me out, and my manager did his best to honor me by getting thrown out of the game, as promised, but it really did seem lackluster compared to the performance I could give. It just seemed to me that Skip didn't share the same passion that I had. I turned my hat around, rolled up my sleeves, and got ready to dig up out those bases and toss them all over the place for all the base swipers, all my teammates (especially the Japanese ones), and for anyone who has felt injustice at the hands of corrupt authority figures.
I had this dream the other night where I was at a comedy club, or was it a strip bar? It was hard to tell because the late great Robert Schimmel was trying to do his set on the same stage as a stripper. I remember being pissed at the time because there were some drunks heckling him, but that's to be expected. It's just weird trying to make jokes with a woman to your left taking her clothes off.
Here I was yelling at these jerks to shut up, but Schimmel was so understanding. He was saying, "It's all right. A gig's a gig."
The real life Robert Schimmel was in a car wreck in which his 19-year-old daughter was driving and the car flipped over on its side. His son in the car was not hurt at all, his daughter sustained some injuries, but sadly, Mr. Schimmel died from his injuries.
"Yup, she has no clothes on, but listen to this . . ."
I guess I visited him in a dream state in that great Titty Bar/Comedy Club in the sky the other night. And he was good to see him truly at peace when he said to me "A gig's a gig."
I had a dream the other night where I'm out at the bar, and then all of a sudden everyone wants to do cocaine and put things in each other's butt holes. I don't do either of those things, so in the dream I was desperately trying to get out of there. Even if I were to dabble in either venture, right in plain sight at the bar hardly seemed like the right time. To make things even weirder, everyone had bright blue bungholes.
The friends in my dream thought I was the biggest prude ever when I finally got out of there, but boy was I glad to get free of those twisted, blue-butted, drug fiend, anal exhibitionists.
Tell me the last time you saw the above sentence.
And what in the blue blazes do you think the dream means?
I had a boner dream the other night. It wasn't a full on wet dream because I'm too old for those. I would wager those rear their messy heads somewhere between once every four or five years these days. A boner dream falls short of those. It's one where you're on the verge of eruption when you wake up. Hell, those only seem to cum (come) around once a year or so now that I think about it.
My morning was 10% as sexy as this.
Now, I don't really have a problem with a stiff wake up call on a Thursday morning, but what I do take issue with is that what was happening in the dream was simply me having a wank in my apartment. Is that the best my brain's run down dream factory could come up with? Dreams can do anything they want - they can fly me to Jupiter - but what am I doing? Pulling myself off with my pants around my ankles in my dusty Chicago apartment. The foreman at my dream factory needs to be fired.
A dream factory within a perfect mind could have had me at a fashion show where the supermodels would walk down the catwalk, backstage to me on a bearskin rug where I'm naked and smoking a pipe, she does the nasty with Doctor Ken, puts on a new outfit and parades back to the catwalk, just in time for a new one come to come backstage, and so forth. And that's just off the top of my head!
"Take a quick bow and hurry back to the bearskin rug."
As a matter of fact, my boner dream could have taken me to a mythical land of insatiable creatures. Dr. Ken could have been lying happily in a forest with ferries fluttering around his face, landing gently on his face, when a mermaid comes by. Or a unicorn. Hell, make it a winged mermaid princes with a big glowing horn jutting out of her head like a unicorn. Somehow she rocks that horn; She owns it and makes it sexy. She saunters over to me horny as hell, tells all the little ferries to piss off, mounts me, grinds away, and her wings are flapping in ecstasy. Soon she is getting worked up enough to make her horn glow bright red and offers to do crazy horn penetration with me, but I politely tell her I'm not quite ready to take that plunge with her. But maybe when I get to know her better.
This was the afternoon the woman of my dreams was conceived.
After hours and hours she finally has a powerful mergasm (which everyone knows is a mermaid orgasm) which blasts fairy dust in a 100 yard radius, knocking back the trees within the first few feet of her and making anything in its vicinity hornier than hell. Which happens to be a centaur named Bill who trots over and pulls "the cable guy" in a porno movie on me, asking if he can join the party. Mer-Pegasus-Unicorn lady is totally into it, but I'm not a three way dude. Even if I were, two guys and a girl is not for me, so me and a centaur is totally out of the question - and to be honest a little intimidating. So I excuse myself and step away to sulk under a tree, pouting about my slutty mythical beast woman who has left me for a giant horse-man.
How can I be expected to compete with this guy?
When they finish up, I thought I had gotten far enough away to get out of the range of her mergasm blast, but Bill made her fire out fairy dust twice as far. That damn dust works its magic on me, and even though I hate myself by this point, I can't help masturbating. And there I am tugging away with the stupid little fairies buzzing around laughing at me, and I'm whipping rocks at them, crying, and yelling at them to go away. And that's where my boner dream would pick up, skipping all that awesome stuff you read about a minute ago . . .
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
So I had this dream last night that my girlfriend and I were desperately trying to screw in this giant grotto style public pool type place, but we kept getting interrupted. It was as if it had to get done or something bad was going to happen. And at one point I looked down to see that I had way too much chest hair. Truth be told, I'm a bit of a hairless mammal, so it was a little scary for me.
In other news, when I went to pick up my contacts today, I dropped into the record store across the street that I usually go to when I see the eye doctor. They specialize in dance/house type music so their rock collection is very limited. They play their shitty house music the whole time, and when I was done selecting my $13.10 worth of records, I found myself waiting at the register with no one to ring me up for a couple minutes. So I peeked into the back room to find three employees hanging out and not working, and I had to interrupt them and ask if someone could actually do two minutes of work and ring up my purchase.
Yup. That's what your typical record shop in Chicago is like. They're snobs, they are way over staffed with guys doing nothing, and they suck. When I did that job, I loved every single shift. It was the best job in the world - listening to music all day and talking about it all day. Real jobs are hard, and that's what they need to realize. The record shop gig is fun and really, really easy, but you do have to staff one of the three guys to be not in the back room so that they can spot when a customer is trying to spend money in the shop. That's one of the only rules.
Okay. I gotta go spin my $13.10 of music that was well spent, even if the proprietors didn't make it easy for me to spend it.
I had an extremely F'd up dream last night. I'm at this party, and it must have been some sort of BYOM (Bring Your Own Monkey) type of gathering because guests were arriving with all different types of monkeys. I started to get uneasy and wondering if all those different species of monkeys should be around each other. It's not that I wanted segregation of monkeys for some sort of political reason, I just feared that if you got Spider Monkeys, Tamarins, Saki, and Marmosets in the same room, you're just increasing the likelihood that some monkeys just wouldn't hit if off, and there would be a giant monkey brawl of epic proportions. I think some of the folks sensed my trepidation and thought it would be funny to place different monkeys on my shoulders, head, and wherever else a monkey would fit all at once. The monkeys were tweaking and shrieking a little, not really wanting to be on my shoulder all that much, but I didn't get bit (and getting bit seemed to be the over arching fear I had at the time).
On Ebay. Sold only to Ape Men.
Things really started to get insane when a guy arrived with a six foot tall upright ape-man. His face was more ape than man, but he had perfect posture and was dressed in human clothes. Ape Man had jeans, sneakers, and a sleeveless jean jacket with heavy metal patches on the back (probably a cool Iron Maiden picture), and he had bulging, hairy biceps. His owner (or buddy?) was saying how cool it was to work out with his monkey-man friend. Suddenly, 80's metal fan Ape Man darts over to me with lightning speed and bites into my neck. Blood spurts everywhere, and everyone busts out laughing like this is the funniest thing they ever saw.
Pop Quiz: What show was this guy on?
For whatever reason, it was my job to clean it up the bloody mess on the carpet - my own blood, as if it was all my fault. And the blood was dark, almost black - the kind where you see that shade in a movie and you just know the guy is going to die. But the guests weren't at all concerned about me, they just looked down on me while I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the carpet, casually offering advice on what chemicals might get it out during lulls in their conversations with one another, cocktails in hand. What was really odd was that Ape Man just kept chillin' at the party, and no one seemed the least bit worried that he might bite them next.
Well, another blog about a dream, but I'll make it brief and hopefully funny. In last night's dream, my girlfriend and I had this fabulous house up in the hills somewhere, overlooking the ocean. The pool out back was great because it had a spectacular view behind it, however, swimming in the pool were around four giant rats like the one in The Princess Bride, all no less than the size of a cocker spaniel, and one 10-foot-long albino alligator. The GF was walking past the pool on her way back into the house, and the 'bino alligator took a snap at her ankle, narrowly missing her. Why none of these critters ever got out of the pool, I don't know. They just circled around in a frenzy, biting one another.
"Come on in! The water's warm!"
In the dream I actually said this, and keep in mind that it's a small pool where you could see all the way to the bottom and there are extremely dangerous animals that are very easy to spot in there:
"We really need to remind guests not to go into the pool."
Monday, November 25, 2013
The GF and I came home drunk on Friday night, and we both wanted to watch a movie. She popped in "Aladdin," which wouldn't have been my vote, but I'm glad I watched it again because it's still funny, the songs are good, and overall it just holds up well. Robin Williams could probably have done the performance with 10 less impressions of celebrities that have nothing to do with anything, but beyond that, it's a good time. The two of us actually sang all the songs loudly, so sorry neighbors. We actually went into an impromptu a capella "Little Mermaid" song quite loudly, so I'm even more sorry about that. But yeah, we nailed it.
Also, I have a confession: Back in high school, I was insanely jealous of Aladdin. Why, you may ask?
Great minds dress alike.
1. He Has a Pet Monkey. I have always wanted a pet monkey. Yes, I know that they don't usually make good pets, and sometimes they rip your arm out of its socket or eat all the flesh off of your face, but they're just so darned cute. Mine would for sure wear the little outfit like Abu, and he would definitely be perched up on my shoulder all the time, turning back flips every now and again, maybe right when I get off a good one-liner, just before I make a dramatic exit . . .
2. He Has a Hot, Exotic-looking Girlfriend With a Perfect (If Not Impossible) Body, and Giant Pretty Eyes. And she's rich and doesn't dig rich guys. Back in high school when I was watching this movie, she didn't really need to be any of these things. Simply being not animated, having a pulse, and willing to sleep with a dork like me would have worked out great.
I don't remember her wearing this
3. The Son of a Bitch Has His Own Flying Carpet.* Whenever I'm flying through my own powers in a dream, it's the coolest thing ever, and there is this feeling of complete control. I would say I have had this dream around three times, and it's always incredible. I'm pissed when I wake up because I know the dream is over and I can't really fly. The ability to fly would be outstanding. I could bypass a traffic jam, and then just wrap the carpet around my neck like a scarf and head into my business meting (or more likely the bar). That or I would stuff it in a brief case so that I look important. Any way you slice it, I want one of those things.
Okay. I'm still jealous of that punk. That street rat . . .
How about you, readers? You ever get jealous of a cartoon? Roger Rabbit also comes to mind. I was always funny as a kid but couldn't seem to land the giant chested songstress type . . .
*You will notice that having the magic lamp is not on the list. I have just seen too many problems with the whole wish thing in all the movies. He can keep it.
I had this dream that I was a college water polo coach, which is weird because I know almost nothing about water polo other than it's like team hand ball in a pool and it's hard to tread water for that long.
What's also odd is that I had two celebrities on the team: Actor, writer, and funny-man Seth Rogen and Lars Ulrich, the drummer for the most successful metal band of all time, Metallica. Perhaps they were going back to college and still had eligibility to play, even if they're old and out of shape, respectively?
It was a rag tag group of water polo players to say the least.
"Back off me, toots. I got a big game in the morning."
I really needed Seth in an upcoming match to be my outside wing offensive guy, or whatever, but he made a conscious choice to travel with the basketball team instead because he felt he needed to cheer them on. This made me so mad that I was throwing projectiles at him at the next practice, and my violent tirade was filmed and aired on the local news, which probably would have gotten me fired if the dream continued much longer.
"I'm the goalie because I'm always in charge even if I'm not all that good."
Lars was a goalie with some pretty quick reaction time and instincts, but what was bothering me was how short he was. He couldn't even reach the cross bar to stop a high shot, and to be honest, I have no idea if it's an asset or not to have a tall/long armed goalie in water polo or not. In the dream it was infuriating to have him in there, and I was whipping high shots at him over-and-over to demonstrate this.
I was a mean coach.
What do you think, guys? Throw Will Ferrell in here and we got ourselves a crappy sports comedy? Or am I just totally nuts for having dreams like this one?
I had this dream last night set at the supermarket in the town where I grew up, and I was chatting with a guy I hadn't met before who seemed to be the manager or owner. He was drinking a can of Busch Light and offered me one, and as he did so, he was explaining to me that it didn't look like it was 24 ounces but was, somehow. He was right. It looked like a normal sized beer but it said 24 ounces at the bottom of the can, and while I was marveling at the beer that he gave me, he pulled out a gun and yelled at a shoplifter to freeze. Manager guy fired a shot at the thief, missing him, but he did magnificently explode a can of tomato paste all over the place. Everyone in the store screamed and ran for the exits, including me, which was odd because the gun wielding manager/owner seemed quite chummy with me just a moment before.
"If you're cool, I'll give you a beer, but if you steal, so help me, I will blow your fricking head clean off."
Running towards the door, I ran past the lady at the register and reached into my wallet to find I had a five dollar bill and a one (which is actually what I have in cash in my wallet now - so dreams are smart sometimes). Without stopping, I plunked down the five, told her to keep the change, and ran out with my deceptively fathomless can of beer. As I went through the exit doors, there were a bunch of young men pushing the carts but mostly just hanging out, and as I took a pull from my Busch Light, they all seemed happy to see me and we knew all knew each other for some reason. Walking to my car, now seemingly safe from the fire fight that continued inside, I heard one of them say to another "Dude, I bet Dr. Ken was just like you back in the day."
"Now with more splatter!"
It's hard to say if that youngster meant that in a good or bad one, but I like to think he was implying that it's cool to take a swig from a beer as you casually head for the door with bullets whizzing by and exploding tomato paste all around, splattering the aisles and aisles of packaged goods . . .
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Do you ever have one of those dreams where if someone didn't mention something to remind you of it, it would be totally lost from your memory forever? That happened to me tonight when I was out with some friends watching a game 7 in the NHL playoffs for my Chicago Blackhawks where someone made mention of the "Anchorman" sequel. I was suddenly reminded that last night I had a dream that Ron Burgandy was titty-fucking Veronica Cornerstone. I wasn't even in the dream - it was actually Will Ferrel and his penis doing that exact sex act and me just watching like in a movie. In all honesty, even if I wasn't directly involved, it was still pretty hot.
I just woke up from a dream in which I was pressured to come up with a new writing project on the spot, and believe it or not, I think it's actually a decent idea. I had to flush all the thoughts onto paper to see if it is any good or even makes sense. There were a lot of kinks to work out, but what I have come up with, I think, is a pretty decent treatment.
This reminds me of when Paul McCartney wrote "Yesterday," one of the most widely covered and respected Beatles songs, in a dream. When he woke up, he wasn't sure if what he had was original or if it was something he heard somewhere else, so he hummed it to a number of people, none of which had ever heard it before. So, he decided that he was pretty sure he wrote it.
The only thing is that what he did was write an amazingly beautiful, classic song, and what I wrote is a treatment for a one act play I will never get off the ground, but still, Paul and I, whether he knows about it or not, shared a moment together. I kind of feel like the 5th Beatle, or more like the 5th of the "Three Stooges." Maybe Curly Joe.
Curly Joe is on the right, and you can clearly see that he was the least funny replacement of the immortal actual Curly.
Yes, I have done these before, but I promise I will make it funny and brief.
In this dream I'm at the airport with a friend of mine, and we both spot two former NFL players getting ready to fly somewhere together. We overhear them saying that they are going on a tropical vacation. One of them is Herschel Walker, and the other one is . . . Herschel Walker. And this when your dreams can so easily trick you. I was trying to place the face of the second one, but I had forgotten that I already knew the first was Herschel, so I guess they were just both Herschel?
My friend and I in the dream were wondering if maybe they were gay ex football players because who goes on a tropical vacations with another dude? I guess it doesn't matter if Herschel and Herschel Clone were gay or not, but I guess people just like to get a scoop on some celebrity gossip.
So, if you have skimmed through this post, and I wouldn't blame you if you did, this is what you need to know, as this was just a dream:
1. I have no information that Herschel Walker is or is not gay.
2. I also am not making any claims that ex NFL running back, Herschel Walker, has a clone.
3. Even if Herschel Walker does have a clone, I have no evidence to support the fact that he takes tropical vacations with his clone.
4. If he and his clone take tropical vacations, that does not necessarily mean that there are any homosexual activities taking place during the course of said vacation.
Herschel Walker
Herschel's Gay Love Clone?
-------------- Anyone have any fun dreams lately that they want to share in the comments or just any thoughts on this dream?
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Thursday, July 05, 2012
do you ever talk yourself into hitting the snooze button one last time with really stupid reasons? this morning i exhausted all possible snoozes and told myself that i had to get up on the next ring, but when the sound came, this is what i said to myself:
"yeah, but i didnt know i would be driving around in cool hummer trucks in my dream."
I had a dream last night that Sylvester Stallone was working at the pizza by the slice place on the corner by my house. I remember kind of feeling bad for him; the fact that he had to work there.
I love how in dreams we don't questions things like this, like how in the hell could Sly go broke overnight and move to Chicago to dole out slices of pizza. It made perfect sense last night.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
I had this dream where I was moving into a new apartment, and Brock Lesnar was going to be my new roommate. The realtor was showing him around, and when she introduced him to me, he didn't know who I was, which I thought was weird because I was his last roommate too, evidently. I remember shaking his hand, and what was incredibly realistic is that his hand engulfed mine completely, which it about would.
Midway through this realtor showing us around, it dawned on me that there is no way in hell I could afford this place unless Brock was paying 95% of the rent.
The other night I had this dream where I was going on a job interview at a place where my friend works, and to my surprise, the school was on a spaceship; I guess she hadn't mentioned this. Before the interview, I had to get changed, but I couldn't find anywhere to get privacy. I got caught like three times in various stages of undress trying to put my suit on. As it turns out, I was dressed all wrong when I met the boss because he was dressed in a tight-fitting short sleeved body suit, almost like a superhero, and he had ripped muscles everywhere and was ridiculously good looking.
He put me right to work to test out how I could keep up with their computerized spaceship stuff, and I just couldn't keep up. The superhero boss guy came over to me, and I admitted that I just didn't understand these wacky touch screen stations that they were using.
So, the implications?
Well, the getting caught naked is always an inadequacy thing. The not being able to do the job right, yeah, inadequacy. Oh, and the guy being ripped in SCUBA gear, yeah, you guessed it . . . No! Not latent homosexuality! Inadequacy again.
Gancey Girlfriend had a very vivid dream about being in heaven, one of those dreams that seemed to last for hours, and she said that it was one of the most amazing, fun dreams she's ever had. In heaven, she was asking all kinds of questions, curious about things such as how people could fly - she would learn in due time, she was told. It didn't look like all cloudy like you see on television but more like a beautiful, clean, romantic city with all kinds of shops. At one point, thousands of people gathered around an enormous pulpit to listen to God speak. I immediately asked if God looked like the whiteboy Jesus from the paintings or the big guy with the long white beard. Nope, neither.
She said, "You know that guy from the National Lampoons movies? I said, "You mean Chevy Chase?" She said, "Yeah! Only he had white hair." I asked if he was funny, and I guess he was more moving and inspiring than funny.
I told her that as a kid I had numerous dreams about going to hell and the devil, to which she said, "Hmmmmmmmm."
Wouldn't that be weird if I said the devil looked like Bill Murray or Dan Aykroyd?
