Innocent when you dream (Also, boring. Big time boring.)

They say that there's two things that no one wants to hear about: your fantasy sports teams and your dreams. I agree with the proverbial "they" for a couple of reasons:

1. Your fantasy teams suck;
2. but not as much as your god awful dreams.

Telling me your convoluted theory about how punting saves in exchange for high .ops guys will guarantee you a win (it won't) is as uninteresting to me as your dream about Abraham Lincoln driving you around in a sidecar (ZzZzZzZzZzZzZz!) Luckily for the readers of this blog, all 2 of them, my dreams are a-w-e-s-o-m-e! I know what your thinking. "Hmmm. I wonder if there's anything new anywhere else on the internet whatsoever?" Wait wait wait! Here's a tease: I tried to murder Jimmy Johnson. No, not the Nascar guy, this one:

"Nothing says 'the dreams of disenfranchised minorities about
to shatter' quite like a hastily photoshopped Grim Reaper"

Yep. I tried to kill that man in my dream. The dream opened on an old Victorian house where I was throwing a delightful dinner party for several close friends, which included Jimmy. A lot of boring crap happened (Probably we sat around reenacting all your shitty dreams. Zing!) then Jimmy turned bright red and started screaming at me. He started to really lose his shit when I asked him to kindly "Act like you know how to shut the fuck up" and he charged at me. I wrestled him down a long hallway to the front door where I shoved in the direction of a set of five concrete steps. He tumbled down them and landed in a motionless heap on the sidewalk. The relatively short fall was not accurately represented by his injuries. He looked like he fell out of a goddamned plane. His legs were smashed to pieces, one of his arms looked like it belonged on the other side of his body and he was covered with blood and bruises. As I peered at him through the window I thought to myself "WOW! Jimmy is FUCKED UP! Oh man, he's not moving. I think he's dead! Oh well. Not going to let that ruin my night!"

I locked the door and went back to the party. I came back a little while later to find that a coroner had covered my entire front lawn with a black blanket. She had just finished wrapped Jimmy up in some sort of carpet which apparently symbolized "Totally Dead" when I started to worry that I was going to go to jail. This would have been a fine time for things to head in a sexy, lesbian, Cinemax jail direction, but unfortunately that wasn't this kind of dream. Unfortunately for me anyway. You guys should count your blessings.

As the clueless coroner haphazardly collected evidence of my crime, I stood looking at the mangled corpse of Jimmy. Quick pros and cons of the jail term I was definitely going to get:

CONS:

• I wouldn't be able to see my daughter or wife again
• I will probably be forced to act-out the movie Grease or, at the very least, have to watch it
  
• My beloved booze will be replaced by fermented orange peels consumed out of a toilet
  
• I'll never again be able to wonder what a penis tastes like

PROS:

• I will finally have all the time I need to go to the gym

I spent a few minutes thinking about the myriad of ways I was fucked as I listened for the approaching sirens. Then, like he was breaking the surface of a pool, Jimmy let out a huge gasp and lifted his head. His face was mangled and bloody, but his hair was still perfect, actually it even had a faint glow about it. The coroner called for an ambulance and I helped Jimmy sit up. He grabbed me and hugged me, crying and apologizing for what he'd done. He'd been out of line and he was sorry. As he was collecting his broken legs into a wheelbarrow...

Actually you know what? My dreams suck just as much as yours. I'm bored to fucking tears just writing this bullshit.

Whatever.

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Remember Rap Around? Remember when you
thought it was about hip-hop music? Moron.