I had a dream last night that I found a half-full bag (like a bag of grass seed, or road salt) with that written on it. (We bought our home from an old guy who left lots of stuff behind, so this is plausible. Although I’ve completely cleaned out the garage several times. I know what stuff is in there).
It turned out to be a bag of poison, or poisoned bird seed. But the bag didn’t have any warning on it, or say “Poison” explicitly. Just that euphemistic phrase.
My subconscious is weird.
Well, I just threw out a bag of last year’s bird seed despite the temptation to economize by using it for the current season. I was pretty sure the hungry little bastids would never know the difference, but I didn’t want to risk a back yard full of avian corpses.
My lollapalooza of a dream last weekend involved buying Mrs. J. an expensive piece of jewelry and arranging for it to be brought to the table at our favorite Mexican restaurant, hidden in the dessert. However we got called away from the table at an inopportune moment, and when we got back, discovered that the dessert had been thrown in the trash. I made a fuss and got directed to two enormous plastic bags full of restaurant waste in the parking lot, which I would have to sift through to find the jewelry.
Weirdly, I found the item almost immediately, plus another piece of jewelry belonging to someone else.
Amateur Freuds, have at it.
*if I hadn’t seen Cal’s name on this OP, I would’ve suspected the post title was another Live Streaming scam.
When I was about 11, I had a dream in which I climbed up on the formica countertop and opened the skinny little cabinet above the refrigerator, and found a forgotten box of pasta with a recipe on the side of it, as they often tend to have. Except this recipe was titled Sleep, Frankie Murdered and the meat-source for the recipe was the body of whoever you were trying to get rid of.
Man-handling a sack of family jewels in a Mexican restaurant parking lot. I don’t need to be Freud to come up with an official diagnosis of super-extra gay.
Spring is here, spring is here
Life is skittles and life is beer
I think the loveliest time of the year
Is the spring, I do, don’t you? Course you do!
SOOOOoooooooooooooooooo, if Sunday you’re free why don’t you come with me and we’ll POI-son the pigeons in the park . . .
Well, if it’ll keep them from pooping all over my car and out of my cherry tree this summer, I’m all for it.
My dream last night featured a young man who ran away from yeshiva to become a dolphin.
Did he at least get an associate’s degree so he’ll have something to fall back on?
Nope! In fact, as far as the human world was concerned, he was just a guy who dropped out of school and committed suicide by driving a truck off a cliff into the ocean. But he doesn’t need one, hanging out the secret tunnels of Atlantis with the other dolphins/dolphin-men.