I had a weird dream last night too. I was naked with Gene Simmons in my old bedroom at Mom’s house. And she came home and was all pissed off that I had a man in my bedroom.
Gene Simmons… Oh how I wish we had a projectile vomit smilie. Blech!
I think she did a favor for the guy. He probably woke up and thought, “well, I didn’t have to frag my C.O., and a grenade didn’t come into my foxhole. On the other hand, Naomi Campbell called me a bitch and told me her water was the wrong brand and too warm. Not a bad trade.”
Strangest dream I can recall was having dinner with Janis Joplin at some sort of fast-food restaurant. I remember saying “Nice necklace ** and you look pretty good for being dead all these years.”
She wasn’t too happy about the ‘dead’ part.
**(it was rather pretty, all sorts of small wooden beads, very tastefully done.)
Better it should have been Jean Simmons . . .
Sorry, you can’t have my dream. 
I really love visualizing Eve crawling through the rice paddies. Thanks, **Eve[/]b. 
One of the most vivid dreams that I recall was a Vietnam dream.
I was crouching on top of a thatched-roof hut, observing a platoon of U.S. soldiers in a field a short distance away, who were setting up a rocket launcher. I was fascinated by what they were doing – what were they preparing for? I looked around to see if I could see any hostiles.
Suddenly, one of the soldiers spotted me, and the rocket launcher swung around in my direction. They started barking orders. “Put your hands in the air!” I wanted to tell them that I wasn’t an enemy, but now they all just kept screaming “Put your hands in the air!”
The problem was, the roof was on a steep incline towards them. I couldn’t put my hands in the air because, in my crouching position, my arms were supporting a good deal of my weight. I couldn’t communicate this, but they were really worked up now, so I did everything I could to comply. I transferred all my weight to my knees, straightened my back as much as I could, and put my hands up, palms forward.
I held that position for a few seconds, while the soldiers considered what to do. Then – I fell forward, back into a crouch. I guess, despite the distance, this was interpreted as aggression, because they instantly fired the rocket at me. Everything was crystal clear as it came toward me-- and then it hit me square in the belly, and everything went black. I could feel blood and entrails dripping out of my abdomen and down my legs. I knew I was dead – until I wondered why I kept experiencing consciousness, and woke up.
I was kneeling in my bed, with the blankets bunched up around me. I could still “feel” the slick blood running, and I was sure I had pissed myself. (I hadn’t.)
I know… Whatta hottie! Anyway, I was very careful with my spelling so you wouldn’t think I was grossed out about the wrong Simmons.
Here’s some weird dream fodder: Jean in Gene’s makeup and platform boots. :eek:
Worse yet: Gene in Jean’s cute Adrian cocktail frock in ice-blue silk chiffon.
<SNORT>
Eve, I love you so.
He’d ruin it when he spewed blood.
Still, it’d make for one helluva an encore.
When you visualize it, is she wearing a pink Jackie O dress with a pillbox hat and a string of pearls, while clutching an M-16 with attached grenade launcher and holding a combat knife between her teeth? That’s how I pictured her. And I wierd thing is, the image just seems so right. I’m pretty sure that’s going to be my default mental image of Eve from here on out.
Anyway, Sunday night I had a dream with a really strong narrative, which is unusual for me. I forget the details, but it involved John Cusack leading a plucky band of survivors through the ruins of a post-apocalyptic New York. The nature of the apocalypse? Global warming. Somehow, the entire population of NYC had been wiped out by two feet of brackish, luke-warm water.
Hmm, me too. That one’s much better. I’d just pictured her lounging on a Swift Boat like Tallulah Bankhead in Lifeboat, with a martini in one hand and a laptop computer logged into the Dope on the other. And then leaping up, grabbing a VC soldier in a headlock as he tries to climb over the side of the boat, strangling him to death and throwing him back overboard, then sitting back, taking a sip of the drink and delivering some Bond-villain throwaway line like “Sorry, Charlie, for this cruise you need reservations in advance.”
Perfect.
…only, doesn’t she need two hands for the M-16? Cause she’ll need one free for the lorgnette.
Cool! Next time you dream you’re here, dream about coming by for a visit! The shooting has mostly died down now, but the traffic is still pretty terrifying. Strangely enough, the most popular vehicle here is a motorbike called the Honda Dream. Weird, huh?
In the dream, I did wind up at one point in a really good Indian restaurant—do you have any there? Tell the owner sorry I did a dine & dash, but the Viet Cong were after me.
Forget it! Do you know how many times he’s heard that one?
Thank you, come again…hey, come back here, again!