So last night I dreamed I was an American dive bomber pilot in WWII. I was shot down after a battle (I think it was Midway) yet somehow swam to Australia – or maybe it was an island populated by Australians. Anyhow, I started to organize the local defenses because I thought that very soon Japanese soldiers and sailors would start washing ashore – other survivors of the battle.
But it turned out my efforts were worthless. The local women had a hobby – they would take trucks and run down and kill any Japanese that came ashore. Most of the Japanese were already dead – they had drowned and their bodies just drifted in on the tides. Still, the woman would bump their truck wheels up onto the bodies and park the truck there overnight just to be sure. If there was an actual survivor, they would knock him over with the truck and then park the wheels on top of him overnight. The women were angry the the Japanese had killed so many of their men.
So much of my dream was spent trying to convince Australian women not to murder Japanese shipwreck survivors, and I failed totally at it.
Sounds like it started out as a Gay dream.
Oh, Last nights was fun. :rolleyes:
I dreamt that I was visiting my MIL’s house and at the time, one of the houses next door to her , until recently owned by a now executed serial killer, was having an estate sale. There were bloody idols to pagan gods with $2 price tags on them.
An entire work bench of tools covered in dry blood (with bits of flesh stuck in the hinges of the pliers). There were cases & cases of V-8 juice, but the seals on the caps were all broken and that didn’t look like tomato juice, brudda.
It was room after room of the creepiest most vile stomach turning things I’ve ever seen at a yard sale (and that includes early-birds & antique collectors). And all laid out with price-tags on cheesey fold-up tables.
“Look at these knives! They’re Sheffield! Do you know what they go for in a store?”
“Those… things… are no longer food grade & I won’t make or eat food prepped with them.”
I remember I kept saying, “What the Hell are we doing here? I don’t want to be here! I don’t want any of this crap. I want to leave!”
“…oh but the Really good cursed stuff is in the garage. You just have to see it…!”
“No, I f-cking well don’t… I have no desire to. Where’s the door, I want out of this place…!”
I can honestly say, I didn’t mind when the alarm went off…