Sunday, August 29, 2010

Lifted to Safety

It appears I am staying up too late, again. My beard is staying up late, too. My beard is too long, and it needs to be groomed. I am a hideous mess of a man.

I took a nap and dreamed that I was messing around with Pamela Anderson in the ocean. She was nude. I found the dream to be very pleasant, overall. Not too shabby, huh? Good old Pamela Anderson. Remember when she was on Baywatch? Good program. I used to watch that show on Sunday nights while doing my English homework. My dad would be lying on the couch, and I would be on the floor, making a poster about a vocabulary word, like "adroit." I guess the assignment was effective, because I still remember what "adroit" means: adj. clever or skillful in using the hands or mind. Yup. I actually just looked that up on my desktop dictionary, but I remembered the definition as something like that. I swear.

I boiled a chicken and fed it to my dog. He enjoys eating the meat of another smaller animal. My dog enjoys ripping apart the flesh of another animal and wolfing it down.

My cat is obese and lumbers around the house with a cranky attitude. His stomach is very pink and tender. I like him, even though he is a jerk.

I had a daydream the other day: Some apocalyptic event has occurred, and I am escaping, with my girlfriend, in a helicopter, and we are flying close to the ground, and the enemy is firing at us, but I hang out of the chopper and extend my hand, calling to my pets, as they run alongside the aircraft. Franklin's tongue is flapping wildly, and he's barking. Superman is lagging behind a little bit, but he is somehow able to move his furry mass at a considerable speed. His eyes are blood-red and bugging out of his small cat skull. I am able to grab Franklin and bring him into the helicopter. Soupy, on the other hand, is still too far behind. He needs to hurry up. Then, with a nitro boost, he springs toward the chopper's landing ski thing and hooks into it with his trusty claw. He hangs there, body dangling, the wind blowing through his fur, a look of alarm on his face, as we ascend ever higher into the firmament. Soon, I grab him by the meat of his nape (like his mother used to do) and lift him into the helicopter, where the rest of us are safely seated. That's it.

I also had a subsequent daydream, with an alternate ending, in which neither of my pets ever made it into the chopper, and we had to leave them down there to fend for themselves in a maelstrom of bullets. This alternate ending made me sad.

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