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Nov 03, 2009 09:42

My dreams last night were set in a war torn Eastern European country.  The invading/occupying forces thought it would be such a cakewalk, that most of them were made up of simple mercenaries, huge Scorpions fans I think; a lot of their vehicles consisted of converted greyhound buses, and each unit had a "piper" of sorts lazily reclining on the roof with a black flying V guitar.  Not even having guard rails turned out to be a mistake as the bus I was on top of was flipped by an IED.  A group of revolutionary children who looked remarkably like the kid from Let the Right One In came out from hiding at that point and put a bullet in the brain of any survivors.  The dumbass next to me got up when a kid asked "Are any of you still alive" and after having attention drawn to our position we each got a bullet of our own. 
From that point on my dreams were set in the same locale but all the characters seemed to all be old Monty Python-ers or actors from Brazil.  Not one character had all his hands or feet intact.  One guy came up excited because: "I'm next in line to be the Premiere!  He was called a fool by my father and left in a huff.  My father shook his head and looked at the ground because it was a shame; the foolish "premiere" was a good man, but he would be dead in less than a day. 
Later while retreating from a position, I would look back and watch Terry Jones, pedaling fiercely on his bike, melt and fall to pieces from the onslaught of some caustic weaponry.

unless you dream about them, no one cares about your dreams

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