For the Old Mang and Jeffrey
I haven't been feeling that well lately, and everyone in my class has the flu, so I thought that it would be a good idea to take a good amount of Nyquil and then sleep for as long as possible to fight off the infection. One good thing is that I always have deep REM sleep with Nyquil, and so my dreams were really great. There were a few over the two day period of the three day MLK weekend. I just noticed that the Olympic speed skater on the Tonight Show has a serious set of veneers. There is a fine line between nice teeth and perfect teeth. Perfect teeth are nice, but if executed too perfectly, they can be mistaken for dentures. Remember that one bubba.
So, in the first dream, Anacortes was under attack by zombies, and fortunately my brother and I were there to defend "D" avenue from the undead onslaught. Luckily I still had several guns that I stored at mom's, and a shit ton of ammo. Plus, I had my body armor (which really would do no good against zombies, as the offensive protocol for zombies is basically universal precautions for body fluids...) however, it just looks cool to have a somewhat shiny, form fitting vest. I don't know why. Basically the dream turned into a competition between Andrew and I to see who could pull off the best trick shots. Like, two zombies with one bullet, ricochets off of gutters, over the shoulder with the mirror etc. That dream was interrupted by a painter outside my window with an aluminum ladder. And it was three in the afternoon, so I reckoned it was time to get up.
The next dream was about me and Andrew, on a road trip to Tennessee...I think. Anyway, we were pulling a Uhaul trailer with the pickup. I made sure to opt for the Uhaul "safe move" plan because I knew that the trailer wouldn't be returned in one piece. We had a great plan of setting up a marijuana grow operation out in the desert. We needed to disappear from society though, so we came up with a scam to capture two people we didn't like, pull their teeth, plant their bodies in the truck, and then drive the shit off a cliff. Then we'd set up our operation off of I40 in SoCal, between Barsto and Needles on the edge of the goddamn Mojave desert near Arizona, where it is legal to own machine guns.
This last dream was weird. Well, both were weird. But the second one was weird because we had to find someone of similar physique to Andrew so that when the cops found the bodies, they would think that it was him. And since he is huge, it was a tough find. But we did it. We waited at a roadhouse bar until we saw a guy big enough, and then knocked his ass out with a tube sock filled with dead "D" cell batteries. The other dream, well that was weird too, but it made sense. I was really wanting to watch "Dawn of the Dead," (the new one...and I remembered the first time that I saw that film and how much I liked it and about a million other things). I liked the movie so much then that I went out and bought two Glocks and a 12 gauge just in case something like that ever happened. Not with zombies, but with Smallpox, or some other horrible event.
The second dream was weird because I went to a gas station located in the same place that Andrew and I intended to set up our grow op. It is, like I said, located on I40, past Barsto, about 180 miles out of LA and about 40 miles from Needles. The thing was, it wasn't advertised on the Freeway, meaning, there was just a sign that said, "gas." No brands or anything, like "Arco" etc. Second, it wasn't on my nav chart...at all. Third, it wasn't visible from the freeway, meaning, there was no line of sight from the freeway to the station. But, I needed gas, so I stopped.
There was a sign that said something like this:
We have no choice but to be here. The operating costs of this operation are tremendous. Please do not complain about the prices or our service. We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone.
So I pulled up to the pump. There was no card reader, and no digital display on the pump. I reached into the backseat and grabbed my .44 revolver and tucked it into the back of my pants. I went inside and in the store there were several people, all seemingly odd and out of place. There was a young girl, maybe 19, with an athletic body and a tattoo on her lower back. There was a cute mom, probably forty, with a nose ring and a Balkan accent. There was a forty something dad with messed up hair, sleepy eyes and a Balkan accent. A bald, spectacled dude with three LOUD kids who were literally running through the aisles of the store yelling. And there was a fat, very masculine looking park ranger (unarmed) purchasing an energy drink and a Luna bar. Around the periphery of the store were large, marine fish tanks filled mostly with what looked like some type of small shark. Also distributed around the store were CD ROM's and pamphlets of the JW publication, "The Watchtower." They were even fanned out on the counter of the bathroom. Gas was 3.60 a gallon, so I bought ten gallons and then left, but not before taking several pictures of the weirdness. On the way out, I drove around the back of the store and low and behold, the entire place was run off of WWII surplus diesel generators. That would explain the price of the gas. And on the other side of the store, there were several trailer type bungalows right out of a Jim Morrison drinking binge. Parked in front were a Corvette C6, and a Mercedes "G" class SUV. There was also a satellite com tower in the middle of the compound. The whole place was surrounded by palm trees and these odd, sixty-ish while cement fountains, that no longer had water going to them.
Something was going on there, and it wasn't just recruitment into the JW. There were too many nice cars and people with Balkan accents to just be your everyday convenient store. And the location. You could plant thousands of people in the desert before anyone ever caught on. Weary travelers and such. But, apparently they weren't interested in a young, heavily armed couple in their modest 4runner. Or maybe they already had one in their collection. These deserts were the last stalking grounds of the Manson family mind you, so none of this constituted empty concern.
I guess one of the things that the media has duped us all into believing is that strange things will never be subtle, like they are in real life. We would only notice a terrorist if he had a ski mask and an AK and was yelling in the middle of a mall, like in the movies. Or a robber that makes a big production of the ordeal. Most of the time it doesn't happen that way. It's odd like that. But, occasionally you will stumble into an eastern European mob front and if you were just dumb enough, maybe not realize it.
Of course, there are variations, but the whole weirdness thing just seems to be crescendoing for me. Everytime I think, "this can't get any weirder," it does. Stay on-guard, and be vigilant...
So, in the first dream, Anacortes was under attack by zombies, and fortunately my brother and I were there to defend "D" avenue from the undead onslaught. Luckily I still had several guns that I stored at mom's, and a shit ton of ammo. Plus, I had my body armor (which really would do no good against zombies, as the offensive protocol for zombies is basically universal precautions for body fluids...) however, it just looks cool to have a somewhat shiny, form fitting vest. I don't know why. Basically the dream turned into a competition between Andrew and I to see who could pull off the best trick shots. Like, two zombies with one bullet, ricochets off of gutters, over the shoulder with the mirror etc. That dream was interrupted by a painter outside my window with an aluminum ladder. And it was three in the afternoon, so I reckoned it was time to get up.
The next dream was about me and Andrew, on a road trip to Tennessee...I think. Anyway, we were pulling a Uhaul trailer with the pickup. I made sure to opt for the Uhaul "safe move" plan because I knew that the trailer wouldn't be returned in one piece. We had a great plan of setting up a marijuana grow operation out in the desert. We needed to disappear from society though, so we came up with a scam to capture two people we didn't like, pull their teeth, plant their bodies in the truck, and then drive the shit off a cliff. Then we'd set up our operation off of I40 in SoCal, between Barsto and Needles on the edge of the goddamn Mojave desert near Arizona, where it is legal to own machine guns.
This last dream was weird. Well, both were weird. But the second one was weird because we had to find someone of similar physique to Andrew so that when the cops found the bodies, they would think that it was him. And since he is huge, it was a tough find. But we did it. We waited at a roadhouse bar until we saw a guy big enough, and then knocked his ass out with a tube sock filled with dead "D" cell batteries. The other dream, well that was weird too, but it made sense. I was really wanting to watch "Dawn of the Dead," (the new one...and I remembered the first time that I saw that film and how much I liked it and about a million other things). I liked the movie so much then that I went out and bought two Glocks and a 12 gauge just in case something like that ever happened. Not with zombies, but with Smallpox, or some other horrible event.
The second dream was weird because I went to a gas station located in the same place that Andrew and I intended to set up our grow op. It is, like I said, located on I40, past Barsto, about 180 miles out of LA and about 40 miles from Needles. The thing was, it wasn't advertised on the Freeway, meaning, there was just a sign that said, "gas." No brands or anything, like "Arco" etc. Second, it wasn't on my nav chart...at all. Third, it wasn't visible from the freeway, meaning, there was no line of sight from the freeway to the station. But, I needed gas, so I stopped.
There was a sign that said something like this:
We have no choice but to be here. The operating costs of this operation are tremendous. Please do not complain about the prices or our service. We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone.
So I pulled up to the pump. There was no card reader, and no digital display on the pump. I reached into the backseat and grabbed my .44 revolver and tucked it into the back of my pants. I went inside and in the store there were several people, all seemingly odd and out of place. There was a young girl, maybe 19, with an athletic body and a tattoo on her lower back. There was a cute mom, probably forty, with a nose ring and a Balkan accent. There was a forty something dad with messed up hair, sleepy eyes and a Balkan accent. A bald, spectacled dude with three LOUD kids who were literally running through the aisles of the store yelling. And there was a fat, very masculine looking park ranger (unarmed) purchasing an energy drink and a Luna bar. Around the periphery of the store were large, marine fish tanks filled mostly with what looked like some type of small shark. Also distributed around the store were CD ROM's and pamphlets of the JW publication, "The Watchtower." They were even fanned out on the counter of the bathroom. Gas was 3.60 a gallon, so I bought ten gallons and then left, but not before taking several pictures of the weirdness. On the way out, I drove around the back of the store and low and behold, the entire place was run off of WWII surplus diesel generators. That would explain the price of the gas. And on the other side of the store, there were several trailer type bungalows right out of a Jim Morrison drinking binge. Parked in front were a Corvette C6, and a Mercedes "G" class SUV. There was also a satellite com tower in the middle of the compound. The whole place was surrounded by palm trees and these odd, sixty-ish while cement fountains, that no longer had water going to them.
Something was going on there, and it wasn't just recruitment into the JW. There were too many nice cars and people with Balkan accents to just be your everyday convenient store. And the location. You could plant thousands of people in the desert before anyone ever caught on. Weary travelers and such. But, apparently they weren't interested in a young, heavily armed couple in their modest 4runner. Or maybe they already had one in their collection. These deserts were the last stalking grounds of the Manson family mind you, so none of this constituted empty concern.
I guess one of the things that the media has duped us all into believing is that strange things will never be subtle, like they are in real life. We would only notice a terrorist if he had a ski mask and an AK and was yelling in the middle of a mall, like in the movies. Or a robber that makes a big production of the ordeal. Most of the time it doesn't happen that way. It's odd like that. But, occasionally you will stumble into an eastern European mob front and if you were just dumb enough, maybe not realize it.
Of course, there are variations, but the whole weirdness thing just seems to be crescendoing for me. Everytime I think, "this can't get any weirder," it does. Stay on-guard, and be vigilant...