Every morning I wake up, lay in bed for a moment, then appropriately ask myself… “What the fuck was going on with that dream?” Seriously, they’re pretty redonkulous. Take last night’s dream for example. It started off fairly normal, all I was doing was trying to open a frisbee clinic in Canada with my 4th grade math teacher. Pretty standard. Then BOOM, my brain decides to throw a trick play at me. Suddenly, my highly successful frisbee clinic is ruined because, right in the middle of a seminar about a frisbees' tendency to cause one to become bear foot, a zombie on a snowmobile comes barreling right through the lecture hall. Not cool. Of course everyone is gonna be distracted by a zombie on a snowmobile, because it raises some key questions. First of all, how did a mindless zombie gain the capacity to successfully operate a V-Max 4? And secondly, how much more dangerous is this winter motor-sports oriented zombie than a regular “walk like a mentally disabled six year old” zombie? Obviously, these questions were racing though the heads of every stoner in my audience, and as soon as they deduced that a snowmobile riding zombie is in fact exponentially more dangerous than a standard zombie, they scattered like they were crack dealers at the start of an “all crack scavenger hunt”. So, as this undead induced pandemonium ensued, I’m trying to maintain some order along with my 4th grade teacher, but it’s quite unsuccessful on account of my 4th grade teacher has decided to speak in nothing but lyrics from classic Disney movies. Its pretty inconvenient to say the least.
I’m like “What the fuck should we do?!!”
and she responds with “It’s better down where its wetter…”
“Is that some kind of sexual innuendo--”
“UNDER THE SEEEAAAAAAA!”
(Oh and by the way, I think its interesting that the lyric, “It’s better down where its wetter” is sung by a crab. Way to go Disney, you cheap slut.)
So anyway, the frisbee clinic is ruined due to that fucking high-speed zombie, and I wake up with this depressing feeling that I’ve been robbed of something great. Not because the clinic failed and that damned zombie is probably tearing up fresh powder somewhere like its the brain of a neurophysicist, but because I know that there is no way reality will ever be as undeniably awesome as my fucked up dreams.
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