Last night, I had a dream where my father owned a
large bookstore. I would help him out from time to time, and on the
particular day of my dream, there was a single mother browsing the
shelves, while her 2 year old kid toddled around breaking shit and
wiping snot onto expensive books.The majority of the dream played out
like a cheap-ass Disney film, filled with pissweak hijinks as I ran
around the store, trying to catch the kid, as the little shit would
always surprise me by magically appearing on top of a book shelf and
comically pissing on my head while I shook my fist in anger.
The
odd part started when my father, the owner, started shouting at people
to 'get the fuck out of the store', and ushering people to the exit with
a steel cricket bat. He was angry because no one was buying books, and
that only paying customers could stay. This left the aisles empty, but a
cafe full of pretentious wankers drinking decaf
choco-mocha-chacha-fucking-lattes and all agreeing that women's rights
were shot to all hell in China.That's when the kid popped up on a table,
and I lunged to grab it. It cackled maniacally at me, but I moved
forward too fast, and knocked it off the table. It fell directly onto
it's face, into a bowl of yoghurt. I picked the kid up, and removed the
bowl. The yoghurt was gone, and the kids head had twisted into a fucking
demon visage. It had massive fangs, and screamed at me. It yanked the
bowl out of my hands, which now had holes in it, and stuck it on it's
face.
The little bastard now looked like
Jason Fucking Voorhees, and I ran for my life, while it cut at people's
shins with a bread knife. I seem to recall most people fleeing in all
directions, and one bright spark leaping through a plate glass window.
It started to chase me, and the the dream suddenly changed, and I was in
a bikini, standing on top of some sewerage pipes, which were suspended
50 feet above a river.
Hmmm.
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