I dreamed that the guy from Woodhands gave me a hug after the show. No, wait... that actually happened. Did it? What the hell happened last night?
I also dreamed there was blood gushing down the right side of my face like a waterfall. That never happened. I'm pretty sure.
Last night I dreamed I was playing tennis with Sandra Bullock.
I don’t remember who was winning, but Sandra had the serve and it was taking her forever.
“Hurry up and serve,” I yelled across the court.
Sandra started twitching and making funny little jerking motions with her head. She raised her racket in the air and brought it down again.
I kept my stance at the baseline, feeling tense.
Sandra held the ball in front of her. I could see her grip it tightly. The bright afternoon sunlight glinted in her cold, flashing blue eyes.
Sandra Bullock doesn’t have blue eyes!
I ran and jumped over the net and went running at her and I swung my arm as hard as I could and I smashed her right in the face with my tennis racket. The strings of my racket cut into her flesh and passed right through her face, splitting her head into a molecular grid. Blue energy from Sandra’s plasma-brain surged through these cracks in a blinding flash.
Sandra’s body lurched and struggled to remain upright. The tennis ball in her hand was a ticking hand grenade. I leapt backwards, covering my face. The bomb exploded and I was thrown back hard against a chain link fence.
I lay on the edge of the court, unable to breathe. My back was hurting. It felt as if all the air had been squeezed out of my lungs.
Through the dust and haze of the explosion, where the robot Sandra had once stood, I could see a crater in the ground.
There was an armchair in the middle of the crater. A baby was sitting in the armchair, smoking a pipe.
I woke up choking and gasping for breath.
I had the dream about Yelle again. The one where she’s reclining on a red heart-shaped bed and waiting for me to arrive.
But what Yelle doesn’t know is that her room has been bricked up behind a wall of the hotel. And even if I could find her, there’s no way I could get to her, not unless the dream world decides to bless me with a cock that doubles as a pneumatic drill.
And she’s lonely, and she’s waiting for me, and her vibrator batteries are starting to run out.
I was walking through the food court in Scotia Square in Halifax. It was lunchtime and the place was crowded.
I got the sense that someone was watching me. A woman, halfway across the courtyard.
I kept walking towards her and it was a little difficult to be casual about the fact that we were staring straight at each other. She was tall and slender, with green eyes, short blonde hair and a green dress.
I stopped beside her table and glanced down at her, looked away and then looked back at her again.
"Hi," she said.
"Hello."
She was smiling. "I'd like to sleep with you tonight."
Her statement took me by surprise. Pleasantly.
The thing is, she had me. I'd been blatantly checking her out and there was no chance of playing it cool or elusive in this situation.
So I clicked my tongue and smiled back and said: "Yes."
The scene changed and the two of us were at some dimly-lit, smoky bar. I was standing a little ways off while she engaged in a heated argument with another man.
Two things dawned on me at once. First of all, this man was her boyfriend. Or at least he thought of himself as such, and didn't seem too thrilled about changing his mind.
Second of all, he was Ozzy Osbourne. A young Ozzy, only about 23 or 24. She kept calling him "John."
Ozzy was being very insistent. He was getting in close to her, trying to grab her shoulders and turn her around to face him.
She kept saying, "No, John."
After a while of this, I walked up to her and hooked my fingers around her arm. I leaned over and said softly, "Hey. C'mere."
We walked away together and did not look back. And that is how I stole Ozzy Osbourne's hot girlfriend.
I understood why she'd been so forward in the food court. There's nothing like a lady on the rebound.
Then I dreamed that we went back to my place and I undressed her and pushed her down on my bed and did whatever I wanted with her.
I woke up this morning in quite a state.
I don't know why Angelina Jolie has appeared in a couple of my dreams recently. I'm not one of those guys who finds her mind-bogglingly attractive. Of course, I wouldn't kick her out of my bed...
Anyway. I dreamed I was on the set of Angelina's new cooking show. I was hanging out at the back, lurking in the dark behind the studio audience.
Angelina was standing in this brightly-lit studio kitchen, wearing a little apron and showing how to make an omelette or something.
I was thinking that she seemed too serious about it, that the show might be more entertaining if she were to lighten up a bit, put some humour into it.
One of the crew came up and stood beside me. He was wearing thick glasses and some kind of headset. I had the bad feeling that he was going to try to talk to me.
He leaned over and said with a leer, "Could you imagine putting it to that every night?"
I said, "Dude. She's my sister."
I dreamed they were taking good care of me at the school cafeteria.
The woman in charge said, "We're not really supposed to open for another twenty minutes, but we really appreciate what you've been doing. She'll find something for you to eat."
So I went into the dining area and there was this Goth girl getting the food ready. All they were serving was a casserole that was made of alternating layers of Kraft Dinner and bacon.
There were several pans filled with this steaming orange concoction. The Goth girl dolloped a whole bunch of it onto a plate for me.
I was thinking: "I wonder why they think what I'm doing is all that important. There's really nothing to it."
Then I heard a whiny, nasal voice saying "I'm glad somebody can get some service around here."
I turned around and it was this guy who looked just like the guy with the hairdo from the band Interpol. He looked just like him and was even dressed just like him. Except he was only about four foot six.
I'm driving one of those little Shriner mini-cars, cruising through tree-lined suburban streets.
Then I drive through a gate and I come out the other side and I'm out on the ice in the middle of a hockey game. It's a playoff game and everyone in the crowd is laughing at me and my Shriner car in the middle of the action.
I'm trying to steer towards the penalty box to get off the ice, but the wheels of the car have no traction and I wind up spinning all over the place. I bang into Todd Bertuzzi and knock him flat on his ass.
He gets up and snarls and raises his hockey stick to club me with it.
I notice that the blade of his stick has a tooth growing out of it.
This is like the sequel to my AC/DC dream. I dreamed I was at a Public Enemy concert in Montreal. Except Flavor Flav couldn't make it so I had been asked to replace Flavor.
I was all stressed out because we were supposed to go onstage in two minutes and I couldn't find my microphone anywhere.
Finally I heard an announcement. "Get ready for PUBLIC ENEMY" and the crowd went wild and the next thing I knew I was onstage in front of thousands of people performing with Public Enemy.
I was jumping around and trying to be wicked hype and fresh even though I didn't have a mic. It was a rush!
At all the right moments I would try to lean into Chuck D's mic and say "Yo Chuck" or "Yeeeeahh boyeeee" but Chuck didn't look like he was enjoying that too much so I stopped.
Last night I dreamed I met Kate Moss. She was dressed all in beige and looked like a ten-year-old computer. I can't remember if we had sex in my dream. I'm thinking probably.
Quentin Tarantino, the movie director, was in my dream last night.
A bunch of us were out at the bar just sitting around having a few drinks. Quentin was sitting at the table, talking on and on as if someone were interviewing him, only no one was asking any questions, people were just sitting there trying to get drunk.
The door burst open and a seven-foot-tall Russian guy stomped in and said "Who is strongest man in this bar?"
Quentin stood up and said "Well Junior, I guess that would be me" and it looked as though they were going to fight.
Then Frank Sinatra came on the jukebox and my chair started dancing underneath me. The chair carried me right out onto the middle of the dancefloor while it bopped around and the legs of my chair tried to do the Lindy hop.