screwed dreams

oh $hit... here we go again! (Ray you are proving my point!)

I think Ray is turning into a compulsive topic creator!

As if on cue... I had a doozie of a dream this a.m. ******** After being roused by the low pitched rumble of an approaching trash truck (for which I had inadvertently forgot to bring trash out for), I jumped out of bed, trotted behind the house and dragged the garbage to the front in the nick of time. And then the reality of what was sitting on the back of my mind, what had been so rudely interrupted by the grumble of the trash truck, came into full focus. I had been in the middle of a dream� a freaky one. Considering I am soaking now in sweat, I shall consider it a fever dream as well. Picture the Ms. America contest; picture the bikini contest, the formal gown competition and then picture one contestant competing by previously taped testimony, er performance. Yep, there's Hillary Clinton, modeling it up with the best of them. She's fresh, she's smiling, and she's in the running! And then the creative performance. Focus on the base of a wide elegant Tara-esque staircase. Carpeted down the center with enough end marble exposed for an excellent tap dancer to grab a few notes here and there. And so it begins, Ms. Clinton begins her top tapping in a floor length, high slit silver gown with those classic high heeled strapped tap shoes. And then I'm realizing she is signing. I can barely hear the words but her body language is telling the whole story. She is back. She is telling HER side of the story. She is skipping the lewd and malicious details but letting the world know that walking all over Ms. Hillary Clinton is NOT acceptable. Once she has toe tapped and side stepped to the top of the staircase, she stops. The lighting changes and she begins singing a ballad, a love song� again the words are difficult to hear. She is sad, for herself only a little but especially for her daughter. The young woman who had to reveal all of her awkward years to the eyes and unkind mouths of a discriminating (and discriminatory) public. Hillary walks us through the large building that we eventually discover to be the White House. She croons through the rooms showing the public her private domain, not as the focus, merely as a backdrop to her words. She returns us to the stairwell and stops. The music grows dissonant then stops and Hillary is transformed into a thespian of gigantic proportions. Her soliloquy rolls angrily over past wrongs but slows to concentrate on righting a bad situation. She yells, she screams, her hair gets mussed and yet she still looks stunning. "I refuse to be a pansy. I am a woman, I am a mother, I am a fighter and I am the ex-first lady! I HATE you **** *******!" And she runs down the stairs, across the hallway and� The cameraman obviously stunned by this addition to the script wobbles only slightly in his cinematic genius and soon discovers Ms. Clinton dancing and singing again atop the roof of the White House. A crowd has developed and she has reclaimed her independence, her pride and her unsolicited title of role model to women. And then, in the corner a man. Downtrodden and sad, grasping to a pipe distending from the roof (some sort of chimney I suppose) turns his head and the public catches a glimpse of the former Ms. Hillary as a legitimate tear rolls down his cheek.

Your dream seems to be recurrant....

"If you can dream it, you can do it." Walt Disney

"If you can cream it, you can screw it." Tawada Wipplewauter (she committed suicide at age 19, 32 years ago)

How sad! It seems a good philosophy to me.

AMEN!!!

Bless you, my son.

HA HA!!! GREAT FUN!!! You are young enough to be my daughter.

I am? Yes, I am. What can I say - I'm just so maternal! But I can't call you Father, because you don't sound all that holy to me...

You got that right. I am definitely not the holy father. I've been called a lot of different names over the years, but never holy father!! Let's see... I guess, since you don't want to call me father, you could always try uncle or something similar. If such a label is needed.

NO! You're a baby! My mother is older than you, and my husband is older than her!! Age becomes a very relative thing when this is the case.... So I'll call you 'baby' instead!

O K If you insist... But then what does that make you?

in control...

�shivering all over� There's that word again! Orgasm alert!

Control? why? I find this really amusing. To associate control with orgasm. If anything, orgasm should be the most wildly uncontrolled events in your life.

That's too logical for me. With me it's like this: Control=Power=Great Pleasure=Orgasm

Oh wow! I completely missed what you were saying. You posess a biting satire that I never suspected. NEAT! Like stabbing with a Claymore, finesse with great force behind it.

Riette, what made you so cynical?

Am I? I'm sorry - I don't mean to be. Fighting, I suppose.

Fighting who, Riette?

I'm not sure this is the place to talk about it....people might think I'm screwed or something. Could you ask me another time, somewhere else?

Sure Riette, e-mail me at P_T_GUENTHER@hotmail.com By the way, I also need you to email your phone number, FED-EX needs it before they will accept the package.

I hope that's all sorted out now.

Hey, Stace: I met Brandon in a dream this morning. You did good. I approve. (not that you need my approval, but sometimes these things mean stuff to some people) (btw, who was your cute fried in the dream? you didn't introduce us!!!)

Oh, they serve them fried where you're from? Here, if you're lucky, you get them steamed...

HUH??? oh yeah! THAT dream! My oyster friend? She wasn't fried Alexander... she was broiled. Strange I know, but she is an odd one!

Odd, eh? Figures... My friends are all even, even the odd ones. It's the other folks that aren't...

oh yeahhhh??? well all my friends are not only odd... they're also all prime too!

Gee, aren't we show-offs, acting as if any of us even had friends. Technically impossible, what with the time spent here... Anyway, if your friends were the greatest, they'd all know me, too, 'cause mine would be the best of course, too. I mean, mine ARE, too (if they were...). Ask those who'd be yours if you had any time for them, they ought to know me (if I ever had time for them)...

*laugh* WAKE up Alexander... you're still having a 'screwed dream'!

I'm not sure... *shudder*

Oh God, I think he's waking up - - - and you know what happens to guys upon waking up....

only if they're lucky!

or waking up beside the right person... (which could, of course, be considered lucky...)

I thought it happened to all of them all the time.

they always get what they want, don't they?

Sure. I mean, they can do it on their own, right?

Why can't they do it in the road?

Because a truck may come along and burst their rubber balls....

and we all hate it when that happens...

when what happens?????

the pizza gets run over cuz it was doing it in the road and looking stage left instead of right.

ha-ha!!!! Hi, Jim!