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Just woke up from dreaming about weird Japanese Flangers, that then turned into an all orange pedal board.
And then there was a very booty-ful personal trainer, all in black, trying to get me shredded.
Then my alarm went off.

Iommic Pope wrote:Just woke up from dreaming about weird Japanese Flangers, that then turned into an all orange pedal board.
And then there was a very booty-ful personal trainer, all in black, trying to get me shredded.
Then my alarm went off.

Also, funnily enough, I've been listening to this song a lot lately:

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9BLs-SdS4oM[/youtube]

Not last night, but two nights ago.

The dream started in Syria, but then I was in an airport in New Jersey. I was wandering around part of the airport where the airport employees worked, and saw a room with some men sitting around playing poker. I had a gun in my right hip pocket, so without any thought, I pulled it out and robbed the poker players at gunpoint. As I was nonchalantly making my way through the airport to escape, I suddenly realized what I had just done and what the legal consequences could be. I decided to go back so I could give the money back to the poker players and desperately try to make things right, but when I got near the poker room the police nabbed me.

The police drove me to jail, but it was more like a penitentiary. There was a long concrete floor with several stories of cells stacked up on either side. I was really worried because I knew I had seriously fucked up and would certainly be sentenced to hard time. I had an encounter with a towering inmate who grabbed my hand and overpowered me while bellowing belligerently. As he walked off, I wondered what I would do when I had to fight him, and then there was at least one other encounter with an inmate.

The last thing I remember was realizing that not only had I committed a serious crime of which I would undoubtedly be found guilty, but that it had been a gun crime, and I was certain to get sentenced to decades of prison time.

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I'm not a criminal! At least not in waking life.

I had a dream where the gf and I went to this sex club that was set up in a beach house on stilts, and it was supposed to be an orgy but ended up being just us having sex in the middle of the room while everyone watched.

Suddenly, there was an alien ship that docked with the house. At some point everything was on fire and the other people were telling us to evacuate, so we fucked one more time and then escaped. Well, I also ate a bunch of Xanax and other pharmaceuticals that were on a table. Then left.

Better than most of my other dreams, which involve me being killed in some horrifically violent way.

Achtane wrote:I had a dream where the gf and I went to this sex club that was set up in a beach house on stilts, and it was supposed to be an orgy but ended up being just us having sex in the middle of the room while everyone watched.

Suddenly, there was an alien ship that docked with the house. At some point everything was on fire and the other people were telling us to evacuate, so we fucked one more time and then escaped. Well, I also ate a bunch of Xanax and other pharmaceuticals that were on a table. Then left.

Better than most of my other dreams, which involve me being killed in some horrifically violent way.

Dude, it's like a PKD story, that's totally fucking awesome!

...that I joined Fugazi as their drummer.

last nights was lame...so il write the last one i remember that i woke up like wtf....
far as I remember, I was with 2 thai looking chicks ...and i started to get frisky with one and she wanted me to put it in her ass...when i pulled out she began to shit,
and i looked away...and when i looked back there was like spaghetti sauce everywhere and it seems she shat out a BRAIN MADE OF SPAGHETTI..
next thing is her mouth disjointed like a snake and she looked into my eyes as she stuffed the whole spaggetti brain into her mouth and swallowed....i turn to see a bottle of whiskey on a near by fridge and ask her if she wanted some, she said no...and i woke up.....i used to have a reacurring blob dream...idk fuckin wack.

Ok crazy pants.

Here's an oldie but goodie. This is from back before poor little El Presidente got sick and Barrack started blowing sugary love kisses at his hot, hot brother Raul.

I dreamed I was passing by my mom's house in Florida, and I saw Fidel Castro in her back yard. He was stomping around and shaking his fist in the air and screaming and yelling and raising hell. I thought 'This guy's gone too far. I'm gonna go kick his sorry ass.' So I did; I got in a knock down, drag out brawl with the communist dictator of Cuba in my mom's back yard and beat him to a pulp.

I dreamt that smoke started pouring out of the DC plugs of all my pedals.
Not sure whether that's because I blew up a bunch of component on a repair job + was working on pedals last night, or if it's because of all the fudge I ate.

"... a dream." - Fantine.

comesect2.0 wrote:last nights was lame...so il write the last one i remember that i woke up like wtf....
far as I remember, I was with 2 thai looking chicks ...and i started to get frisky with one and she wanted me to put it in her ass...when i pulled out she began to shit,
and i looked away...and when i looked back there was like spaghetti sauce everywhere and it seems she shat out a BRAIN MADE OF SPAGHETTI..
next thing is her mouth disjointed like a snake and she looked into my eyes as she stuffed the whole spaggetti brain into her mouth and swallowed....i turn to see a bottle of whiskey on a near by fridge and ask her if she wanted some, she said no...and i woke up.....i used to have a reacurring blob dream...idk fuckin wack.

That was pretty fucking epic, btw.

I dreamed I was driving through Tampa, and when I looked to my right I thought I saw a big guitar store. I dropped off my guitar to have some work done on it.

When I went to pick it up, a lady was sitting behind a big desk that wrapped around her on 3 sides. My guitar was on a guitar stand off to one side, so I could see it was ready. I walked up to the desk and said something like "Hi, I'm here to pick up my guitar," and handed her the paperwork.

She stared at me, then said "Good morning." It was obvious she seemed to think I hadn't been polite enough, and wanted me to say "Good morning", but I thought I had been polite enough and that she was being condescending, so I didn't say anything.

So she said it again: "Good morning," and obviously for the same reason. I got pissed off and told her to get her supervisor, so she got up and walked off. I looked at my guitar, and saw it in a perfect profile, and thought it looked quite striking.

The lady didn't come back for a while, so I went to look for her and her supervisor. I suddenly realized that none of the merchandise in that part of the store was music gear. I looked around the rest of the store, but none of the merchandise anywhere in the store was music gear, which I found very confusing.

I walked outside to check the sign, but it was just a big rectangle with no lettering. It looked tan, with a red border. I looked around at the signs of the other stores to see if there was a music gear store somewhere in the strip mall, but none of them had lettering. They all just had different colors and geometries.

perfect. twilight zone episode or somthin.

Last night I dreamt that my wife and I infiltrated a scientology-esque cult for one reason or another. We did quite a lot of preparation to make sure we'd fit in, but for some reason we used our real names and real home address on whatever paperwork was involved. So, I had memorized the dashboard of a Prius just in case they tested me on it, and I'd setup all these elaborate props at my sewing station so they'd know I was legit, and I even hid my black jacket in the false bottom of my locker, but for some stupid reason Travolta had my home address. My experience with the cult was mostly sneaking in through the window each morning and setting up at my sewing station, surrounded by others at their sewing stations. I spent most of my time worrying about seeming legitimate. A few times I got called into a gymnasium to perform various tests involving music or martial arts. Ultimately, Travolta himself proctored some sort of Prius-driving test, and I could tell he was suspicious because he kept making knowing comments.