Tuesday, June 28, 2005

In Real Life, I Hate Vodka

I dreamt last night that I went to Chicago with Mom #3116. The details are a little hazy now, but I do remember that right after we had lunch I made her stop at a Byron's for a Chicago red hot, and that we ate them at an outside table across from Cabrini Green, and that there was a really threatening wigger at the table with us, who kept his arm around his black girlfriend's shoulders the whole time. Also: I was drinking from a bottle of vodka in a paper bag during the whole dream. Later, after the hot dog, we walked to the Loop where we met up with Matthew Perry, and Matthew Perry and Mom #3116 went shopping for gowns and diamonds.

I remember this one time in summer camp when the bus drove past Cabrini Green and one of my camp-mates threw a gang sign out the window and a bunch of other kids freaked out and said we were going to get killed. I like the idea of a gang member becoming enraged at 2:30 in the afternoon by a little white hand throwing a gang-sign out of the window of a passing school bus, and vowing to hunt down that child and make him pay dearly for crossing the wrong thug's turf.

Totally unrelated to the dream, I wrote this piece of dialogue this morning, which I'm just going to give you context free.


As it happens I just fucked out my last condom this afternoon. Ha ha ha, you know, I was going to buy some myself. I take it you’re out?


All out.


It’s just as well, I don’t even think Jesus could get me to come again without a good night’s rest.


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