I guess she clocked it in her car. A song by comedian Storm Large, from her one-woman show, Crazy Enough.
From Julie M.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
The most funked-up dreams I ever have are ones that happen after I wake up too early and go back to sleep. It's almost as if your mind, angry at having been rousted too soon, says, "Oh yeah? Suck on this," then gives you some totally bizarre-ass dream to teach you a lesson. Like you wanted to wake up at 4:18 a.m.
The other morning we got a call about 5:30 from a neighbor who had our dog, Ginger. She keeps getting out of the back yard somehow -- I can't find a hole anywhere, so I guess she has learned to climb the fence, the little shit. If it weren't for my wife, I swear to God that Ginger would, at this moment, be wild and free in the North Georgia foothills of the Appalachian Mountains after I drove her ungrateful ass up there and booted her out of the car.
"You wanna roam?" I imagine saying as I raise my foot. "Then roam." Kick. Then I'd hit the gas and peel away with a sinister laugh, not even looking back in the mirror.
Of course, I would never do that. It's a fantasy, just like the one you have of duct-taping your children's mouths shut for 3-4 days or driving to the airport instead of home after work and hopping a flight to Tonga so you can go live by the beach drinking hard liquor from a coconut served by topless Tongan women who only live for two things: to make you drinks and give you blowjobs.
Anyway, I went and got the GD dog and then came home and went back to sleep, and I had a dream about -- surprise! -- getting new dogs. (Although a better dream would be having no dogs.) In the dream, some thieves broke into our basement and stole all the dog food and a half-used can of Great Stuff. Naturally, I was annoyed that they made off with such a big haul right under the noses of our worthless dogs, who like to sleep down there, so we went to the animal shelter to get new ones.
At the shelter we tell them we want good watchdogs and no puppies, because we weren't doing the whole pissing-everywhere-whimpering-crate-training bullshit again at our age. The clerk says he has just the dogs for us, goes into the back room and returns with two full-grown German Shepherds. Perfect!
No, not perfect.
These dogs aren't right. One of them looks normal except for one small detail: his head is inexplicably blue -- a light blue, but blue nonetheless. Just his head. The rest of him is the usual coloring. Is it paint? The clerk just shrugs -- no idea. It doesn't look like paint or dye. He just has a blue head. Maybe he's a Shep-Smurf mix.
The other one -- and this is a bit disturbing -- has had some kind of surgery on his back, and has an incision running along his backbone from neck to tail. "He was rescued from a university testing laboratory," the guy says. "I don't know what they did to him but he seems fine now." Except that instead of being stitched up or stapled shut, the incision is laced up like a shoe, with what must be the world's two longest shoestrings. I'm talking white, fat athletic laces, criss-crossed down the length of an adult German Shepherd's back. He looks like a football or a walking corset, but, to his credit, seems oblivious to his unfortunate situation. Not me.
"What the hell is this?" I ask the clerk. "Why did they do this?" He doesn't know. "What if it rains? Water will get in there!" The clerk shrugs. Helpful chap.
The Mrs and I just stand there looking at this half-assed surgery and wondering what they are teaching kids at universities these days. Do we really want to take this dog home and have to deal with his laced-up back? Will it heal or will we be replacing shoelaces every few months? Where would we even buy these 4'-long laces? I don't think CVS has ones quite that long.
"That's the craziest shit I've ever seen," I say, shaking my head. It's silent as we all just stare at the laced-up dog. Then:
"I don't know." We turn to the blue-headed dog, who can talk. "I kind of like it."
End of dream.