In Crumby’s Dream, He is an Accused Terrorist
Boy howdy! About 9PM yesterday evening I was afflicted with stomach cramps. Those cramps are always a bad omen or ovation when it comes to the upcoming dreams for that night. Last night provided more evidence for the correctness of that hypothesis.
OK. First thing Crumby notices he’s handcuffed, hands behind his back. There he is in this courthouse hallway like environment, handcuffed. But the environment is more like art than reality. That’s mostly because Crumby is sat down on this bench in the hall, but the seat next to Crumby is a commode overflowing with doodoo and soggy tp.
So then a fellow in a suit and tie and nice slick hair is standing in front of Crumby. How would you like to have your head shoved in the toilet, Comrade Ovate? But before Crumby can answer, negatively, Crumby’s interrogator sticks his own hand in the toilet, then slaps Crumby with that same hand, ultimately wiping his hand all over Crumby’s noggin. See. Dreams are like art.
Next thing Crumby is suddenly in a conference room seated at a big rectangular shaped table. Crumby is still handcuffed with doodoo and wet tp smeared on his noggin. Several other people are present, at least four, including Crumby’s original tormentor. All are well dressed. At least one of them is a lady, dressed in a navy blue, pants suit and seated directly across from Crumby.
Someone says, Do you know Mr. Ovate that these days we cut off the left feet of terror suspects? We have found that the loss of the left foot prevents potential terrorists from participating in the terrorist lifestyle.
Crumby is sitting there, handcuffed, helpless, with shit and tp all over his noggin, trying to figure out if cutting the left foot off a potential terrorist makes sense, when Crumby notices that the lady seated across from him is masturbating. Not only is the lady masturbating, she is not being the least little bit discreet either. Her posture is hunched. She moans loudly. She is vibrating.
Crumby is shocked that everyone else in the room seems to think the lady’s behavior is normal.
Then Crumby wakes up. Dreams are like art.
OK. First thing Crumby notices he’s handcuffed, hands behind his back. There he is in this courthouse hallway like environment, handcuffed. But the environment is more like art than reality. That’s mostly because Crumby is sat down on this bench in the hall, but the seat next to Crumby is a commode overflowing with doodoo and soggy tp.
So then a fellow in a suit and tie and nice slick hair is standing in front of Crumby. How would you like to have your head shoved in the toilet, Comrade Ovate? But before Crumby can answer, negatively, Crumby’s interrogator sticks his own hand in the toilet, then slaps Crumby with that same hand, ultimately wiping his hand all over Crumby’s noggin. See. Dreams are like art.
Next thing Crumby is suddenly in a conference room seated at a big rectangular shaped table. Crumby is still handcuffed with doodoo and wet tp smeared on his noggin. Several other people are present, at least four, including Crumby’s original tormentor. All are well dressed. At least one of them is a lady, dressed in a navy blue, pants suit and seated directly across from Crumby.
Someone says, Do you know Mr. Ovate that these days we cut off the left feet of terror suspects? We have found that the loss of the left foot prevents potential terrorists from participating in the terrorist lifestyle.
Crumby is sitting there, handcuffed, helpless, with shit and tp all over his noggin, trying to figure out if cutting the left foot off a potential terrorist makes sense, when Crumby notices that the lady seated across from him is masturbating. Not only is the lady masturbating, she is not being the least little bit discreet either. Her posture is hunched. She moans loudly. She is vibrating.
Crumby is shocked that everyone else in the room seems to think the lady’s behavior is normal.
Then Crumby wakes up. Dreams are like art.
posted by ray pistrum at Saturday, October 17, 2009
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