I don't do drugs, but maybe I should start...
This morning, Alan woke up before me and the first thing I asked him as I was swinging my legs out of bed was, "Hey, remember Phil Spector's murder trial? How did that turn out?" The answer is 'mistrial' but I admit it's a strange thing with which to greet one's husband. The thing is, I'd been dreaming about Phil Spector (no, not THAT way) so he was on my mind when I awoke. I have no idea what put Phil into my head, but as for the rest...
Leigh-Ann had sent Finnovar a box of toys and organic catnip which arrived on Saturday and he has been very enthused (this part is true, not dream). I dreamed that all these neighborhood cats, including a couple that really exist and visit our yard occasionally, as well as generic dream-cats, could smell the organic 'nip and were trying to get into our house. This one big kitty had pried a screen off one window, and Alan had shut the actual glass window, so the cat was sitting in between the glass and the pried-up screen, giving us dirty looks and expressing his general displeasure. He wanted to get to the 'nip, man. Then, out of the Skanky Neighbor House next door, Phil Spector emerged in a rage because of all the cats, and he had a handgun and was trying to shoot them. Which, hey, I didn't want the entire neighborhood of cats invading my house but I saw no reason to involve firearms. So that made me mad and I wanted to go out, disarm Phil Spector and maybe Tell Him One Thing, Buddy (trust me, you don't ever want me to tell you one thing - buddy!) but Alan feared for my safety and didn't want me to go outside.
That was about all the dream, except me spying from windows and trying to shoo cats off before Phil Spector shot them, but lemme tell you, it's a good thing I don't live in California and won't wind up on his new-after-one-mistrial jury, because: guilty, GUILTY, GUILTY. Any m-f that would shoot sweet widdle kitties with a Colt Cobra is TOTALLY capable and doubtless guilty of murder. I don't care if it was only in my subconscious. He's mean and horrible and thoroughly GUILTY.
Just think how much money the U.S. Court system would save if they abandoned that whole "due process", "jury of one's peers" crap and relied on my dreams. Just think!!!
This morning, Alan woke up before me and the first thing I asked him as I was swinging my legs out of bed was, "Hey, remember Phil Spector's murder trial? How did that turn out?" The answer is 'mistrial' but I admit it's a strange thing with which to greet one's husband. The thing is, I'd been dreaming about Phil Spector (no, not THAT way) so he was on my mind when I awoke. I have no idea what put Phil into my head, but as for the rest...
Leigh-Ann had sent Finnovar a box of toys and organic catnip which arrived on Saturday and he has been very enthused (this part is true, not dream). I dreamed that all these neighborhood cats, including a couple that really exist and visit our yard occasionally, as well as generic dream-cats, could smell the organic 'nip and were trying to get into our house. This one big kitty had pried a screen off one window, and Alan had shut the actual glass window, so the cat was sitting in between the glass and the pried-up screen, giving us dirty looks and expressing his general displeasure. He wanted to get to the 'nip, man. Then, out of the Skanky Neighbor House next door, Phil Spector emerged in a rage because of all the cats, and he had a handgun and was trying to shoot them. Which, hey, I didn't want the entire neighborhood of cats invading my house but I saw no reason to involve firearms. So that made me mad and I wanted to go out, disarm Phil Spector and maybe Tell Him One Thing, Buddy (trust me, you don't ever want me to tell you one thing - buddy!) but Alan feared for my safety and didn't want me to go outside.
That was about all the dream, except me spying from windows and trying to shoo cats off before Phil Spector shot them, but lemme tell you, it's a good thing I don't live in California and won't wind up on his new-after-one-mistrial jury, because: guilty, GUILTY, GUILTY. Any m-f that would shoot sweet widdle kitties with a Colt Cobra is TOTALLY capable and doubtless guilty of murder. I don't care if it was only in my subconscious. He's mean and horrible and thoroughly GUILTY.
Just think how much money the U.S. Court system would save if they abandoned that whole "due process", "jury of one's peers" crap and relied on my dreams. Just think!!!
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