Monday, October 06, 2008

What Ever You Do, Don't Tell Freud


As many of you know, I have the craziest dreams. This one was ice cream induced. I'm sure of it. I've been me for a while now and I now that THE WORST thing for me to eat before I go to bed is ice cream. But it was Jamilee's birthday. What could I do. Anyway...

In my dream I was incredibly talented. First of all, I was an assassin. A very good one. A very highly paid one. But I dressed like a hippie. Long skirts. Ratty hair. All that. It was glorious.

A bit later in my dream I also learned that I was a prostitute. A very good one. A very highly paid one. Still dressed like a hippie.

There was a family in distress. They looked like they needed help, so I jumped in. They had a landlord who was threatening to kick them out if they didn't pay him more money than was necessary. I decided to dispatch him for them. However...

Before I left one of the teen aged girls asked me how she could get into the business.

"Assassin?" I asked.

But she wanted in the other business. I told her; safety first. I directed her to the home of a wizard who could help her as he had helped me. My secret talent to protect myself...the wizard gave me power to change myself into a Pit bull. Any customers get rough, I turn into a Pit bull and tear out their throats.

Ice cream induced? Certainly.

Revealing of inner parts of me? Most probably.

Do I want to know what it reveals? No...my subconscious is hiding it for a reason.

Whatever you do, don't tell Freud.

3 comments:

Katie said...

OH! That. Is. Too. Cool. An assassin wouldn't be a bad life, so long as you're VERY good at it. :)

Brian Davidson said...

And I just had a dream about stealing firewood from George W. Bush . . .

Pickle'sMom said...

Crackhead.