Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Poop suicide. Microwave oven. These are not bad song lyrics. Not as in these song lyrics are 'not bad,' these are not 'bad song lyrics.' Get it?

To wit: I had a dream the other night in which I was participating in a wedding of some sort. Not as the groom, mind you, but someone in the actual wedding party. That information is pretty inconsequential to the story, anyway. Who cares? The point is that I was at a wedding. But the real point is that not only was I at the wedding, rap superstars Eminem and Will Smith(a.k.a. The Fresh Prince) were also in attendance. I'm not sure if you know, and to be honest, I'm not sure I know, but I believe that Eminem has much disdain for Will Smith and his rapping career, as I have heard some quite disparaging comments about Will Smith's street cred in some of Eminem's songs. Perhaps this is why, in my dream, they were not friendly towards one another, even though we were presumably all there to celebrate the union of sacred matrimony of our good friends. Well, leave it to narcissistic pop stars to make everything about them, huh? Can't you take a day off, fellas? Gee willikers! Anyhow, it wasn't long before Eminem and The Fresh Prince got into a dust-up, an ol' fashioned roustabout, a fist fight. Well, seems Fresh Prince, in a fit of rage, perhaps not only towards the shock rapper Eminem, but towards himself at his realization that, yes, perhaps he had lost some of that original street flava that catapulted him to the vast success he has today- what with fighting robots and using his gigantic ears to sail around the world sans motor- proceeded to fight dirty. To literally hit below the belt, immediately rendering Eminem immobile, and thereby ending the scuffle that could very well have been the pop fight of the year! As you might imagine, Eminem was quite upset, though at the time, no one in the dream knew it. In fact, we thought the commotion was over, and soon I found myself at another part of the wedding, in a kitchen, standing with the bride and Will Smith. Oh, we were having a joyous time, and the conversation was lively and vivacious! This quickly changed as we soon became aware of an extremely angry Eminem, who said, with an air of crazed satisfaction in his voice, "Oh god, I'm so happy this just happened." We turned to look, and on a pantry shelf, Eminem had espied a 9mm handgun, and reached over, picked it up, and leveled the piece at our friend Will Smith's face! Terror! Abject fear! The worst was yet to come, however. Seems Eminem takes getting a square punch to the nuts pretty fucking personally, because at this point he informed all of us that he would not be shooting Will Smith, which brought a brief moment of respite to all parties concerned, until he, in the very next breath, informed us that Will Smith would be shooting himself. Not only that, but he was to blow out his own brains with his head inserted into a nearby microwave. I'm not sure if Eminem did this as a further token of disrespect to the Fresh Prince(there is much in the hip-hop world that I am not privvy to), or just to keep the inevitable mess under some sort of control. And to top it all off, in order to humiliate us all, the grave act was to be performed in simultaneity with the bride and I.. shitting our pants. The Fresh Prince was given the gun. On cue, the bride and I... well, the bride and I shit our pants, okay? What else were we supposed to do?! Don't you dare judge me and fictionbride! Then Fresh Prince shot himself in the microwave and died, I guess. Our attention had been immediately diverted as we shit our pants, which stands to reason, as I'm sure shitting one's pants is quite disturbing. But the disgust one might feel as feces rolls, drips, or pours down one's leg after an in-pants shit is not what distracted us from the poor prince's untimely(and frankly, stupid) demise( why the fuck didn't he use the gun on Eminem? My brain is a moron.). No, we immediately noticed, as we each looked between our legs, that we were shitting onto a giant pizza! Capital! I began commenting on the bride's poop, noting that it looked not at all unlike the mole sauce we have at my place of employment. We began laughing and chatting, and the dream sizzled away, back into the ether...

And then last night I dreamed I cut off both of Big E. Small's arms and accidentally killed him. I think he's already dead, though. In real life. I don't know how he died. Shit, I barely knew the guy. I couldn't even name one of his songs. Lay off. Am I on trial here?! Am I free to go or not?!

2 comments:

Lindsy said...

I'm glad the White House is fact-checking the NYTIMES
It is NOT the function of the White House to do so. The people there should not have to waste their time correcting what are supposed to be the truth-tellers in the news-reporting industry.
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james said...

Yours was an hilarious dream! I had a weird dream recently, too, in which I cheated on my girlfriend with my girlfriend. Work your way through that paradox!