I have absolutely no idea what would cause my brain to insert Adam Sandler into my dream, but here we are
So we’re back to the “WTF” dreams now, brain, is that how it is?
Last night’s dream was…odd. Lemme ‘splain.
In this dream, I’m both watching a movie with Nate and actually in the movie as part of the story (sorta). And this movie, as I keep mentioning to Dream Nate in the dream, is a 90s comedy.
And as everyone knows, a 90s comedy is not complete without Adam Sandler. This dream had Adam Sandler. It also had basically every 90s comedy trope you could think of, starting with the plot.
The plot of this fantastic film was as follows: Adam Sandler (I’m sure he had a character name, but hell if I know what it was) is hired to work in a temporary, week-long job at a goose farm, “Dirty Jobs”-style. He has to do all the dirty work as far as taking care of the geese. Since it was a 90s comedy, you can probably take a guess that things got pretty gross. And pretty screwed up, because Adam Sandler.
Side characters to this hilarious escapade include:
- Tammy and Slammy, two ladies whose entire purposes for existence seem to be to play off of each other in order to make each scene EVEN MORE HILARIOUS. There was one scene where they were looking at a conveyor belt that was used to transport the geese around the farm and Tammy was like, “this looks unstable, maybe the geese might get hurt” and Slammy responded, “no, what’s the worst that could happen?” (this was her response to every concern Tammy brought up during the dream movie) and then immediately dropped a beer into the conveyor belt gears, causing the belt to speed up to like 200 mph and subsequently cause geese to CATAPULT EVERYWHERE.
- The owner of the goose farm, your stereotypical farm hick dude from Al-uh-bama who carried pitchfork everywhere and continually chewed tobacco.
- And myself, who was mostly there to break the fourth wall and comment, “this is such a 90s comedy movie” every five minutes or so.
And if you’re not already feeling the extreme 90s comedy vibes just oozing out of this setup, let me describe to you some of the more minute details.
- The farm owner never really did anything except to comment about how gross the geese were. After each of these comments, he would subsequently do something extremely gross himself, like poop his pants or spit up a wad of chewing tobacco the size of a baseball or start peeing all over someone’s shoes.
- The geese (who were white and were probably actually swans now that I think about it) were “stored” in the river next to a bridge. They were kind of all stacked up as if someone had neatly packed them together. Some of the geese were anchored to the bridge by their butts and had to be rotated by Adam Sandler so they wouldn’t get “too stuck” to get free on their own.
- Adam Sandler was supposed to feed the geese but gave them helium instead (???), resulting in XTREME GOOSE FLATULENCE. Because 90s comedy.
- At one point, the farmer dude asks Adam Sandler to power wash the butt-suctioned geese off the bridge. Sandler accomplishes this by taking the goose that was Most Flatulent of Them All™ and using that goose’s mighty farts to fartwash the bridge free of geese.
Yeah. It was…odd. And detailed, clearly.
Edit: ADAM SANDLER IS 52 YEARS OLD NOW WHAT IN THE HOLY HELL
ARE YOU READY?!?!?!
ARE YOU REALLY READY!?!?!?!
(I’m not, get me out of here.)
So last night I dreamt I was in Moscow in the winter. I wanted to walk on the trail, but everything was covered in snow, so I was super upset because, in the dream, there was literally nowhere else to walk except the trail.
But the next morning (in the dream), the snow on the trail had been packed down by a bunch of people walking on it, so I figured I could go out and walk on it as well. The only problem was that I guess I forgot how Moscow works and couldn’t figure out how to get to the trail from my mom’s house. I told my mom my problem and she’s like, “no worries, the snake will guide you!”
And before I could do anything, the TV turns on and there’s this image of this weird-ass purple-pink snake that looked much more like one of those sand-filled stuffed animals than an actual live snake.
It turns out that the image is actually a live feed of the snake at the head of the trail (heading towards Pullman). My mom goes, “follow the hamburgers!” and I’m like “wtf” and then watch the snake throw up like a dozen hamburgers (like, from McDonald’s, completely whole, with wrappers) and they started buzzing around the head of the trail. I could hear the buzzing from my mom’s house and she just kept screaming “GO GO GO GO!!”
And then I woke up.
What in the living hell.
Appropriate at 4 AM? No.
CBC News: reporting the important stuff.
Okay, yeah, those Calgary bathrooms are awesome. Those are the rave ones I blogged about a few weeks ago.
You think Hillary vs. Trump is an important decision? It’s got nothing on Montreal vs. Whitecourt vs. Calgary vs. Calgary vs. Winnepeg!
To be honest, though, any one of those toilets in those bathrooms could run the US better than Trump could.
JESUS CHRIST, MARKIPLIER
Edit: paused it at just the right spot.
Well, this is…something.
OH MY GOD THIS IS THE BEST THING.
(Don’t ask me how I found this.)
(Okay fine it was Tumblr.)
When I get super sleep deprived, I tend to make/write/blog things I don’t remember making/writing/blogging about. For example, I found this thing on my USB this morning. Its “date modified” is last night (this morning?) at 3:43 AM.
THIS IS NOT FUNNY ON ANY LEVEL
THAT’S NOT EVEN HOW YOU PRONOUNCE “OREGON”
GOD DAMMIT, BRAIN
What the hell, internet.
I had a dream last night about a French-Canadian version of Beck.
His name was Quebeck.
Oh dear god.
Warning: It’s HowToBasic so…expect eggs and other weird stuff.
I got nothin’ so you get this.
Last night I dreamt that I was in love with my sofa.
Let me repeat that.
Last night I dreamt that I was in love with my sofa.
We wanted to make love but then it was like, “No, wait, I don’t have my slip cover on yet.”
And I go, “It’s okay, baby, I have shoes on.”
So we did it because shoes are apparently a form of human-sofa birth control.
But we done fucked up and accidentally made babies after all.
(They were pillows.)
THIS IS WHAT STRESS DOES TO MY BRAIN GODDAMMIT
If you’ve never seen HowToBasic’s videos on YouTube, you’re missing out, bro.
This was the first video of his I saw:
This one really got me laughing when he turned on the scale:
And of course, you need the elders’ reactions:
And if you’re wondering, apparently he did a podcast in which he stated that he works at a supermarket and all the food he uses is stuff that has expired and would have been thrown away anyway. Not sure if that’s actually true, but that’s the general consensus. I haven’t heard the podcast myself.
But anyway. YouTube: bringing us to the next level of…“art.”
I…I don’t really remember writing this. I just remember Red Bull coursing through my soul and then passing out in my chair around 8 AM.
I, the Strawberry
Bold and Red
In silken sun, in garden bed
Firm and ripe with seeded tread
No darkness do I see
I, the Strawberry
Bold and Red
Human hands tear off my head
Now I lay bitten, frayed, and dead
No sunlight left in me
I had a dream last night in which I was bedridden for some reason and all my major muscles very quickly atrophied. However, as they atrophied, they all turned into gold and I had thousands of doctors from around the world wanting to operate on me just so that they could get their hands on said gold.
In the dream, I kept trying to force myself to stay awake so that the doctors couldn’t come in at night and cut me up, but I accidentally keep falling asleep and each time I woke up I had more and more gaping cuts all over my arms and legs from where the doctors would come and try to harvest the gold as I slept. I woke up (in real life) when it got to the point where the doctors had taken all the gold and were starting to take my bones to see if I had gold in the marrow.
Red Bull is a hell of a drug.
So Matt, you’ll probably enjoy this.
I was having this crazy-ass dream last night. You were in it; I think we were at Shari’s, a whole group of us. I did some random thing and you laughed SO HARD. I half woke up at that point, and in my semi-consciousness I realized that I HAD to write down what I did in the dream so I’d remember it in the morning.
So when I woke up this morning I of course didn’t remember what I’d done in the dream to make you laugh so hard. But then I found a note card on the arm of the couch (that’s where I sleep, BTW).
What had I written in the middle of the night?
“Motorboat chocolate boobs.”
This reminded me exactly what went down in the dream: I had ordered the Shari’s “special” for the month, which ended up being a giant set of chocolate boobs (like one of those chocolate Easter bunnies, but in booby form). Apparently I took them and motorboated the hell out of them, which just had you in hysterics.
I rarely dream about death. Most of my dreams involve some sort of panic, but more often than not that panic is brought about by my inability to meet some sort of deadline in my dream. Not being able to move fast enough, doing things incorrectly and having to repeat them, being so scatterbrained that I can’t get things done in a logical order…stuff like that.
But I rarely dream about death.
Even more rare are dreams in which the goings on of the dream feel exactly like reality. 99% of the time I know in my dreams that I’m dreaming.
But last night? Death, very realistic-feeling dream, and not being able to move fast enough. Some of the main reasons why this most recent dream was the most symbolic, terrifying, and upsetting one I’ve ever had in my entire life.
I went to bed at 6:30 in the morning and must have started dreaming right away. In the dream I find myself in a large white flattened cube of a house. The walls are bare except for two low-lying rectangular windows that are opened and cannot be shut. One window sits above a huge white bathtub; the other sits above my chair and computer stand (holding Vaio).
My knowledge in the dream is that I live with my father and that he is, at the time, out to church and won’t be back for awhile.
So I’m sitting there minding my own business when suddenly it starts raining outside. Almost immediately the water reaches the low windows and starts pouring into the house. I’m not panicked, but I feel worried as I rapidly try to gather up all of our stuff in the house and wrap it in protective plastic wrap. This being one of my dreams, of course I’m unable to move fast enough. I’m slogging through the water, vainly trying to cover things in plastic, all the while watching some of my most important things (Vaio, all my backups for my files, my chair), disintegrate and dissolve in the water. While all this is happening I’m thinking to myself, “dad’s going to blame me for all of this, even though it’s not my fault the water came in and it’s not my fault our windows are so low to the ground.”
Anyway, the rain and flooding finally stop and all the water except for the water in the bathtub miraculously disappears, leaving only small puddles of our mostly dissolved possessions. I wasn’t able to save anything in the house.
At this point my dad comes back and immediately notices that everything but the bathtub is in ruins on the floor. He’s not angry, surprisingly, but is questioning me with increasing panic in his voice. “What happened? Where’s all our stuff? Why’s the house ruined? Why did you ruin the bathtub?” I vehemently argued that I didn’t ruin the bathtub, which only makes him panic more. He’s wandering around the house all bewildered, wondering what to do next.
He tells me he’s going to go outside and check on our shed to see if anything in there survived. I follow him. As we walk down the sidewalk I notice that every cat we’ve ever known is lying dead in some rigor mortis-induced contortion scattered across the lawn. As we continue walking, dead butterflies and birds start to drop from the sky.
We reach the shed, which has been reduced to nothing more than its foundation. The only thing left “inside” it is an old industrial trunk. Neither my dad nor I knew what was in it; we were just overjoyed that some artifact of our lives was spared from the flood/storm.
I call my mom and she comes over to keep me company while dad continues pacing around the house in a mild panic. I start showing her the remains and the dead cats and the trunk, and her only remark is, “that’s so interesting! Wow!” And I just have this tremendous, unbearable sense of loss and hopelessness. All I keep saying is, “it’s all gone. All of it, it’s all gone.”
I woke up with my pillow in a death grip half an hour later, unsure of where I was. But when I finally realized that my dream was actually a dream and NOT reality, I freaking lost it. I lay in bed bawling for at least fifteen minutes, then curled up in the covers and had a nice little freak-out.
I haven’t told any of you much about my life’s situation at this point other than what I’ve put in this blog, but I think the main reason this dream freaked me out so much is that it was so representative of how I’ve been feeling lately. It was so full of symbolic messages related to my worries, concerns, situation, future, and general mood that I think my brain didn’t want to handle it all subconsciously anymore and so decided to spew forth a nice little half-hour-long terror session during my REM time.
Flarusadofhdaghghghg. That was a draining experience.
Gonna go play New Vegas now. Need to mellow out.
So I had this dream last night in which I developed practically an entire season’s worth of a TV drama called Neil & Prey. The show centers around Victor Neil and Alexander Prey, two undercover cops who disguise themselves as priests to bust crime. Most specifically, church-related crimes.
Like in one episode they thwart a parishioner who was poisoning the congregation via the holy wafer thingies (what are those called? I totally forgot), or another episode where a congregation member deeply involved in church activity starts selling the church wine on the side to make a little profit (hahahaha, profit from the prophet…okay, I’m done).
And, for a bit of a comedic element, Alexander develops a crush on Mary Anne, one of the nuns they’re always around, and Victor does his best to keep his companion from showing any inappropriate outright interest in her.
Yeah. Welcome to my dreams.