My Cloudland Has a Sense of Humor

***MY CLOUDLAND HAS A SENSE OF HUMOR***

I’ve spoken candidly about my weird ass dreams before and I’m going to continue the tradition on this lovely Wednesday evening. I believe even the weirdest of weird dreams can serve as creative fuel. Marie Krepps, my beautiful beta reader, will definitely stand by my side on this one since she too has some weird ass dreams. Granted, these two I’m going to talk about make no fucking sense whatsoever, but that’s the beautiful thing about having a whacked out mind: it doesn’t have to. We’re going to start with dream number one.

　

I don’t remember too many of the details from the first dream other than it was a nightmare that made my heart race when I woke up at 11:00 in the morning. What I do remember was that it was about the clown from Brave Little Toaster and how he wanted to cut me up into little pieces. I tried to get away from him, but the only place where I could find refuge was with the Dust Witch from Something Wicked This Way Comes. Tarantulas scare the shit out of me, so I accepted my fate of being chopped up by the demon firefighter clown.

I had every intention this morning of getting out of bed and getting a buzz cut at Hair Masters. It didn’t happen. My hair is still shaggy and my dream world is still knocking at the door. I fell back asleep and started my second dream, which wasn’t necessarily a nightmare, but it was really goddamn weird.

I was doing research at the Western Washington University campus library, probably on graphic novels. I’m waiting for my study buddy to show up and when he finally does, he turns out to be French-Canadian WWE superstar Kevin Owens. He doesn’t try to beat me up or harass me like he usually does to his opponents in the ring. He does, however, offer to walk me home after the studying is over.

By the time we walk outside the library, we’re not in Bellingham, Washington anymore where WWU is supposed to be. We’re in Victoria, Canada, a favorite vacation spot of mine, but somehow different this time around. The Armenian Mafia was patrolling the streets of this normally crime-free city looking for people they could beat up. I guess Kevin Owens was supposed to be my bodyguard, because I was able to make it to my hotel room without being mugged.

Outside the hotel, there’s a large group of fat people doing exercises and being tired after the first few seconds. One of the exercise students was a woman so fat her entire torso was covered with a tool shed. She was sitting on a horse doing nothing and suddenly fell off to the side. The irony wasn’t lost on me when the class of exhausted fat people were laughing at her. But then they found it disgusting when a pair of disembodied legs wearing jeans walked by.

Me and my family minus Kevin Owens left the Canadian hotel and went down to the ferry terminal to catch a ride. We’re sitting on the dockside and there are these two cute British lesbians sitting across from us holding hands and being happy. Even though I know a relationship will never work between the three of us, I started feeling nervous around them anyways. So what did I do? I listened to Three Days Grace’s song “I Am Machine” on my MP3 player and picked my nose. When it doubt, be socially awkward. My social awkwardness has gotten me through everything in life.

The ferry arrives and we all get on to presumably go home. Except we didn’t go to Port Orchard, Washington. We went to London, England, where a horse and carriage was waiting for us. We’re on a two-way cobblestone street and somehow the different positions in the road lead to different countries. The right side will take us to Norway, the middle will take us to Germany, and the left side will take us to France. We get on the French side of the road and the carriage takes us there at a lightning fast pace.

Our destination ends up being a sandy beach with a lot of pollution and ducks in the water. I pull something mysterious out of my mouth and it turns out to be a baby black duck, which I throw into the water with its family. Reina asks me if this is a great vacation and I steadfastly agree.

I woke up at 1:10 in the afternoon and got on the computer to check my messages. No, this isn’t part of the dream, this is real life. When I was trying to read my Good Reads messages, the lines of text were all blurry, probably because I was still tired. I went back to bed and didn’t officially start my day until 2:20 in the afternoon. Still, no buzz cut at hair masters.

　

We’ve got ears! Say cheers!

　

***TELEVISION ISSUES***

Last night as I was watching NCIS: New Orleans, my flat screen TV burned out and stopped working. Prior to that, me and Reina kept smelling plastic and rubber burning, but we couldn’t figure out what it was. It was the TV this whole time. My other electronics work just fine, but not the flat screen TV. I originally wanted to review a wrestling match from WWE NXT Takeover: London, but without a TV, that’s not possible. I could watch it on my computer, but my internet connection isn’t always reliable. I’d have to find a way to download it onto my hard drive. Or I could buy another TV, that’d work too. Either way, I’ve already looked up the results online and I was genuinely surprised by them. Baron Corbin defeated Apollo Crews, Bayley made Nia Jax submit in order to keep her NXT Women’s Championship, and Finn Balor overcame Samoa Joe to keep his NXT Championship. I’m definitely going to have to find a way to watch this show.

　

***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

The last entry into this series was Debra Winter, a hero from Occupy Wrestling. The next entry will be Cameron Gillespie, a villainess from Watch You Burn. For my reference picture, I Googled TNA wrestler Awesome Kong, who is a 6’1”, 295 lb. black woman with a nasty attitude and a hard-hitting repertoire of moves. I originally wanted Cameron Gillespie to be tall and lanky, but Awesome Kong’s massive frame will do just fine. Be afraid, bitches!

　

***MOVIE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

RANDAL: Do you know how much money the average jizz mopper makes per hour?

DANTE: What’s a jizz mopper?

RANDAL: They’re the guys who clean up the nudy booths after each guy jerks off.

DANTE: Nudy booth?

RANDAL: Yeah. Haven’t you ever been inside a nudy booth before?

DANTE: Guess not.

RANDAL: Aw, man, it’s great. You go into this booth and there’s this glass between you and these chicks and they put on a show for you for like ten bucks.

DANTE: What kind of a show?

RANDAL: Think of the weirdest, craziest shit you like to see chicks do. These chicks do it all. They’ll insert anything into any opening on their bodies. Any opening.

DANTE: Can we not talk about this right now?

RANDAL: The jizz mopper’s job is to clean up the nudy booths after each guy shoots a load. Everybody does it right on the glass. I don’t know if you know this or not, but cum leaves streaks if you don’t clean it right away.

-Clerks-

The Crying Clown with Back Pain

There are times when you can never fully decipher what a dream means and then there are times when they’re painfully obvious. One night, I had a dream that was the latter of those two extremes. Before going to bed, I had a tremendous pain in my lower back. It was so bad that the next day I had to call in sick to my weekly volunteer job at the Kitsap Historical Society. Somehow my subconscious took all this pain as a cue to create of the most depressing dreams I’ve ever had. I dreamed I was watching a cartoon where a clown was riding around in a small car bumping into police cars. He’s happy and fine one minute, but with no real transition into the next moment, he’s suddenly crying because his back hurts. This isn’t just any kind of crying. It’s not the kind of crying that a child does when he hits his head. It’s not even a minor euphemism for complaining. This was an actual tearjerker of a scene. There were tears raining down his face all because he suddenly had back problems that prevented him from taking a shower. The clown is a symbol of happiness and joy (despite what you see in “The Brave Little Toaster” and “It“). To see a prominent symbol of laughter crying in a depressive state over having dull back pain is the ultimate slap in the face to someone in the real world who actually has back pain. When I woke up, after I made the call to the museum that I was taking the day off, I went downstairs to have a heat wrap pasted to my lower back. Ever since then, my pain became a non-issue. I might have to go to the chiropractor, but I like going there anyways, so it’s not a big deal. Knowing that a positive outcome was on the horizon, why exactly did my subconscious need to send me a clinically depressed clown? It’s not like the clown had a malignant tumor in his back, nor did he have any slash marks. It’s just minor back pain and he’s crying like his grandma just died. If it’s bothering him that bad, he should shell out some dough for a massage or a chiropractic adjustment. Minor back pain doesn’t necessarily constitute high drama. But in my imagination, it just might. If I make a story out of this, it will have to be done with a clear head and intensive planning. I can make this work. In fact, I can make it work or my name isn’t Garrison Kelly. Actually, Kelly isn’t my last name, it’s a pseudonym. The Garrison part of my penname is right, so maybe I can split the difference 50/50 when it comes to my success with a story about a sad clown with back pain.

　

***TELEVISION QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Ever heard of Obama Care? Well, this is We Don’t Care.”

-Marty Deeks from “NCIS: Los Angeles”-