I was clearing out my inbox this morning, when I came across something I’d forwarded to myself months ago. The subject line read “blog-dream,” and as far as I can tell, it was something I wanted to post here, but never got around to doing. Finally, the wait is over–for your reading pleasure, here is “blog-dream”:
In this dream, several of my co-workers and I joined a secret, underground death cult, led by Kevin Costner. At our first official meeting, we murdered him with a sacrificial knife, but without any apparent reason: maybe we were all trying to prevent “The Postman II” or something. Anyway, we elected a new leader, whom we were planning to sacrifice at the next meeting. That evening, my friend Sarah showed up to join the cult, and we got ready for the upcoming ritual (which involved putting on kilts, covering ourselves with grease and jumping up and down). While we were kilting up, I mentioned to Sarah, “Hey, just so you know, we’re going to kill this guy.” She replied, “Oh. Well, I’m going home, then.” I decided to go with her, and we hopped in an Oldsmobile Delta 88 and started to drive away. Suddenly a cop pulled us over. I reached for my drivers license and proof of insurance, only to realize that the cult had stolen them.