Somewhere around Barstow, I guess.

Last night’s dream:

I am driving down a very long highway in an very long car from the 70’s. Heading toward the west coast I think. Next to me is a stocky looking dog – like a pit bull or boxer. It is reading a map.

In the back seat we have some bottles containing chemicals.  They are labeled with with pieces of tape that I understand to say “CHEMICALS” even though they are just pieces of colored tape.

There is also a large quantity of foam shapes – foam board, cones, spheres.  Like the kind of thing you get from a craft store.  I keep forgetting how much of it is there so I keep checking on it. Or the quantity is actually changing.  The quantity changes in proportion to how lost we seem to be.  We seem to be quite lost, so the amount of foam products has become unmanageable. I am aware that sooner or later it will stop taking up additional space, and will just start getting denser.  This is very bad for some reason.

I ask the dog could we please use the gps because I don’t think he is very good at reading a map. Partly because he is now holding it in his teeth – though I think he had hands before. He drops it and says he was just holding it to make me feel better anyway. At this point he has a human head that kind of looks like Hunter S. Thompson.  Or possibly Burgess Meredith.  He is smoking, in any event.

He notices me staring at him, and says, “Do you even see any turns?”

There are no turns.

I let the matter drop, and turn my attention back to the cargo. I suddenly recall that we are planning to build a rocket. I begin to consider that this plan may have flaws. I gesture to the back and say, “I don’t think this is going to work.  I really don’t see how this is going to work.”

The human-faced dog takes the cigarette out of his mouth and says, “Look, don’t be such a pussy. We just need to find an empty pool.”

I look in the back again – one of the bottles has come open and it is spilling glowing green liquid on the floor of the car.  It gets on some foam pieces.  They begin to melt. The floor of the car is also melting, and the car begins to split in two. I point back with my thumb and say, “But I don’t think that’s chlorine.”

The dog begins to laugh madly with the cigarette still clenched in the teeth of his manface.

My phone beeps – I check and see there is a new text.  It says “he is on drugs.”

I lower my phone and look back at the dog, who now also has a phone.  He sent the text. This baffles me, so I question him.

“How did you get a phone?”

“I’m a minority.”

“You are a dog.”

“And YOU are a fucking racist.”

~~Fin.~~

It’s the smooOooke.

I’ve been signing this to myself for the past couple of days.



I’m pretty sure one of these dudes is stalking Katie Couric. I picture him in a little studio in his basement, obsessively recording and editing the evening news to make Katie talk to him. Possibly he just has an in at CBS that sends him copies. Along with a baggie full of hair from her brush.

Domino’s Announces New Higher Employees

I ordered some pizza from Domino’s last night, which is usually a mistake in and of itself. However, we were having trouble tracking down a place that offers garlic butter sauce. As a rule, I try not to eat anything that I can’t dip in butter – but I digress. I find that I must share the contents of the following phone order:

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me: So does the cheesy bread come in different sizes?
PizzaStoner: No, it’s just the one.
me: Oh, ok.
PizzaStoner: It’s actually the same bread we use for the cinnastix.
PizzaStoner: It just has our 2 cheese and herb blend on it instead.
me: Ok.
PizzaStoner: And the cinnastix of course have the cinnamon and sugar
PizzaStoner: just sprinkled over them,
PizzaStoner: . . .which is like a whole other flavor than the cheesy bread.
me: um, ok . . .
PizzaStoner: Plus, the cheese is heavier than the sugar and cinnamon,
PizzaStoner: so it feels like more.
PizzaStoner: It really is a totally different experience.
me: o-k . . . so what kind of sauces can I get?
PizzaStoner: Well, the cinnastix come with the delicious sweet sauce.
me: And what about other sauces – like for the cheesy bread?
PizzaStoner: That comes with marinara.
me: Do you have any garlic sauce?
PizzaStoner: . . .
PizzaStoner: . . .
PizzaStoner: um . . .yeah, but that’s like more.
PizzaStoner: That’s an extra quarter.
PizzaStoner: Or fifty cents, or thirty-five cents or something.
PizzaStoner: I think that costs extra.
me: Ok, I’d like two garlic sauces and an extra marinara.
PizzaStoner: What?
me: Two garlic and two marinara total.
PizzaStoner: The garlic sauces are gonna cost extra.

At this point I’m hearing Billy Bob Thornton’s voice in my head from Bad Santa – “Are you fuckin with me kid?!”.

Then when he comes to the door, he needs my credit card to run through on a receipt. Only, instead of a machine or carbon paper, he puts the card against the doorframe, places the receipt over it and proceeds to rub it with a dollar bill. To address the strangeness of his actions, he holds up the dollar and says, “These work real good because they’re never clean. They dirt always leaves marks.”

I’m gonna make a guess here and say that this is not standard Domino’s procedure when taking credit card orders. I’d even go so far as to venture that Space Ace just didn’t have it together enough to remember to grab whatever it is they need to use for credit cards.

Hmm.

I’m actually wondering if he even works at Domino’s. There’s every possibility that he was just voted least stoned by his buddies and was elected to go pick up pizza. Why didn’t they just order by phone themselves? Who knows? Maybe the concept of a phone call was just a bit much to deal with by that point. (“Man, there’s like, a guy talking to me right now and his isn’t even *here*. But his voice, his *voice* is just right here in the *phone*, and that is FREAKING me out right now. You’re gonna have to go order the pizza there.)

He just happened to be standing alone at the counter when I called and thought he’d be helpful and answer phones. And make and deliver pizza. And obtain my credit card number. I’d be worried about identity theft if I thought he’d even remember where he was last night. Still, maybe I should check my statement for any recent purchases of “water pipes”.