Meat Dreams Are Made of Peas

Before I share this, I know there will be those among you who doubt my sincerity. Some of you will swear I'm making this up for shock value, but it's true.

The other night, I had ONE dream that contained all of the following elements:

     1. Running through a U.S. naval shipyard, fleeing authority. Giggling ensued.

     2. Being hit on for a late night booty call at a stoplight by a zombie. He wasn't even the Twilight kinda sparkly undead. He was of the icky variety, complete with dangly eyeball and slipping flesh. He was, however, sporting a very nice mullet.

      3. Waiting in an exam room to be seen by my doctor, while being naked and tucked snuggly in a big soft bed. I had to stay in the exam room because there was a violent psycho killer in the lobby who hadn't had his meds because of insurance issues and he was foaming at the mouth for something to rip apart.

      4. Meeting other members of an Elvis appreciation group, digging up his body and carrying his coffin through the streets of Memphis, in sort of a "stations of the cross" kinda thing, marking his last movements through the city before he died. This adventure included carrying the casket up and down an narrow, stuccoed stairway while being lectured by a little old lady on the wonders of Elvis.

That's the Readers Digest Condensed version. There was a lot more and it all sort of ran together like it was a normal series of events.

Reckon I'm stressed...MUCH?

I need a nap.

Later Taters.

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