The Dream in Which I Am a Bad-Ass Action Star

I had another weird dream last night. I was trying to get to a college to do something (I can't remember what) by a deadline, but I ended up on some strange university campus on the other end of town. I asking around for directions, hoping to catch a ride from someone, when I met two lovely young single mothers pushing strollers with super cute babies in them. They wanted to find the same college, but didn't have any transportation either. I thought that I should leave them behind and try to go it solo, but their babies were, like, sooooo ridiculously adorable that I decided to let them tag along on my quest.

After wandering around a bit, we began to realize that all the shop and street signs were in Spanish. I thought we were lost in Santa Ana, California, but soon realized that we were stranded in a scary Mexico border town. None of us had a passport, and we were all afraid that we wouldn't be able to get back to the U.S., so we found a trench that we knew would lead us across the border back to home. The trench led to a concrete-walled tunnel. As I advanced through the tunnel, I suddenly realized that my travel companions had vanished. As I began to reach the end of the tunnel, I sensed that something horrible had happened to them.

I was just feet away from the exit to America, but it was being blocked by some creepy Josef-Mengele-looking dude in a white lab coat, and his tough-looking Mexican henchman. I knew that they had killed the young ladies and their babies. I was enraged. Suddenly, I was Danny Trejo (awesome, I know). I'll spare you the details, but there was horrific Robert-Rodriguez-movie-style bloodshed involving an ice pick, a sharpened chisel, and a box-cutter.

I made my way past the bodies of my slain foes and walked through the door leading to Main Street, USA. People lined the streets, watching a marching band in a parade. I made my way through the crowd and on to freedom, but the sweet relief of my homecoming was marred by the horrors that I had faced. I was a survivor. And I was still Danny Trejo (still awesome, yes). Then I woke up.

The Dream About the Moon Cat

I had a dream last night that my friend Ben Stumpf had traveled to the moon and had just returned to Earth. I was quite impressed, but I also found it a rich source of joke material. I made a nuisance of myself making lame moon jokes. At one point, for some reason, Ben was standing in a vacant city lot doing some kind of weird Harlem shake type dance. I thought he looked like a spaz, but other people from the neighborhood were drawn to him, and soon, the lot was full of people centered around Ben, dancing the same spazzy, jerky movements, all without music. I shouted: "He says he just came back from the moon!" All the dancing stopped, except for Ben's. Everybody eyed the writhing astronaut as if looking at a lunatic whose lunacy might be an incurable contagion, and they slowly backed away from him, dispersing and leaving him dancing alone in the vacant lot.

I thought the whole incident hilarious. He did not, as he later made clear in newspaper editorial in which he soundly excoriated me for taking his greatest triumph in life (going to the moon) and somehow turning it into a joke to make him look like an ass. I felt horrible. I apologized profusely and told him personally that I thought he was a total badass because, after all, HE WENT TO THE FREAKING MOON!!! He didn't seem persuaded by my apology and was still visibly upset with me. Then things got much worse.

He had brought back with him the first cat to ever go to the moon. The cat wandered around the neighborhood, exploring its urban surroundings. Suddenly, a huge yellow dog the size of a small horse caught sight of the cat and gave chase. I grabbed a large club and tried chase him down in order to stop him from hurting the moon cat, but I was too late. I could hear snarling and cat cries coming from behind a dumpster. When the dog finally emerged, moon cat blood all over his face, I was filled with a seething rage. I lifted up my club to administer the ultimate punishment. The beast looked up at me, and I immediately feared that I might be next on his menu. He was massive--more like a bear than a dog. I realized that there was no way I could fight such a monster and win, but I was so mad, I didn't care. Then I looked into his eyes. They were filled with such innocence and trust. He had no idea at all what I had planned for him. I felt strange. Guilty. I lowered my club and started petting the bloodied dog. His fur was surprisingly soft, his nature surprisingly gentle. Suddenly, all was forgiven, and we walked off into a serene urban sunset.