This is scene 2 of my afternoon nap dream for today. No Freudian analysis allowed (j/k, go right ahead and try).
Fernanda is hosting some sort of slutty service where she can engage in non-sexual activities with guys that pleases them. For example, kissing. Apparently I am ok with this in my dream (although I am most definitely opposed to it in real life).
One of her clients is talking to her while I am with her. He describes his wishes, but his descriptions include touching of the genitals, so he has crossed the line. I confront him very seriously and say (and I recall word for word), "that's not going to happen." The guy tells me I'm being "suicidal" because he could just beat me up since he's way taller and bigger than me. I maintain my position that he will not be doing said things to Fernanda, so we arrange a fight. I propose that teams should be allowed since he is way stronger than me, and many of my friends would be glad to help me defend my girlfriend. But he insists on a 1v1 duel, so we settle at that. We are to fight in a couple of hours.
So I take a break and walk away from the scene for a while. During this scene I am talking to my sister. She very nervously says that she has been "cheating on me." At this point, I realize there has been a confusion. My sister must be out of her mind or something. I am dating Fernanda, not my sister. Moreover, apparently the big guy was describing what he meant to do to my sister, not to Fernanda as I had believed in the previous paragraph. So when I finally meet this big guy for the fight, I try to explain to him that there has been a misunderstanding. He refuses to listen, assumes the fight has begun, and begins to "prepare" himself to attack me.
Here's why I put "prepare" in quotes: He strips naked, falls backwards onto the ground into a sitting position, rolls into the bushes, and starts breakdancing in the bushes, spinning around and shit. All of this is supposed to be a "windup" to his first kick. As if critiquing a movie for its flaws, I wonder to myself why one should not simply stay standing to deliver a kick, instead of falling onto the ground and performing elaborate dance moves before kicking.
Then instead of kicking me he sits crosslegged and waves his left hand in rapid circles, as if wafting a fume in chemistry class very rapidly. This generates tendrils of white smoke, and this trail takes the shape of a circle. I am reminded of glow sticks in raves. I wonder what he is doing now. Charging up?
He goes into the bushes again and finally emerges wearing a cylindrical, vertically elongated helmet. This helmet is made of transparent plastic, about 4 feet long and only slightly thicker than his head. His head rests in the approximate midpoint of the cylinder (apparently his neck is about 2 feet long). From a section of the cylinder, a small door swings outwards, exposing his face. The helmet is filled with hot sauce, jalapenos, and sour cream, to a level just below his chin. There is ice on the ground.
We see that the easy way to win this "fight" is to drown the man in his Mexican food in his own helmet. Thus, my generic friend (don't ask how he got in this scene) grabs some ice from the ground and starts to stuff it into the opening of this man's helmet. He stuffs and he stuffs and he stuffs, until the liquid food in the cylinder has completely submerged the man's head, and he is unable to breathe. At this point I realize that the man had not been planning on fighting at all. He had set things up so that we could kill him very easily. This is his suicide attempt, and we are helping him kill himself! I quickly dig my hands into the Mexican food and ice, removing it from the helmet via the opening. Finally the man is able to breathe again.
Realizing that this style of attempted "suicide" was rather peculiar, I remark to my generic friend that if we hadn't saved the man, he would not have died. He would have simply had to eat his way through a gallon of (and I recall word for word) "hot sauce, jalapenos, and sour cream."
No comments:
Post a Comment