Late at night, when there are almost no cars on the streets, I find myself driving my way up Bancroft Way (which is odd in itself, because Bancroft is a one-way street going downhill). Ahead of me, two police cars are driving in the same direction. They are carefully escorting what appears to be two cars of gangsters. One of the police cars drives ahead, ushering the two cars onwards, while the second police car trails behind, with a police officer looking backwards (at me), waving in my direction, and telling me to back off and stay away from the volatile situation.
In an act of spontaneity, instead of staying away from the situation I gun the throttle and drive at full speed past the convoy, swerving and hitting multiple walls, before finally reaching my destination: a gathering of multiple police cars at some sort of crime scene. At this point I realize that my car happens to be a police car. As I get out of my car, I also realize that I just so happen to be a police officer. The "crime" had taken place at a lower, underground level in the city, which could be accessed via some flights of stairs leading downwards.
A girl tells me she has to pee. This is bad news, because the only bathroom in the vicinity just so happens to be inside this lower level, where the crime took place. Since we don't know what happened down there, and it could still very well be dangerous, my job is to escort the girl down the stairs, to the bathroom, and bring her back.
As we descend down the stairs together, some normal-looking people -- crime scene investigators, perhaps -- pass us by. As each person passes by, I jump nervously, half-expecting some sort of dangerous killer, only to realize a moment later that the person is normal.
As we progress deeper into the area, however, the atmosphere becomes drastically more frightening. It's late at night, everything is deserted, and I feel like I am walking in an underground ghost town. I draw my standard-issue 6-shooter revolver and hold it in my hands for reassurance. I ask the girl if she wants me to follow her inside the bathroom and wait just outside the stall, to make sure no one attacks her inside the bathroom. She says she'll be fine.
All the while, I have this nagging feeling that something is wrong. As we approach the bathroom, men and women can be seen sitting on office chairs, lying on the floor... dead, bloody, and pale.
The girl I am escorting is now frightened. "What happened here?" she breathes.
The dead man sitting in the office chair starts to move. We begin to run away, but soon, zombies are all around us. I have a fleeting thought of the girl, but it seems to be a lost cause to save her, since she was already inside the bathroom by the time the zombies came to life. So I run towards the narrow escalator leading upwards (but turned off and not moving, of course). A zombie woman who is blocking the escalator runs at me. I bring up my 6-shooter and fire one shot, which seems to kill her just as she is about to bite me.
As soon as she dies, her body continues to drift behind me, in the direction she had been moving, in zero gravity. Then I realize that the whole world has turned into zero-gravity mode, just like in Dead Space (a game I recently played), and now I have to escape by pushing against the floor at an angle to propel myself forwards. Then, as I drift towards the ceiling, I flip over repeat the same process for the ceiling. In this manner, I bounce between the floor and the ceiling, propelling myself towards the safe place, while a multitude of zombies are chasing me.
While drifting forward, a zombie finally catches up to me, but suddenly dies from a shot fired in front of me. Looking forward, I see that I am nearing the safe house: a small room filled with soldiers armed with automatic machine guns, shooting at the zombies behind me. I drift into the opening of the safe house and land on my feet, because the safe house now has gravity. The group of approximately 20 soldiers continue to fire their nerf guns at the incoming zombies, which crumple as soon as stricken by a nerf dart.
Unfortunately, my presence disrupts their firing because I have unintentionally brought a magnet with me. The magnet spawns ribbons that tie together the guns of the soldiers, forcing them to break formation and preventing them from taking aim properly. The entire group is stalled for about 10 seconds before one man is finally able to wrench the magnet away and throw it away. By this time the small room had just about filled with zombies coming toward us. Just as the front line of zombies is nearly upon us (at point-blank muzzle distance), the soldiers resume firing. Since the firing rate of the nerf guns is very fast, and the soldiers are trained to stagger reload times, they quickly clear the room of zombies and resume control over the entrance to the room.
By sheer luck, one stray zombie slips past the entrance and wanders into the room unnoticed by the soldiers. he begins to grope at a nearby civilian. I desperately point at the zombie and yell, and the soldiers quickly dispatch both the zombie and the victim of the zombie groping (because zombie-ness spreads by touch instead of bite, apparently).
Someone pokes me on the shoulder to get my attention. I turn and realize that IT'S A ZOMBIE POKING ME! I yell, "AHHHH! KILL THE ZOMBIE! KILL ME!" The soldiers comply, and some soft foam nerf darts land on the zombie and me. I feel the darts on my shoulder and gradually give in to death.
I wake up next to Fernanda (my girlfriend), and quickly try to recount the details of the dream I just had. Fernanda then tells me she had the same dream. She says that she was the girl that I was escorting in the dream. While fondling my face, she tells me, "During the dream, the face of the zombie in the office chair I saw was your face, in real life."
I wake up for real.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Friday, November 28, 2008
Zombie: 300 Infected -- and counting!
The following is a dream.
A drunk girl has her arms wrapped around me, from behind. I don't know how hot she is, but I am mildly irked by this because I am focusing on rummaging through the contents of some small lockers in a locker room. I tell the drunk girl, "Hey, I'm not even drunk," but she does not seem phased by this in the least. Her friends (beside me) make fun of her, and rummage through lockers with me as well. Apparently, I am among a group of hooligans who had broken into some sort of drug storage locker room, and we are looking for drugs.
Soon some people discover that these "drugs" are scarier than the type they're used to, and they leave. In fact, some syringes aren't even drugs; there are infections, diseases, mutation-givers, and just all types of general scariness in these lockers. My curiosity grows, so I stay in the locker room with some bold adventurous others.
One particular syringe with a needle catches my eye. It reads "Zombie: 300 Infected -- and counting!". Having seen 28 days later, I wonder, "How is it possible that only 300 people are infected so far?" but forget this thought as soon as multiple chilling screams issue throughout the locker room. The screams are not just from zombies; pretty much everyone who has tried a "drug" needle is now a weird diseased person or a type of monster. I decide that it's time to run, because I do not want to become a diseased person or a type of monster.
Alas, as I am leaving the locker room, I contract a disease. It has something to do with a tingly feeling in my legs and feet. Fortunately, the disease causes no side effects other than the ability to fly. So I fly around, landing in the UC Berkeley campus. (EDIT: Today when I went to the bathroom I remembered another symptom of my disease: I pooed a lot uncontrollably and all the poo was lined with viscous fluid resembling alien saliva. I assumed it was my sloughed-off stomach lining.)
Somehow, I had subconsciously taken the Zombie syringe with me. I pull it out of my pocket and again ponder my earlier question, "If every zombie hungers for human flesh, how is it possible that only 300 zombies are infected?" My question is immediately answered by an excerpt from the label of the syringe: "Each zombie may only choose ONE human to infect." That's when I accidentally poke myself with the needle, and my vision turns blue.
I decide, by some zombie logic, that if I can only infect one person in the world, that person should my girlfriend so we can both be zombies together. I begin to devise a plan to bait her out of her room and then bite her. My white woman mother aids me in this plan by sending a carefully devised letter to her, detailing a meeting with cookies in her office.
As I await her arrival, I go to the bathroom. Expecting to see a contorted ugly zombie face, I look into the mirror and am surprised to discover that my face is relatively normal. Aside from a red drunk Asian glow and a couple of yellow moldy spots on my cheeks, my zombie face exhibits no difference from my original face. As I am urinating, however, I notice that my penis is too small.
Jeff from my floor last year (not my current roommate) walks in. I remark to Jeff how easy it is to see that I am currently in a dream. "There are at least two indications that this is a dream," I declare. "One, my penis is too small." He laughs. Before I am able to state my second point, I wake up. I cannot remember the second reason.
A drunk girl has her arms wrapped around me, from behind. I don't know how hot she is, but I am mildly irked by this because I am focusing on rummaging through the contents of some small lockers in a locker room. I tell the drunk girl, "Hey, I'm not even drunk," but she does not seem phased by this in the least. Her friends (beside me) make fun of her, and rummage through lockers with me as well. Apparently, I am among a group of hooligans who had broken into some sort of drug storage locker room, and we are looking for drugs.
Soon some people discover that these "drugs" are scarier than the type they're used to, and they leave. In fact, some syringes aren't even drugs; there are infections, diseases, mutation-givers, and just all types of general scariness in these lockers. My curiosity grows, so I stay in the locker room with some bold adventurous others.
One particular syringe with a needle catches my eye. It reads "Zombie: 300 Infected -- and counting!". Having seen 28 days later, I wonder, "How is it possible that only 300 people are infected so far?" but forget this thought as soon as multiple chilling screams issue throughout the locker room. The screams are not just from zombies; pretty much everyone who has tried a "drug" needle is now a weird diseased person or a type of monster. I decide that it's time to run, because I do not want to become a diseased person or a type of monster.
Alas, as I am leaving the locker room, I contract a disease. It has something to do with a tingly feeling in my legs and feet. Fortunately, the disease causes no side effects other than the ability to fly. So I fly around, landing in the UC Berkeley campus. (EDIT: Today when I went to the bathroom I remembered another symptom of my disease: I pooed a lot uncontrollably and all the poo was lined with viscous fluid resembling alien saliva. I assumed it was my sloughed-off stomach lining.)
Somehow, I had subconsciously taken the Zombie syringe with me. I pull it out of my pocket and again ponder my earlier question, "If every zombie hungers for human flesh, how is it possible that only 300 zombies are infected?" My question is immediately answered by an excerpt from the label of the syringe: "Each zombie may only choose ONE human to infect." That's when I accidentally poke myself with the needle, and my vision turns blue.
I decide, by some zombie logic, that if I can only infect one person in the world, that person should my girlfriend so we can both be zombies together. I begin to devise a plan to bait her out of her room and then bite her. My white woman mother aids me in this plan by sending a carefully devised letter to her, detailing a meeting with cookies in her office.
As I await her arrival, I go to the bathroom. Expecting to see a contorted ugly zombie face, I look into the mirror and am surprised to discover that my face is relatively normal. Aside from a red drunk Asian glow and a couple of yellow moldy spots on my cheeks, my zombie face exhibits no difference from my original face. As I am urinating, however, I notice that my penis is too small.
Jeff from my floor last year (not my current roommate) walks in. I remark to Jeff how easy it is to see that I am currently in a dream. "There are at least two indications that this is a dream," I declare. "One, my penis is too small." He laughs. Before I am able to state my second point, I wake up. I cannot remember the second reason.
Friday, November 21, 2008
I can see cells in my eyes
The following is not a dream.
Last night I couldn't sleep, so there I lay staring at a pinprick of my light without my glasses. To any near-sighted person including myself, a pinprick of light without glasses appears as a blurred halo of light. The halo pulsated, growing smaller and larger as my eyes naturally adjusted their focal point repeatedly back and forth. I thought, "Hey, maybe if I can will my focal point to change enough, the halo of light will eventually converge to a single point and I won't be near-sighted anymore!" But I couldn't do it.
So then I had a better idea. I wondered, "Are there more details inside this 'blurry' halo?" I directed my attention to the details of the "blur," and found that it was not blurry at all. The halo was actually composed of tiny circles. I thought to myself, "This looks uncannily similar to what I would see under a microscope slide in high school biology." I looked more closely at the tiny circles. I blinked. They moved.
Naturally, I was skeptical. Hell, if someone told me they could see cells in their eyes and wrote this note, I wouldn't believe them at all. But gradually, after staring and blinking a lot, I became convinced that these were, indeed, CELLS ON THE TIP OF MY PUPIL. By staring at a fixed light in darkness, I essentially turned my eye into a LIGHT MICROSCOPE, with the slide being the tip of my pupil. I think it only works because I am severely near-sighted.
By the way, these are not floaters. If you tell me I am seeing floaters I will punch you in the face. I've noticed floaters since I was 5.
You can see cells too! (But only if you're severely near-sighted, like -900 or more). Here are some easy steps!
1. Make sure the room is dark.
2. Take off your glasses.
3. Cover one eye (if you leave both eyes uncovered you will be seeing cells from both eyes at the same time, which would be confusing).
4. Stare at a pinprick of medium-brightness light about 5 feet away (this should appear as a blurry halo).
5. Focus on this light for a minute or so. Try to catch what's going on inside the blur.
6. Close your eye exactly half-way such that your eyelid is covering half of the halo of light. You should now be seeing the bottom semi-circle half of the halo.
7. Open your eyelid all the way. Notice the WATER MARK you left behind on the halo (it should appear as a thick double-membrane line dividing the halo). This should be enough to convince you that what you are seeing is in your eye on the cell level, not in the light.
8. If you're still not convinced, blink a lot. Notice how the cells at the top layer move and slide with the blink, and momentum carries them forward as it should, but they slow down due to a viscosity in the liquid they live in. Also notice that deeper-layered cells remain stationary.
Enjoy, if you're near-sighted.
Last night I couldn't sleep, so there I lay staring at a pinprick of my light without my glasses. To any near-sighted person including myself, a pinprick of light without glasses appears as a blurred halo of light. The halo pulsated, growing smaller and larger as my eyes naturally adjusted their focal point repeatedly back and forth. I thought, "Hey, maybe if I can will my focal point to change enough, the halo of light will eventually converge to a single point and I won't be near-sighted anymore!" But I couldn't do it.
So then I had a better idea. I wondered, "Are there more details inside this 'blurry' halo?" I directed my attention to the details of the "blur," and found that it was not blurry at all. The halo was actually composed of tiny circles. I thought to myself, "This looks uncannily similar to what I would see under a microscope slide in high school biology." I looked more closely at the tiny circles. I blinked. They moved.
Naturally, I was skeptical. Hell, if someone told me they could see cells in their eyes and wrote this note, I wouldn't believe them at all. But gradually, after staring and blinking a lot, I became convinced that these were, indeed, CELLS ON THE TIP OF MY PUPIL. By staring at a fixed light in darkness, I essentially turned my eye into a LIGHT MICROSCOPE, with the slide being the tip of my pupil. I think it only works because I am severely near-sighted.
By the way, these are not floaters. If you tell me I am seeing floaters I will punch you in the face. I've noticed floaters since I was 5.
You can see cells too! (But only if you're severely near-sighted, like -900 or more). Here are some easy steps!
1. Make sure the room is dark.
2. Take off your glasses.
3. Cover one eye (if you leave both eyes uncovered you will be seeing cells from both eyes at the same time, which would be confusing).
4. Stare at a pinprick of medium-brightness light about 5 feet away (this should appear as a blurry halo).
5. Focus on this light for a minute or so. Try to catch what's going on inside the blur.
6. Close your eye exactly half-way such that your eyelid is covering half of the halo of light. You should now be seeing the bottom semi-circle half of the halo.
7. Open your eyelid all the way. Notice the WATER MARK you left behind on the halo (it should appear as a thick double-membrane line dividing the halo). This should be enough to convince you that what you are seeing is in your eye on the cell level, not in the light.
8. If you're still not convinced, blink a lot. Notice how the cells at the top layer move and slide with the blink, and momentum carries them forward as it should, but they slow down due to a viscosity in the liquid they live in. Also notice that deeper-layered cells remain stationary.
Enjoy, if you're near-sighted.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Shrimp and Eggs
Yesterday I was sitting on the bus when an old woman shoved a plate of shrimp and scrambled eggs in my face and tried to cram the plate into my mouth. Disgusted, I shoved it away, fearing it was poisoned.
She then explained to me that she feared the food was poisoned (which is why she was trying to feed it to me first, just to see what would happen). I asked her why, and she said, "My ten-year-old son cooked this for me, and then he ran away. I think he's trying to poison me." She had no other reason to suspect her son of any such malice; she was simply a deranged, paranoid mother. However, I managed to convince her that her son's intentions were entirely benevolent and that she should look for her son, who probably ran away for some other reason.
So we got off the bus and called the police, informing them of her missing son. We walked around, and -- lo and behold, there was her son, running away. The police, conveniently nearby, gave chase.
Suddenly, the police who was chasing the son dropped his counter-terrorist shield, drew his pistol, and inexplicably began firing upon the running child. I yelled at the police, "STOP! I'll shoot you if you keep shooting him!" But it was an empty threat, for I had no gun. I could sense that the next shot would connect, so I threw some textbooks I happened to be carrying between the police and the boy. But I was too slow, and the bullet caught the child in the head. Then the two police officers hopped in the police car and rapidly drove away.
The child's mother and I were outraged. We rallied some fellow students and pursued the police car by foot. Soon, we reached a dead end with a panel-activated metal warehouse gate as the only exit. The police car rammed the large silver panel, and the gate began opening upwards. We the students, however, surrounded and marauded the surprisingly small police car (little bigger than a backpack). The police themselves were pretty small too, and we easily overpowered them, took their guns, and shot them to death.
As I wiped the blood on my hands onto my pants, I remarked, "It'll be hard to explain this in court..." and lamented that my fingerprints were now on the guns. One of the students responded, "It's ok. We can bribe the forensics people to contaminate the fingerprints and render them unreadable." To which I said, "You know we're like... in the 1980's, right? Technology sucks, and forensics people can't do shit, other than maybe read fingerprints."
A couple of hours later, I played the Pokemon theme song on an under-sized piano at the request of some Asian guy.
By the way, this was a dream, obviously.
She then explained to me that she feared the food was poisoned (which is why she was trying to feed it to me first, just to see what would happen). I asked her why, and she said, "My ten-year-old son cooked this for me, and then he ran away. I think he's trying to poison me." She had no other reason to suspect her son of any such malice; she was simply a deranged, paranoid mother. However, I managed to convince her that her son's intentions were entirely benevolent and that she should look for her son, who probably ran away for some other reason.
So we got off the bus and called the police, informing them of her missing son. We walked around, and -- lo and behold, there was her son, running away. The police, conveniently nearby, gave chase.
Suddenly, the police who was chasing the son dropped his counter-terrorist shield, drew his pistol, and inexplicably began firing upon the running child. I yelled at the police, "STOP! I'll shoot you if you keep shooting him!" But it was an empty threat, for I had no gun. I could sense that the next shot would connect, so I threw some textbooks I happened to be carrying between the police and the boy. But I was too slow, and the bullet caught the child in the head. Then the two police officers hopped in the police car and rapidly drove away.
The child's mother and I were outraged. We rallied some fellow students and pursued the police car by foot. Soon, we reached a dead end with a panel-activated metal warehouse gate as the only exit. The police car rammed the large silver panel, and the gate began opening upwards. We the students, however, surrounded and marauded the surprisingly small police car (little bigger than a backpack). The police themselves were pretty small too, and we easily overpowered them, took their guns, and shot them to death.
As I wiped the blood on my hands onto my pants, I remarked, "It'll be hard to explain this in court..." and lamented that my fingerprints were now on the guns. One of the students responded, "It's ok. We can bribe the forensics people to contaminate the fingerprints and render them unreadable." To which I said, "You know we're like... in the 1980's, right? Technology sucks, and forensics people can't do shit, other than maybe read fingerprints."
A couple of hours later, I played the Pokemon theme song on an under-sized piano at the request of some Asian guy.
By the way, this was a dream, obviously.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Pushing a Cruise Ship
Setting: A huge cruise ship, like Titanic but more modernized.
There was this humanoid "pixie" whom I had seen earlier. She was blonde and quite cute.
That's why, as I see her again just as the elevator doors are closing, I panic and hit lots of elevator buttons hoping to re-open the doors so that I can go out there and see her again. One of the buttons I press happens to be the "alarm" button. It causes the entire cruise ship to sound an alarm. "Oops," I shrug to the others who are in the elevator with me.
The doors of the elevator open only when it reaches the lower level. Visible and lethal green gas is already seeping into the room (apparently, it's a security response triggered by the alarm), but the elevator is now out of service. We run up the stairs towards the exit, the green gas on our tails. To complicate things, there is a narrow glass maze with timed doors that open only every 2 seconds and then clamp shut so hard as to be able to pulverize anyone unfortunate enough to be standing there (think old-school Prince of Persia with the fanged doors). Inside the maze, we are still chased by "pockets" of green gas that seep inside the maze whenever the doors open.
After traversing many such doors, I exit the glass maze and step into a large hallway with metal detectors: the ship's security gate. There are three large lines to board individual smaller ships that travel to the mainland of our vacation spot. The cruise ship never docks; it just sets anchor far away from land while the smaller ships actually travel to the mainland.
Supposedly, everyone must board these ships, because they have to sink the cruise ship for "maintenance" while the passengers of the ship are gone. However, there are still about 100 people in line waiting to board the ships when suddenly the lights in the hall dim and turn blue. The modernized gates leading to the smaller ships close with a hydraulic hiss, and I hear a soft, low "thunk" as the first ship detaches itself from the main cruise ship and sets sail. Two more thunks follow.
We realize we are trapped inside a cruise ship that is about to be put underwater for "maintenance." Oh well.
[skip some scenes]
The majority of the passengers are still on land, and we have the cruise ship all to ourselves! Somehow, the ship is fine and dandy, and we are not underwater. We approach land.
For some strange reason, we are pressed to find "riches" from land and bring them back to the ship. For another strange reason, we can't simply bring the cruise ship to the beach and dock there; we have to jump into the water with snorkeling gear and PUSH the damn cruise ship with our bare hands until it reaches shore.
And so we do, me and two of my nondescript friends. We go underwater and push at the bottom of the ship's hull. It proves to be surprisingly easy, and the ship even seems to tilt and almost tip over a couple of times.
One of my friends ask, "What if we accidentally tip the cruise ship over and it falls onto us?"
I respond, "That's pretty much impossible; even a shark ramming the cruise ship head-on wouldn't budge it even a bit."
My other friend says, "Yeah that shark would definitely just knock himself out."
But we are still bothered, because the cruise ship is so light and really DOES almost tip over a couple of times. As the three of us align the cruise ship with the shore, I marvel at how easy it is to move the cruise ship just by myself. I wonder, "Why is it so light?" We turn around and look over our shoulders.
Lo and behold, the gigantic cruise ship is hundreds of feet behind us, and has not budged a bit. In fact, what we had thought to be our cruise ship was, in actuality, nothing but a large blow-up dolphin balloon.
There was this humanoid "pixie" whom I had seen earlier. She was blonde and quite cute.
That's why, as I see her again just as the elevator doors are closing, I panic and hit lots of elevator buttons hoping to re-open the doors so that I can go out there and see her again. One of the buttons I press happens to be the "alarm" button. It causes the entire cruise ship to sound an alarm. "Oops," I shrug to the others who are in the elevator with me.
The doors of the elevator open only when it reaches the lower level. Visible and lethal green gas is already seeping into the room (apparently, it's a security response triggered by the alarm), but the elevator is now out of service. We run up the stairs towards the exit, the green gas on our tails. To complicate things, there is a narrow glass maze with timed doors that open only every 2 seconds and then clamp shut so hard as to be able to pulverize anyone unfortunate enough to be standing there (think old-school Prince of Persia with the fanged doors). Inside the maze, we are still chased by "pockets" of green gas that seep inside the maze whenever the doors open.
After traversing many such doors, I exit the glass maze and step into a large hallway with metal detectors: the ship's security gate. There are three large lines to board individual smaller ships that travel to the mainland of our vacation spot. The cruise ship never docks; it just sets anchor far away from land while the smaller ships actually travel to the mainland.
Supposedly, everyone must board these ships, because they have to sink the cruise ship for "maintenance" while the passengers of the ship are gone. However, there are still about 100 people in line waiting to board the ships when suddenly the lights in the hall dim and turn blue. The modernized gates leading to the smaller ships close with a hydraulic hiss, and I hear a soft, low "thunk" as the first ship detaches itself from the main cruise ship and sets sail. Two more thunks follow.
We realize we are trapped inside a cruise ship that is about to be put underwater for "maintenance." Oh well.
[skip some scenes]
The majority of the passengers are still on land, and we have the cruise ship all to ourselves! Somehow, the ship is fine and dandy, and we are not underwater. We approach land.
For some strange reason, we are pressed to find "riches" from land and bring them back to the ship. For another strange reason, we can't simply bring the cruise ship to the beach and dock there; we have to jump into the water with snorkeling gear and PUSH the damn cruise ship with our bare hands until it reaches shore.
And so we do, me and two of my nondescript friends. We go underwater and push at the bottom of the ship's hull. It proves to be surprisingly easy, and the ship even seems to tilt and almost tip over a couple of times.
One of my friends ask, "What if we accidentally tip the cruise ship over and it falls onto us?"
I respond, "That's pretty much impossible; even a shark ramming the cruise ship head-on wouldn't budge it even a bit."
My other friend says, "Yeah that shark would definitely just knock himself out."
But we are still bothered, because the cruise ship is so light and really DOES almost tip over a couple of times. As the three of us align the cruise ship with the shore, I marvel at how easy it is to move the cruise ship just by myself. I wonder, "Why is it so light?" We turn around and look over our shoulders.
Lo and behold, the gigantic cruise ship is hundreds of feet behind us, and has not budged a bit. In fact, what we had thought to be our cruise ship was, in actuality, nothing but a large blow-up dolphin balloon.
So I was in bed with this guy
The test is to fly a rocket ship, launched from Earth, through a small ring barely bigger than the thickness of the rocket itself. If the rocket ship flies through the small ring without touching the edge, the captain is accepted into the elite group. If not, the captain is executed by "reapers."
As an omniscient observer I witnessed the deaths of many such captains who failed the test. They would be put inside an elevator. The elevator door would open, jump back to closed position, and re-open, in a very creepy infinite loop. During one such opening, small blue imp-like creatures, "reapers," would jump into the elevator and kill them.
So I was in bed with this guy. And I was wondering why I was here in the first place, or why this guy, who didn't seem gay, would want me in bed with him.
That's when I attained a third-person view of myself, and I realized I was a chick. I was a female captain who had failed the test, but I had made a bargain with this guy that I would have sex with him and he would see to it that I would not be executed by the reapers.
But this was a gross misunderstanding: I was only a male playing a female character! So I flung my hands up and said "Dude! Stop! I'm a man!" and hurriedly detached myself from this guy. He was confused at first, since I looked nothing like a man; I was a woman. However, he quickly realized that lots of male players choose female models for their characters in MMORPG's, so he believed me (thankfully).
Real-life connection to dream:
I have two female characters in the MMORPG Rohan, and they are both extremely attractive.
As an omniscient observer I witnessed the deaths of many such captains who failed the test. They would be put inside an elevator. The elevator door would open, jump back to closed position, and re-open, in a very creepy infinite loop. During one such opening, small blue imp-like creatures, "reapers," would jump into the elevator and kill them.
So I was in bed with this guy. And I was wondering why I was here in the first place, or why this guy, who didn't seem gay, would want me in bed with him.
That's when I attained a third-person view of myself, and I realized I was a chick. I was a female captain who had failed the test, but I had made a bargain with this guy that I would have sex with him and he would see to it that I would not be executed by the reapers.
But this was a gross misunderstanding: I was only a male playing a female character! So I flung my hands up and said "Dude! Stop! I'm a man!" and hurriedly detached myself from this guy. He was confused at first, since I looked nothing like a man; I was a woman. However, he quickly realized that lots of male players choose female models for their characters in MMORPG's, so he believed me (thankfully).
Real-life connection to dream:
I have two female characters in the MMORPG Rohan, and they are both extremely attractive.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Children with Blood
Something -- some bug or piece of dirt -- had become stuck inside the skin of my upper right arm. I had to find what it was, so I pried inside my skin folds with my left hand fingers.
Unfortunately, instead of finding what I was looking for, I accidentally dislodged an extremely important needle in my right arm that had been implanted by a surgeon months ago. As the needle disconnected from my body and became exposed to the air, it ceased to administer life-sustaining juice into my body, and I became noticeably weaker. Again and again, I tried to stick it back into my arm at various places and angles, but could not seem to find the correct vein.
Realizing that this was an emergency, I quickly phoned the doctor. He said, "Record a video showing what happened to your arm, put it on a floppy disk, and send it to me. Then I'll see what I can do."
I thought this was rather odd, since a video is much too large of a file to store in a floppy disk. Thus I ignored the doctor's request and, instead, went straight to the hospital myself.
Upon arrival, the doctor asked, "Did you record the video on a floppy disk like I asked you to?"
I said, "A video can't fit on a floppy disk."
He said, "Good, so now you know."
I realized that the sadistic doctor had wanted me to record a video, try to put it on a floppy disk, and fail. I got the uncomfortable feeling that this doctor was trying to hurt me instead of help me.
I asked, "Why did you tell me to put it on a floppy disk in the first place?"
"To teach you a lesson."
That the doctor had wanted to teach me a "lesson" before I had even done anything wrong further confirmed my suspicions that this doctor was an evil sadist.
The doctor's assistant pulled out some thick-rimmed glasses from an envelope, and handed them to me. I put them on, and they distorted my vision. I thought they were some sort of "drunk" glasses, so I stumbled around and joked, "haha, I'm drunk."
The doctor's assistant replied, "No, those are not glasses that give you drunk vision. They are actually a diagnostic tool we use to determine if someone is susceptible to a certain type of seizure. If you get a seizure in the next couple of minutes, we'll know you're one of those people."
I walked around for a bit, then gave them back to the assistant. No seizure. The evil doctor, disappointed, got bored and left the room to go work on his other evil deeds, and the assistant started explaining to me how they use the "seizure glasses" to diagnose people.
"If there is a seizure, an emergency will be announced. The course of action following a seizure begins with an announcement as such:
'This is an emergency seizure.
Some doctors will be slow, some will be of service.
Some surgeons will be slow, some will be of service....'"
He explained that during an emergency, some people cannot help having a panic attack. Reading aloud the announcement quells any anger towards certain people who panic and are "slow" to respond to emergencies, thus facilitating quicker cooperation between members of the hospital staff.
While casually listening to the assistant, I began to experience a vague headache, which throbbed and gradually grew more intense. I was feeling so sick, I nearly fell over while trying to lay down. My vision blurred, the lights on the ceiling became nondescript spinning halos. Then, all of a sudden, my body began to spasm violently, and I was experiencing a full-on seizure.
I heard a voice,
"This is an emergency seizure."
I saw, through blurred vision, some people shuffling quickly to attempt to aid me. I noted that my sadistic doctor, who had not yet returned, seemed to be one of the most remarkably "slow" staff members to respond.
"Some doctors will be slow, some will be of service."
Suddenly, I could no longer see the hospital staff. Instead, a large crowd of children were running at me, their faces and hands covered in blood. Gruesome and gory, they ran into the windowed wall, the only thing separating me from them. As they beat at the large plexi-glass windows with their fists, their horribly distorted and bloody faces screamed a silent scream. I lay there helplessly, still experiencing violent spasms. The sturdy windows became equally covered in blood, but did not break.
"Some surgeons will be slow, some will be of service..."
Unfortunately, instead of finding what I was looking for, I accidentally dislodged an extremely important needle in my right arm that had been implanted by a surgeon months ago. As the needle disconnected from my body and became exposed to the air, it ceased to administer life-sustaining juice into my body, and I became noticeably weaker. Again and again, I tried to stick it back into my arm at various places and angles, but could not seem to find the correct vein.
Realizing that this was an emergency, I quickly phoned the doctor. He said, "Record a video showing what happened to your arm, put it on a floppy disk, and send it to me. Then I'll see what I can do."
I thought this was rather odd, since a video is much too large of a file to store in a floppy disk. Thus I ignored the doctor's request and, instead, went straight to the hospital myself.
Upon arrival, the doctor asked, "Did you record the video on a floppy disk like I asked you to?"
I said, "A video can't fit on a floppy disk."
He said, "Good, so now you know."
I realized that the sadistic doctor had wanted me to record a video, try to put it on a floppy disk, and fail. I got the uncomfortable feeling that this doctor was trying to hurt me instead of help me.
I asked, "Why did you tell me to put it on a floppy disk in the first place?"
"To teach you a lesson."
That the doctor had wanted to teach me a "lesson" before I had even done anything wrong further confirmed my suspicions that this doctor was an evil sadist.
The doctor's assistant pulled out some thick-rimmed glasses from an envelope, and handed them to me. I put them on, and they distorted my vision. I thought they were some sort of "drunk" glasses, so I stumbled around and joked, "haha, I'm drunk."
The doctor's assistant replied, "No, those are not glasses that give you drunk vision. They are actually a diagnostic tool we use to determine if someone is susceptible to a certain type of seizure. If you get a seizure in the next couple of minutes, we'll know you're one of those people."
I walked around for a bit, then gave them back to the assistant. No seizure. The evil doctor, disappointed, got bored and left the room to go work on his other evil deeds, and the assistant started explaining to me how they use the "seizure glasses" to diagnose people.
"If there is a seizure, an emergency will be announced. The course of action following a seizure begins with an announcement as such:
'This is an emergency seizure.
Some doctors will be slow, some will be of service.
Some surgeons will be slow, some will be of service....'"
He explained that during an emergency, some people cannot help having a panic attack. Reading aloud the announcement quells any anger towards certain people who panic and are "slow" to respond to emergencies, thus facilitating quicker cooperation between members of the hospital staff.
While casually listening to the assistant, I began to experience a vague headache, which throbbed and gradually grew more intense. I was feeling so sick, I nearly fell over while trying to lay down. My vision blurred, the lights on the ceiling became nondescript spinning halos. Then, all of a sudden, my body began to spasm violently, and I was experiencing a full-on seizure.
I heard a voice,
"This is an emergency seizure."
I saw, through blurred vision, some people shuffling quickly to attempt to aid me. I noted that my sadistic doctor, who had not yet returned, seemed to be one of the most remarkably "slow" staff members to respond.
"Some doctors will be slow, some will be of service."
Suddenly, I could no longer see the hospital staff. Instead, a large crowd of children were running at me, their faces and hands covered in blood. Gruesome and gory, they ran into the windowed wall, the only thing separating me from them. As they beat at the large plexi-glass windows with their fists, their horribly distorted and bloody faces screamed a silent scream. I lay there helplessly, still experiencing violent spasms. The sturdy windows became equally covered in blood, but did not break.
"Some surgeons will be slow, some will be of service..."
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