Smurfs & Mormons Beware

It was a full moon this weekend; no big deal. It was also a BLUE moon, which is kind of a big deal, so I'm sure somewhere some Smurf enthusiasts are all soaking their little tighty whities. The fucking Smurfs. Have you seeeeen that movie? Anyways, I have always found it fascinating that the lunar cycle has the ability to affect us one way or another... especially us ladies, uterinally speaking, of course... because this happened...

I don't know if it was a combination of all things lunar, or because I've been playing way too much Words With Friends with Brandon, or even whether it was just a simple case of eating an unnatural amount of pistachios on Saturday night, but whatever the reason, I had a seriously fucked up dream that I need to share with you:

I was 19. I was at a gas station that looked like somewhere right out of 1980's middle America. It was dusty and dry. There was a young teen girl in a bland cotton dress being mildly harassed by the gas station attendant, and even though I couldn't quite make out their argument, I briskly walked over to defend the girl since she appeared to be on the verge of crying. The misunderstanding wasn't explained but I went into the service booth with the scruffy attendant that was wearing a jumpsuit that hadn't looked like it had been washed in a month.

We didn't even talk about the girl. He whipped out a huge water bong and asked me if I wanted a hit. I was impressed at the contraption and said, "Sure." So we were there, the two of us, hot boxing the booth while the girl stood on the curb stared at me with her admiring doe eyes, which were slightly glazed over and puffy from stress and fighting back tears.

Then, the guy told me to take the bong, which transformed into an electric scooter! He quickly showed me how I could ride it and then dismount to take a hit, and then continue riding again.

I left with my new scooter bong and the girl was relieved to see me, as if I had saved her from something I still wasn't quite sure of. She invited me to come stay with her family, and being curious and a little stoned, I agreed. When we arrived at her house, it was made very obvious to me that it was a polygamist Mormon family compound... and there were many, many, many children. Most of them all carried a strong family resemblance, particularly in their noses and chins.

There were about 16 that immediately and overly-enthusiastically came up to greet me, kind of like the end scene in Temple of Doom when all the kids are running towards their parents. Without even thinking, I transformed my scooter and taught all these kids how to smoke weed from the water bong.

Every sibling over the age of 14 was now high. I didn't give any to the younger ones, because apparently, even in my dreams, my anti-morals have limitations. Then the father rang some kind of obnoxious bell to round up everyone for a teaching session. Giggling, we all stumbled in, myself included. We entered a fairly large classroom full of desks and chairs. The room quickly filled with both boys and girls of all ages; the girls were dressed like Mennonites and the boys like a stereotypical Missionaries with black pants and white shirts. At every work-space sat a very sleek computer. After some brief introductions and minimal instructions from their father, he left the room. I then spoke out and asked about the "bullshit parental controls" on these computers. They said it was protect their innocence.

I said, "Well, just Google key image words like 'pretty holly' and 'sweet candy' to get around those filters and they could check out some fairly good boob shots; maybe even some bush!"

I was sitting in the far back row beside one of the eldest sons, who looked to be about 22 and was one of the better looking of the brothers. We flirted instantly and while the two of us were testing out different words to surf for online porn, I unzipped his black pleated cotton trousers and gave him a hand job.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

And all this is why I cannot be trusted, even in a subconscious world far, far away.

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And since I mentioned The Suniverse today, her and The Bearded Iris are having an awesome contest called Craft Whores.

Intrigued yet? 

Damn right, you should be! Click on one of their links for the details. I'm too much of a lazy bitch to steal re-write all their hard work. Basically, make crafty shit that is good n' whorish & then link up to win. YAY!!

History Repeating... Or Was That My Acid Reflux?

It was dark but I knew I was in a place I didn't recognize. There were clothes ruffled on the floor. New clothes; some with the tags still on. There was a man's chunky navy blue sweater with subtle red stripes underneath some distressed baggy jeans. They were nice... sexy even, if on the right man... but who was this man that they were meant for?

Jim walks into the room, grabs the clothes off the floor and looks up at me. "What do you think?"
"Yes! They're nice."
"I have to go back to the mall and get another few pairs of jeans. You want to come?"

The car ride was non-existent, like we had teleported to the mall. As soon as we walked through the doors, the song History Repeating was playing... loud. It was manic. There were people running around; some laughing, some screaming. Nick Frost was dressed in a security uniform and was chasing a baby elephant down the main corridor; to my disappointment Simon Pegg was nowhere to be seen. The music was getting louder and louder and Shirley Bassey's powerful voice was reverberating off the shop windows; I could see them shaking.



Jim had disappeared for a few minutes and when he returned, he was dressed like what I can only describe as a 1970s Italian pimp. His chest hair was hanging out and inter-woven with a gold chain. It was so off-putting that I gagged a little. He looked at me as if I was a freak for not liking his new outfit. He rolled his eyes, grabbed me by my hand and we left the store.

The baby elephant had come back around again and left a giant mound of shit close to where we were. The smell hit me like an angry bitch slap and I became truly nauseous. The song was still playing and people were still screaming. I began to throw up, but it wasn't vomit... it was popcorn. Hundreds of popped kernels flowed from my mouth... and Jim caught some and began to eat it! I was horrified. Then, an out-of-breath Nick Frost rounded the corner; he had obviously given up on trying to catch the elephant. "Ooo, popcorn! Yummy!"

I knelt there completely disgusted as the pair of them huddled on the floor and ate my popcorn spew. Then an ambulance came, proceeded to pour butter over the popcorn mound I had just regurgitated, (to the men's utter delight) and then took me away on a stretcher.

That was my dream last night; something was definitely repeating.