A couple of things I wanna tell So gather round and listen well A few odd tales to pass the time I have no idea why I rhymed Anywho 1. The Miraculous Re Learning Of Rummy I go out after work on...... Friday, I think and sit in a camper for five hours drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, and playing card and dice games. It's awesome possum. Gin Rummy, some other kind of Rummy, Three's Are Free, Horses, etc. It devolves into a drunk art class of nudie pics with an old pal and a new friend. Someone gets a text message from a crazy party girl who moved a while back. After about an hour and four thousand text messages late, everyone get's camera phone boob shots. They were not that nice. Creative, but not that nice. There was also a picture of a giant orange dildo and some kind of super bong. Whatever. Anyway, more beer, more fun, more good tunes, blah blah blah. 2. Bowling Is Cool I went bowling yesterday. I haven't bowled in three years. I played two games and got a 74/140. Poop. Anyway, I had big shoes. There was a big family gathering there, but myself and the two Rummy players managed to clear the place out with a solid hour wall of jukebox tunes consisting of polka, Sinatra, Linkin Park, and AC/DC. Well, that and a combination of bad reputations and about seven thousand cigarettes. 3. Karoke Is Cool (If You Do It Right) Bowling alley shuts down so we go to the local crap bar that competes food wise with my cafe. OMG WTF this place sucks. There are ten people, and they are ALL plastered. I had a boilermaker, succeeding in making three drinks in 14 ounces. I was laughing at everything. The karakoe guy is annoying, and has 99% country. Someone was smart enough to play Don McLean's American Pie, which, ironically, I was singing very loudly at work after we closed. I also sang it again, replacing all the words with "Mer!" but, alas, when I tried Elton John's Tiny Dancer, I failed, for I forgot the words. I digress. Anyway, my younger friend get's excited and looks at the Karoke book. Country, Country, Country, Country, Country, Country, Country, Country, Country, Country, Country, Country, BLACK SABBATH'S WAR PIGS. He goes up and does it and it's hilarious. Some drunk dude in a Pink Floyd shirt yells at him for the rest of the night "YA MY WAR PIGS BROTHER!". Whahahahaha. A few minutes later, I found Nine Inch Nail's Closer. Oh man, that would have been great, but stupid Karoke man shut her down. **** you Karoke man, **** you. 4. Dream Alpha: Canada Is Wierd So I have this wierd dream this morning. This is the first one in a series of two. The first is a light hearted intro piece, before the second show, which degrades into insanity, which is awesome. Anyway apparently, I'm driving on of my male friends to Canaga on the back of some bastard Vespa. We get to Canmore, and it's all snowy and lame. There's a liquor store and donut shop. Boo to that. I get confused about Canada's strange triangle roadways and three lane system, so I ask a cop about it, who looks like that lady from Fargo and she has a nightstick and a donut and just points and goes "Eh?". So I get to Can Can's house and enter through his garage. Can Can has a ****ty garage man. All worn and weathered wood and dog chow and firewood. Actually, it's the garage of my old babysitter, but anyway. So Canny answers the door, and I hug him, and I get his hair in my mouth somehow and I say "Paul, you're shedding!" and he says "But I mailed you my beard!" and I say "Oh, yeah" and then I wake up. 5. Dream Omega: Hell On Earth Man I need a shower. Anyway. Cinema Mode Start! I am in the role of Resurrection Joe I'm in my real life house. There's some sort of zombie attack. As the tear in, I unload some sort of rediculous automatic weapon on them. Maybe a beatamagged Ar 15 variant. That devolves to a shotgun, which doesn't phase them very much. To pistols, to an older shotgun. They tear me up some. At least one of the zombies instantly turns friendly and explains things, and isn't pissed about being shot. My eyes go bad. I'm sitting in a dark bowling alley. Smoke is everywhere. It's black and white, or rather, a perverted whiskey sepia tone. Everything is either old, dusty, or cracked, mostly it's all three though. Time shifts. My face has been slashed from the inner top curve of my left eye socket, down the edge of my nose, through the upper left section of my lip, and down through the left side of my chin. The underlying fascia and tendon seems to be compromised as well. It hurts, but not too much. It's distorting my vision. I look in a cracked bathroom mirror. I can kind of pull my face together and see properly. I let go and it goes back to oddness. I spend the next hours replacing my eyeballs. I have to replace four, but I only have two. When I'm done I have burnt orange eyes and my glasses make an appearance for the first time. I go back to the bowling alley counter and the owners youngest daughter is trying to sew up my face as i hold it together, She's using shoe laces and a turkey stuffing needle, and it is working badly. When the camera pulls out, i have some kind of black waved thread hanging from the three stitches on my chin. There's no blood. I kind of get pissy and drink my bourbon and leave. There's a brief confused shot of me driving the U7701 1984 Caprice Sedan drunkenly. I end up in a dusty den/basement/warehouse. Some of my friends are there. The windows look into other sections of houses. Cieling beams run forever. One of my younger female friends tried to sew my face up, and is sad, or angry, I don't know. I end up sewing my face back together, and have two black eyes, and two extra eyeballs in my pocket. The girl arrives. She's with some bastard. I get angry. ****, I'm pissed off now.