3.5 readers, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our 45th POTUS has a rather high opinion of himself. Love him or hate him, that self-confidence has helped him win.
Perhaps it is easy for him to be that uber confident. He was born into great wealth and used it to make more…something most of us will never be able to do.
Then again, if he’d been born poor and only became say, a lowly insurance salesman, something tells me he’d be able to sell tons of insurance policies and make bank for himself.
So I don’t know. People tell me I should try to be confident but I feel like I don’t have much to back it up.
Do you think, for example, if a man who, to riff on Chris Farley, lived in a van down by the river, were to walk into a bar and speak confidently and highly of himself…do you think he’d be able to convince a hot babe to join him in his van down by the river?
Or, would he need something to back his confidence up? Perhaps if he had a mansion he could invite the hot babe to, then he’d have no problem.
Perhaps the greatest part of confidence is knowing that if the opportunity you’re chasing doesn’t work out, another will be around in 5 minutes.
Thus, if you haven’t gotten it on in years, you’re going to seem desperate to that hot babe at the bar. But if you get it regular, then you’ll have like a “Hey baby, take it or leave it” attitude that ironically, may very well intrigue said hot babe.
Personally, I think confidence isn’t a bluff but rather is a state of being obtained by being able to back up what you say and do. I don’t think Trump would say half the things he does if he didn’t know that he had mad cash to hire lawyers to protect him from lawsuits and if his business is adversely affected then he still has plenty of dough. Meanwhile, if you’re the manager of a shoe store like Al Bundy, you’re probably going to keep quiet as you need the last 5 bucks in your wallet for a pizza.
Sears got its milkshake drank. Will yours be next?
Ahh, Sears. Back in the day, no trip to the mall was complete without a trip to this anchor store and let me tell you, my Aunt Gertie used to get Sears catalogs in the mail all the time.
They were big ass tomes the size of 10 bibles that weighed at least 10 pounds and oh, as a kid I’d turn through the pages and dream. I want that toy, I want that toy, and oh my, why do these bra models give me a tingly feeling?
Jeez. I think I might have a few of those catalogs lying around. I wonder if they’re worth anything. I’d go fap to the bra models but I won’t out of respect, given that all those models are probably either dead or super old and in nursing homes now. Sigh. Oh time, you cruel bitch, you.
For the uninitiated, Mr. Sears, way back in the 1800s was the first businessman to realize that since there were parts of America that didn’t have any stores, he could make bank by sending out catalogs and taking orders for goods by mail. As the years went on, Sears stores became the pinnacle of every mall and as credit cards came into style, they dominated the catalog sales market. Shit, Aunt Gertie ordered all my clothes as a kid from Sears. You think that was why I was so unpopular? Oh well. Water under the bridge.
So, I guess I don’t get it. The Internet came into great popularity in the 1990s and Jeff Bezos, blessed be his most revered name (and I’m not just saying that because he has the power to snuff out my self-publishing dreams) saw the potential of the Internet to sell stuff.
Wal-Mart saw the potential too and though I don’t believe it has reached Amazon lengths, it does a brisk online sales business.
JC Penney, Sears’ longtime rival in the box store/catalog game has kept afloat by doing online sales as well.
So, to repeat, I don’t get it. Sears basically invented the whole concept of taking pictures of products, organizing them into catalogs and giving them descriptions, product numbers, listing the prices, making it easy for people to call on the phone, read off the products they wanted to an operator who took their order, credit card number and address and they even mastered how to complete orders through the mail.
Why didn’t anyone at Sears have the vision, the foresight to say, “Hey, I think this Internet thing is here to stay and we should take our catalog…and hold on…think about it here…put it online!”
Now, I don’t know. I believe they did. To what extent I couldn’t tell you. Perhaps it wasn’t so much the lack of putting it online so much as getting you anything you want the way Amazon can. I mean, there are so many times when I think something like, “I would like a can of farts excreted by an East Peruvian Water Buffalo in July” and then go to Amazon and do a search and get, “Here are twenty choices for farts excreted by East Peruvian Water Buffalos in July.”
I don’t know. I’m not sure what Sears’ downfall was. Either they didn’t get into online sales early enough, or maybe they didn’t make online shopping as cool as Amazon did. Maybe they didn’t think of nifty little ways to grab your cash the way Amazon does. Shit, Amazon thinks of new ways to get your money all the time. You can get a little button to stick in your kitchen and push it when you’re out of toilet paper, chips, insert household staple here and they will put it on your tab and send it to you. You can get Alexa and say, “Hey Alexa order me a can of East Peruvian Water Buffalo Farts” and she’ll order it for you. Maybe it was that. Maybe Sears just didn’t think of enough ways to be cool.
I know Blockbuster could have gotten into the streaming game earlier and could still be around in an online form today. Borders could have embraced e-books earlier and still be in the fight today.
So, let’s apply this to you (because I never apply good lessons to me, I just continue to do the same dumb things and let them blow up in my face over and over again and never learn anything like Wile E. Coyote.)
What is something that you could begin doing today that will be hard, will require hard work and sacrifice, will unlikely yield results in the short term, but in 5 years, you’ll be glad you did it?
I bet the people in charge of Sears wish that 5 years ago, they might have made their website cooler. Maybe they might have gotten more exclusive product deals available only on their site. Maybe they could have come up with a little robot that sits on your desk and speaks in a British accent, like your robot butler who says, “Pip, pip, cheerio, you want me to order you some more raisin bran, fuck face?” I don’t know. All I know is they didn’t do it, and now much like in that film, There Will Be Blood, Bezos is drinking Sears’ milkshake. “I drink your milkshake! I drink it up!!”
Back to the point. Maybe you’re a fat fuck. Maybe in five years you’d like to be a skinny fuck so you can run, jump, hop, skip, do fun activities and if you’re looking good you might just score yourself some bomb ass pussy (or ladies, you might acquire some bomb ass peen.)
Maybe you’re having financial woes. Maybe if you start a plan of cutting spending and perhaps get a little side gig or a part time job, you’ll get those debts tackled in five years.
Shit. Take some piano lessons today and maybe you’ll be tickling the ivories in a concert hall in five years.
Hell, I spent the last two years writing a book about an alligator that eats people on the toilet. I hope to have it self-published next year. When I’m swimming in mad cash and bomb ass pussy thanks to all the fame and fortune I get when this book about a toilet gator goes gangbusters, I’ll be glad I put the time in on this fine book. I’ll be laughing at the other me in the alternate time line who will be a fucking loser because instead of writing a book about a toilet gator he did some weak ass shit like working extra hard on his cardio or volunteering to read to impoverished blind children or building hospitals in Ecuador or some shit.
Anyway, 3.5 readers. The takeaway? Right now, I know there is something you have wanted to happen for a long time. You never did it, but you know in your heart if you put the work in, you’ll have it in five years. Do you want to be like Sears? Do you want to be the hollow shell, the desolate remains of a once thriving business that was the brain child of a wise 1800’s business tycoon? Or, do you want to be like Supreme Overlord Bezos, violating the spent carcass of yet another fallen, wasted competitor over and over again?
If you don’t identify what you want and start acting on it today, then I guarantee you in five years, someone else will be getting it. You’ll still be fat and some other skinny person will be partying with the bomb ass pussy or peen, whatever your preference. Someone else will be playing the piano you were going to play. Someone else will be enjoying a debt free life while you’ll be giving handjobs in bus station bathrooms just to pay off the minimum payment on your credit cards. (You’ll be giving handjobs forever at that rate!)
The next five years will go by fast…in the blink of an eye. You can drink some other schmuck’s milkshake, or you can get yours drunk up. What’s it going to be?
(Note. Let’s all return to this post in five years and trade notes on how this all worked out.)
ADDITIONAL NOTE: It dawns on me that not all 3.5 of you have seen There Will Be Blood and I don’t advise it, because once you see a man get beaten to death with a bowling pin by a man enjoying a brownie, you can’t unsee that shit. Long story short, “I drink your milkshake!” comes from this scene where Daniel Day Lewis plays an oil baron who is bragging to a preacher about how he screwed him over in an oil deal.
So, to really motivate yourself, you need to a) picture what you want and then b) work on getting it for fear that in five years, if you don’t get what you want, Daniel Day Lewis will get what you wanted because he worked for it harder and he will ridicule you by laughing at you, telling you he got what you wanted because you’re a weak, pathetic loser and he was really strong and cunning and then he will beat the shit out of you with a bowling pin and eat a brownie.
If that doesn’t make you work hard on your goals then I don’t know what will.
IF I HAD HEARD ABOUT PETE DAVIDSON AND ARIANA GRANDE WHEN I WAS 20:
“Aw, awesome, Pete! Ariana is so hot man, and she’s famous and rich and whoa man that’s so cool, dawg, good for you, bro. Man, you’re gonna be chillin in the best hotels, riding in the fanciest cars, doing all kinds of stuff, your life is gonna be awesome, bro.
BUT I HEARD ABOUT PETE DAVIDSON AND ARIANA GRANDE AS I APPROACH 40:
“Jesus Christ, Pete. Are you sure about this? God, she seems like she’s going to be a lot of work. Yeah, no, I know she’s hot and rich and famous but holy shit, the amount of work you’re going to have to do to keep her happy and then there’s no telling if even then she’ll be happy. Dude, she’s rich. Famous. Hot. She has so many options dude and you know there’s going to be like 10,000 other dudes sniffing around that and she’s going to be all like, ‘Don’t be so possessive, they’re just my friends’ even though you know they’re all going to wanting to be hitting that and you totally know if you ever even look at another chick she’s going to be all up in your grill. I don’t know, dawg. It just seems like a lot of work to me. You’ve got to me on your A game forever. Forever, dawg. Seriously, have you considered as less hot chick? You know I saw this chubby girl with a lazy eye at the Burger King who would totally rock your world, bro and her last boyfriend was a meth head so like, SNL cast member is totally a step up for her, bro. She’d be totes grateful.”
You know, 3.5 readers, what passes as journalism these days is abysmal.
I don’t really want to debate the Kavanaugh situation with you 3.5 readers. Either you realize it was a bag job or you’re too dumb to realize it was a bag job or…oops. Yeesh. Thank God only 3.5 readers read this blog. Anyway, moving on…
I’ve seen so many dumb columns written by women who talk about their own rage and anger over Kavanaugh and how that somehow applies to the men in their lives and I realize I’m expected to weep for these women but I feel like becoming a male Harriet Tubman – freeing these poor men who have to undergo getting kicked in the proverbial nuts in a shoddy piece of writing so their significant others can have their 15 minutes of fame.
Anyway, here’s what Victoria Bissell Brown, an honest to God history professor wrote, along with my pithy commentary.
BROWN: I yelled at my husband last night. Not pick-up-your-socks yell. Not how-could-you-ignore-that-red-light yell. This was real yelling. This was 30 minutes of from-the-gut yelling. Triggered by a small, thoughtless, dismissive, annoyed, patronizing comment. Really small. A micro-wave that triggered a hurricane. I blew. Hard and fast. And it terrified me. I’m still terrified by what I felt and what I said. I am almost 70 years old.
BQB: Hey husband of this lady. On the off chance that you’re one of my 3.5 readers, please, for the love of god, get up and go! You’re 70, man. You’ve put 50 years in with this lady only to get yelled at as some sort of stand in for a frigging judge she doesn’t like. Sir, you have done your time. Now please, go to one of those brothels outside of Vegas and score some primo strange before you die.
Seriously, man. You’re old. You could croak any time. Don’t let your last experience with a woman be getting yelled at because you are expected at 70 years of age to dawn a superhero cape and literally apprehend all rapists before they even commit rape. Yes, you must also be psychic and predict when rapists are about to rape and then stop them. It is not enough that you, yourself, have lived a good life and been a good husband and handled yourself in a moral manner.
BROWN: I am a grandmother. Yet in that roiling moment, screaming at my husband as if he represented every clueless male on the planet (and I every angry woman of 2018), I announced that I hate all men and wish all men were dead. If one of my grandchildren yelled something that ridiculous, I’d have to stifle a laugh.
BQB: Honestly, lady, I talked to my fellow men and we all admitted that women have gotten us to the point where we all wish we were dead too. Please, by all means, keep yelling us into early graves so we don’t have to be blamed for things we didn’t do anymore.
BROWN: My husband of 50 years did not have to stifle a laugh. He took it dead seriously. He did not defend his remark, he did not defend men. He sat, hunched and hurt, and he listened. For a moment, it occurred to me to be grateful that I’m married to a man who will listen to a woman. The winds calmed ever so slightly in that moment. And then the storm surge welled up in me as I realized the pathetic impotence of nice men’s plan to rebuild the wreckage by listening to women.
BQB: How did she know nice, non-raping men had a plan to defeat rape by listening to women?
It’s true. I’ve been to the man conventions and the man outdoor camping retreats where we sit around the campfire. There, we roast marshmallows and say things like, “Hey fellas, just so we’re all on the same page, we’re against rape, right?” And then the men would talk and then we’d be like, “Yeah, and when our wives want to yell at us as stand ins for judges they don’t like we should totally sit there and take it because to try to explain that we are not the judge they dislike seems like it would require a lot of effort.”
BROWN: I said the meanest thing I’ve ever said to him: Don’t you dare sit there and sympathetically promise to change. Don’t say you will stop yourself before you blurt out some impatient, annoyed, controlling remark. No, I said, you can’t change. You are unable to change. You don’t have the skills and you won’t do it. You, I said, are one of the good men. You respect women, you believe in women, you like women, you don’t hit women or rape women or in any way abuse women. You have applauded and funded feminism for a half-century. You are one of the good men. And you cannot change. You can listen all you want, but that will not create one iota of change.
BQB: Dude. Seriously, husband, if you’re reading this, get the next flight to Vegas because it sounds like the only thing that will make your missus happy will be your balls in a mason jar.
BROWN: In the centuries of feminist movements that have washed up and away, good men have not once organized their own mass movement to change themselves and their sons or to attack the mean-spirited, teasing, punching thing that passes for male culture. Not once. Bastards. Don’t listen to me. Listen to each other. Talk to each other. Earn your power for once.
BQB: That’s pretty sexist, lady. I’ll have you know my men’s club meets every Tuesday for a brunch of scones with lavender butter while we read feminist slam poetry and talk about how we all wish we could grow our own vaginas.
BROWN: Pay attention people: If we do not raise boys to walk humbly and care deeply, if we do not demand that men do more than just listen, we will all drown in the flood. And there is no patriarchal Noah to save us.
BQB: Is it me or did she just simultaneously diss the patriarchy and then also demand that the patriarchy do something?
She ends on that note. Honestly, I have no idea what she was trying to say other than husbands who are kind and decent and loving to their wives and cater to all their needs and whims aren’t doing enough and somehow they must stop bad men from becoming rapists and somehow when men goof on each other and slap each other in the ass with towels and engage in bro speak and drink beers and do manly things this is somehow causing men to become rapists.
Is it me or if a man were to write a column about some famous woman who was alleged to have done something wrong and he wrote that he yelled at his wife for 30 minutes as a stand in for what the famous woman had been done, he’d probably have to lock himself in a cage to protect himself from all the angry protesters, am I right?
I have no idea what this column was trying to say other than apparently it isn’t enough for men to be good men themselves and somehow they must be in charge of all men and all I know is that I do my part as I hold weekly tea parties where I invite all the men I know to eat peppermint cookies and hold hands and sing songs about how we will be nice and share all our feelings and emotions because women love it when men tell their feelings and get emotional.
Never before has a college degree been more expensive in history.
Never before has a college degree been less relevant in history.
You still need one to get into a variety of fields, but honestly, when I add up the cost of my education, I kind of wish that when I turned 18, I’d just gotten an electrician or plumber license and borrowed some money to buy a truck.
I’d be totes loaded now.
Anyway, when I hear courses like “Mating Habits of East Himalayan Tree Flies in 1030 A.D. I want to puke, because such drivel does not help one get a job.
Now, I do understand that colleges and universities are repositories of knowledge. Thus, I don’t want to tell colleges to ban philosophy or gender studies or any number of majors that aren’t likely going to lead you to move off of mom and dad’s couch anytime soon.
But I feel like everyday I hear about a new, silly course. And kids take them because they’re young and dumb and just want to party. And parents pay for it because they assume the kid and the college knows what they are doing.
I just think a lot of these silly courses should be more like extracurricular discussion groups. You want to learn about ancient monk poetry? Start a group and read ancient monk poetry together till your heart’s content.
Just don’t dupe kids into taking that shit. Don’t dupe parents into paying that shit. Don’t dupe kids into taking out loans for that shit.
Again, I don’t really want to say that unlikely to be profitable majors should be banned. I do, however, think there should be more discussions with students early on about what they are going to do for work after college.
And, just going to throw it out there. Jobs are fairly scarce so to graduate quicker doesn’t mean you’re likely to get to a job quicker. Thus, maybe more colleges should go for the 5 year model where you study for two years, work in an entry level job or internship in your field for a year, then study for another two years.
That’s the way I feel as I watch the news or gasp, even worse, read social media.
I know everyone enjoys the 5 minutes of fame that can come with being able to carry around a pocket sized broadcasting studio in their hand, but let’s exercise it responsibly, people.
Please, everyone just stop being stupid and start aspiring to be as wise and intelligent and smart as me, BQB. Thank you.
I was a comedy nerd even when I was a kid and it was fun to see Jim’s unlikely success in the 1990s, an underdog story come to life.
In the pre-Internet days, your shot at becoming a major comedic actor was either get a gig on SNL or forget it. Jim was turned down for SNL but managed to get on Fox’s In Living Color. Fans of the show knew him as the white guy on In Living Color for a few years until he had a bunch of big movie roles right in a row – Ace Ventura, Pet Detective, The Mask, Batman (as the Riddler), Dumb and Dumber, the Truman Show.
Prior to all that, he grew up living poor in a van. So it was cool to see him make it. Made it seem like anyone can make it.
But sometimes it makes me sad when celebs do politics. He was on the Bill Maher show recently. I guess he has these strong opinions and he has a right to them, but here’s how I feel when I hear them:
JIM: We need to stop being afraid of the word, “socialism” we need to embrace it.
ME: Others who embraced the word socialism = the former Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR) and the National Socialist Party of Germany (Nazis.) More recently, it’s led to Venezuelans hunting zoo animals for zebra meat, but sure, let’s give it another try!
JIM: We need to embrace socialism.
ME: You first, buddy. Take your millions you made from talking out of your butt as Ace and cut a check to any one of many charities that help the poor. How many poor kids could you send to college if you cash out your savings? And do you need that big mansion? How many poor people can you take in? How many refugees can we put you down for?
JIM: We need to embrace socialism.
ME: Hey, you know what socialist countries aren’t known for? Paying millions of dollars to a man so he can talk through his butt cheeks in Ace Ventura. In America, someone says, “Hey we can sell movies of a guy talking out of his butt!” In a socialist country, there is no job for a butt talker. You just get to dig ditches for 12 hours and then wait in the toilet paper line for another 12 hours. But hey you could entertain everyone else in line with your zany comedy, until you offend one of the commisars and get hauled off to the gulag because free speech? Not really approved of in socialism.
ME AGAIN: I get it. People worry about the poor. It’s a good thing to do. Not knocking it. And he’s right when he says that if you get sick, you shouldn’t lose your house. And he was very poor once so he knows a thing or two about poverty…this isn’t the way though. Socialism has never worked anywhere it has tried and it just depresses me that people still think it will work. It’s like being that gambler who has been losing all night who by morning has liquidated the kids’ college fund, his 401k and sold his house but is still like “One more lucky roll!”
So I don’t know. That’s it. Jimbo has been driving me crazy lately. Socialism is the “23” of economic systems. The studios wouldn’t let Jim do another 23, but they’d let him do a thousand more sequels to Dumb and Dumber. Stick with the hits. Stick with what works. Stick with capitalism. Stop trying to do the same thing that’s failed a hundred times and see if it works again.
Maybe this is just what celebs do as they get older, hoping to stay relevant. Alysa Milano is on that bandwagon too. I spent most of the 1990s either laughing at Jim Carrey or rubbing one out to Alysa Milano and now they want to turn America into a socialist craphole. Very sad. Very depressing.
It’s hard to believe this was so long ago. Two, two term presidents have come and gone and a third has been elected already.
I’m not sure the young’uns out there really get it. We older people look at history as pre and post 9/11. Sometimes I watch old movies or just even think about the 1990s and think wow, what a happy go lucky time.
I was a tail end Gen X er. I remember the big complaint of the older people at the time was that everything was too good and there were no wars to contend with so we had all gotten too soft…and the alternate rock of the day reflected that – i.e. we’re so depressed our generation doesn’t have any meaning unlike our parents who had Vietnam and our grandparents who had WWII.
And then 9/11 happened and I think looking back, it was silly that everyone thought that times being good was a bad thing. Because now it looks like we’ll never see a peace time again, at least not in our lifetimes.
It was the beginning of a lot of this political division. Reps and Dems came together in the aftermath, but in the years thereafter, they really disagreed on the war of terror and that led to disagreements elsewhere.
And I do think it had longterm bad effects on the economy. Economic wise, the 1990s were pretty good. Papa Bush showed off America’s muscle in a quick, get in get out Iraq War and then thereafter, the 1990s were mostly peaceful.
Imagine the economy today if we’d just had 30 years of peace?
Oh well. I remember when it happened. I was fresh out of college, sad my life didnt seem to be working out as planned and then, in retrospect, selfishly I said well, now it really won’t get better and it didn’t.
OK yes I know. I just made 9/11 about me. That wasn’t my intent. Who knows what to say? It sucked.
Unless you’re old like me, you probably don’t even know who he is.
And honestly, even if you’re my age, you probably didn’t know his name. All these years, I just knew him as “The Guy Who Played Dr. Huxtable’s Son-in-Law” on The Cosby Show.
Recently, Owens was spotted working at a Trader Joe’s in New Jersey. A photo was snapped of him with a gray beard and a Trader Joe’s name tag and cue the media nonsense that he’s a loser because he once appeared on a TV show and now he’s bagging groceries.
My first reaction is this sucks. What’s that old saying? “The best laid plans of mice and men…”
In other words, you pursue your dreams, but you also have to take what life gives you. Sometimes that’s a role on a popular TV show you’re young. Sometimes that’s ringing up produce when you’re older.
Look at what often happens to young celebrities. They’re on a hit TV show when they are young. Then that show ends and they assume they’ve made it. The roles will come in, the money will come in but then, boom, for whatever reason, nothing.
Often, all this means is that people loved that person in this one role, but another good role was never found. These young celebs often end up turning to drugs and alcohol. The idea of finding a straight job ends up feeling like something to be ashamed of. Worse, if you’re still hoping for more acting work, rumors that you’re working a menial job probably don’t help.
So it sounds like one big crazy cycle of crap.
I can’t think of their names, but the actors who played Chunk on the Goonies and Paul on the Wonder Years strike me as good examples of young actors who knew when to hold em and knew when to fold em. Both got out of acting and became lawyers. Both understood that success in one role didn’t mean a ticket to stardom. Both found something else to do.
In short, there was nothing wrong with Owens bagging groceries. Really, what’s wrong with it?
Just talking about all actors in general, if you find that acting work isn’t coming your way, why not get a regular job? Maybe you saved a lot of money from your acting days. So what? Get a job at a supermarket because, dude, seriously, what else are you going to do? Sit on the couch?
Maybe you didn’t save your money, maybe you didn’t make as much as the public thinks you did, or maybe you were very responsible and careful with your money but dude, come on, money made decades ago won’t last forever….whatever. Who cares? If you’ve got the time and the acting gods aren’t being kind, then there’s nothing wrong with doing something else.
I guess what I’m saying is be nice to celebrities who get day jobs. If you go through the drive-thru one day and spot an actor from a TV show you liked years ago, just smile and move on.
And hell, the economy isn’t what it used to be. There just aren’t enough resources for everyone’s dreams and goals to pan out. That guy who went to law school and is now bringing you your pancakes doesn’t need your disdain. That dude who was a multimillionaire stock broker and is now cleaning your toilet doesn’t need your scoffery.
People have to make livings. People have to keep their time occupied with productive work. High levels of success aren’t always sustainable so don’t give people crap for doing what they have to do to keep bills paid.
Really, the only time you’ve lost is if you’re capable of doing work and yet you lay down, give up, crack open the bottle, and let all the naysayers keep you down.
And the good news is that Owens got a part in a Tyler Perry TV show though, I mean, just throwing it out there, it is a Tyler Perry TV show so, not gonna lie, a career at Trader Joe’s probably has longer lasting prospects.
Zing! Sorry. Can’t help myself. No wonder this blog only has 3.5 readers.
I had the weirdest dream last night. It was weird both in content and also how the brain can make up these weird stories. I don’t understand how the brain is basically able to write, cast and produce a movie in your head that it plays inside your brain while you are sleeping.
So here’s the dream. There was a woman in my neighborhood, she was never given a name, but my brain cast Australian rapper Iggy Azalea to play her in my mind. Keep in mind this wasn’t Iggy playing herself as a cameo or anything. It was just a nameless woman.
There is a party at my house. Why? I don’t know. In reality, I’ve never had enough people who like me enough to all congregate at my house at one time for the purpose of enjoying my company. Hell, I don’t even want to enjoy my company.
By the way, none of the people at the party I recognized. My brain just filled the background with randos.
At the party, the woman played by Iggy cries. She explains she is under a lot of pressure because her husband has gone missing and the media is doing sensational stories that imply that she whacked him. The TV is on and talking about how she probably did him in. Weirdly, the brain fills in gaps…like I can’t remember what the TV said or who on the TV said it, just a general sense that the woman was being accused on TV.
I go to the kitchen and the woman follows me. She asks if she can see my bed. Sigh. Even in my dreams I have zero confidence and so I assume that a woman asking to see my bed has an ulterior motive.
I tell her no but the woman starts crying and gets upset. She tells me she really wants to see my bed. I keep saying no.
At this point, I’m not sure if my brain is a hack writer, but either everyone at the party has left or they just disappear. The woman is getting upset. She really wants to see my bed.
Perplexed, I go to my bed. She does not come with me. What could she have wanted to see?
I look around the surface of the bed. Nothing.
I look around the room. Nothing.
I lift up the bed. Her husband’s dead body is wrapped up in a sheet under my bed!
I confront the woman and ask her if she killed her husband and put his body under my bed. She says no. I don’t believe her. I am scared of her now. I tell her I’m calling 911 and she asks me not to. I grab a frying pan and somehow I am able to keep her at bay with it. I just hold the frying pan at arm’s length and this keeps her from coming near me.
I tell the 911 operator the whole story, how my neighbor is a woman accused on TV of killing her husband and that she kept asking to see my bed and so I went to the bed and found her dead husband underneath. As I do so, the woman keeps asking me to stop talking to 911 because she didn’t do it.
The police come and take the body away. For the rest of the dream, I start defending myself on a TV news show, I never see the host, just myself on the screen, and apparently my brain has made an assumption that people are accusing me of helping the wife hide the body.
The host asks me didn’t I ever smell the body and I say no I never did. This is probably again my brain being a hack writer.
The host asks why do I think people are accusing me of being in on it and I tell the host well, I’m a really ugly looking person and so people automatically assume that ugly people are bad, but I wasn’t in on the husband murder or the cover up and honestly, if I was, why would I have called the police to tell them about the body under my bed?
Sigh. Even in my dream I’m aware how ugly I am and the biases people have against me as an ugly person.
At that point I wake up and that’s the end of the dream. My brain did leave some plot holes, but still, it’s crazy how in a dream, the mind can come up with an elaborate story. What was the point of all that? Why did my brain make that story happen? What series of brain cells start firing to make this little inner brain movie happen?
Also, why couldn’t it have been a happier dream? Why couldn’t the woman played by Iggy Azalea have just come over to bang me and live happily ever after? Why did there have to be a dead husband? Why did I have to be falsely accused?
Clearly, my brain knows my life is shit. Ergo, if my brain puts a hot chick at my party, she can only be there as part of an elaborate rouse to frame me for murder and not just because like she wants my junk. My unconscious brain is literally able to do the calculations in my sleep necessary to conclude that the woman would never be there just to like me and shit.
Oh brain. What little esteem you hold me in.
Feel free to discuss what you think my brain was trying to tell me in the comments.
Bookshelf Battle 