THIS ENTRY RATED PG13: FOR ADULT LANGUAGE AND REFERENCES TO CAT ASSES

I love my dreams. They’re like previews to movies I mean to see. * Last night I dreamt I was selling caramel rolls from the belly of a dusty red room. The next thing I knew, I was falling out of the sky towards the Hancock building and as I tumbled to meet the lights of Chicago, I was at peace. When I woke up, I thought a little more about caramel rolls. How they are made? How do they get so swirly and so mashed together? Are they cut from caramel roll tubes? Are they sticky before they go in the oven or just when they come out? This went on for about fifteen minutes and then the cat came in and sat on my head.

* Wouldn’t it be wild if I could go to the corner video shop and rent one of my dreams? Although, suppose it were a steamy dream. Then I would have to go behind the green polyester curtain into the adult video room. Perhaps they would be filed in the foreign film section instead. I’d like to think my erotic dreams are more tasteful and don’t belong next to the likes of “Girls of Wal-Mart.”

This Tahiti 80 song says get up and shake it.
And I gots to do what the music says.