12.01.2004

Surreal.

Here's a dream whose incongruous parts I can easily interpret and find their real-life origins:
Married life had made money kind of tight, and (due to a degree in writing) the only part-time job I could get was at the world's worst knock-off store in the mall.
Juicers, as it was called, sold only off-brand Jones Soda in the most revolting flavors imaginable (I think I tried Watermelon Pizza). The stuff was so bad it actually gave you skin cancer, which was why the store also operated a mole removal service in the back.
(I had originally gotten the job to support an increasingly draining comic book habit, I believe.)
I met some nice customers during my stay, as I gave them nitrous and local anesthesia. As the owner burned the moles off we chatted about friends and family, small talk really. There was one old lady with a hairy chest and no nipples that claimed one mole in particular gave her trouble because it caught in her chain mail.
Also in the back, the owner had some kind of sweatshop java scripting operation wherein high school students were forced to constantly update his website. I generally didn't care if I caught them downloading mp3's instead, as the job really sucked.
Anyway, for some reason Autumn and I had to flee the country by sneaking aboard a train. I had opened a large triangular crate for her to hide in and had tucked myself under a box car, but she got caught anyway. To entertain the angry crew and their Large-Marge-esque conductor, I threw a red ball in the air, and, as they watched it fall, stole all their wallets. Surprisingly this worked, and the lady conductor promised me passage if I would let her listen to "Highway to Hell" during the trip. Autumn, however, was still out of luck.
When I tried again to sneak her aboard they cast us down into a pit filled with red oatmeal, human corpses and live chickens. At this point I could fly and Autumn got away. As I was attempting to flee, however (being only able to fly about 3 feet off the ground) all the bodies turned out to be zombies craving not flesh, but human affection. One dead and decomposing cheerleader attempted to hug me, but I dodged and flew off, leaving her to shriek "Great, now I have "Bad manners disease!"
Seriously.
Then I woke up.

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