> Oh, I almost forgot.
>
> Women and/or alcohol.
You know, I had a really weird dream last night. It seems I was standing in the parking lot behind the music shop I go to, and I was wearing what a group of gang members (Latin Kings) felt were
their colors. This is odd, because the music shop is in a good area, and most of the gangs around where I live are barely active, Bush League versions of the inner city deal, and I don't have too much experience with street gangs. But still, I was cornered by seven angry Kings. I muttered apologies, especially when they started kicking the shit out of me. They backed off after I took off the shirt containing their colors, and promised not to wear it again, and then I went to the music shop, which was for some reason this movie theater that was playing some movie I can't remember.
Then this chick next to me started massaging my cock through my pants, and suddenly it was like a combination of a movie theater and a punk rock show. The chick next to me had pink hair and she soon stopped rubbing my cock and went on to someone else's, and suddenly the band was some Blink 182 sound-alike...this is odd, because I usually don't go to punk rock or emo shows, especially ones in the suburbs. Anyways there were like all these trying-too-hard punks flying off the walls of the theater, stage-diving, moshing, some of them looked like they were 14-years-old. The band played in the center of the aisle, and I just decided to get out of there.
So I pick up the shirt I'd taken off, and absent mindedly put it back on, and then all of a sudden I hear this voice sounding like that Peoples dude in the Shaft remake say "What the fuck? What did we just tell you about those fucking colors?" and I suddenly went "Oops!". Again, I was being confronted by a group of irate Kings with weapons out, and a thousand variations on the basic idea of "Oh FUCK!" raced through my mind. So I made a deal with them: if I burn this shirt in my left hand wiith the lighter in my right hand, right now, would they not cause me any bodily harm? They agreed, as I lit the shirt on fire. It burned down into a used condom.
I went home, only to discover the one King in my house. He was short, about 16, and was by himself, at least at first. I asked of him what the fuck he thought he was doing in my house. He seemed intimidated, and I started criticizing him for being too intimidated to do anything when he didn't have 6 people to kick my ass for him. Suddenly, he was surrounding by his family, childhood friends, who seemed to be coming out of every room in my house and I basically exploded: "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!" I yelled at them, and they all started scurrying out. The one King lagged behind, and I went outside to bitch at him.
I asked him why he'd joined the Kings, and he told me about how poor he was and started talking about his people and how they'd carve a new country out of the South-West and reclaim it for Chicanos as Aztlan. Then I was walking through a parking lot near my house, shrugged and went home, and then I woke up.
Now, the thing about Internet message boards is that you can't see the guy typing. What if you aren't Mr. Saturn. What if the Infamous JadussD Whose Posts Get Linked To on IRC Once in a While, is not indeed JadussD, but an amalgamation of the collective nightmares of a group of disaffected nihilists, seeking to destroy all that is right in the world, set all traffic lights in the city to green, create burglar alarms that never go off unless there is a burglary, in which case they explode, leaving burglar and person damaged, usually beyond repair. Wheels will be stolen from wheel-chairs, those wearing fashionable clothing will be ridiculed, rape will become punishable by citation, and speeding punishable by death. Internet smileys will be replaced with variations on the goatse.cx pic, the shape of the asshole determining the emotion. Police will be sent to arrest those who haven't filled their Crime Quota, welfare-checks will be given to the upper 2%, left-handed people will be issued right-handed guitars, and schools will flunk students who with GPAs above 1.2.
Pretension will be honored to the greatest extent possible. Words will become jumbled, meaningless, contradictory. Immature 20-year-olds who just read Naked Lunch will be lifted from directionless existences by universities who publish their ramblings on Message Boards, hailed as a medium with far more potential than any medium in the past. It shall be grand!
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