Doo doo doo, lookin’ out my back door

Just got home from Illinois, locked the front door – oh boy! Got to sit down, take a rest on the porch.

Sometimes it’s like that. It’s like I’m sitting back and wondering and looking and then I think that maybe that Catholic freak thought I went too far. He DOES have a picture of the motherfucking Pope in his cubicle, after all, and me the irreverent atheist (with a small “a”). But I had a good laugh nonetheless. I mean, a framed picture of the POPE in your cubicle at WORK? Shit, time to reassess your life, buddy.

But he knows I’d whoop his ass in a debate. Because I’m sure I know more about his bible than he does.

Isn’t that the case with most of the religious wingnuts?

But I digress. I’m here to talk up more important things.

Like, for example, that thing. That dream. That one I had last night when I woke up at 3:30 am. There’s a survey on the Intel intranet about what you do to get back to sleep if you wake up at 3am. You see, the thing I hate about surveys is that the perpetrators always, no matter how much they try not to, focus the answers through the lens of their vision of the world. They fashion answers that you wouldn’t choose, normally, if you were honest, so you choose the most benign answer. Yes, it skews the results, but so it goes.

So if I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep? A good jerk will always make me nod back off to la la land. No, that wasn’t a choice. Probably out of the necessity of “oh my fucking god I better not do or say anything to piss anyone off so I’ll be as white bread as possible” that the fuckwit submitter thought. Then again, I take that back, no, he/she didn’t think that, he didn’t think of anything “dirty” (air quotes, please) at all, except for a passing fancy, as he fantasized about the coworker that’s at least 10 rungs higher on the relationship ladder than his greasy ass’ll ever be. Or maybe he simply shoved a thumb up his ass or caressed his nuts one last time before he, himself, tossed off into the crapper.

And the inanity of the survey questions continues to astound me. For example, there was a question about your computer skills. From “1001001001001001” to “I had to call for help answering this survey.” Hardy fucking har har. Yeah, that’s not even funny. I answered 1001001001001001, but the submitter of the survey couldn’t even be bothered to come up with an ASCII string that actually converted into something. I mean, you could have AT LEAST done 10 seconds worth of math or Google searching to have ASCII that spelled out “I am cool” or something. But no, no, you couldn’t do that, you had to be a total skid mark, didn’t you? Yeah.

(01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101111 01101100) Ah ha ha ha. Ha ha ha. HA HA HA HA HA! HAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

But I forgot that I was talking about the dream. Sorry for the digression. Actually, it’s because at 3am I *did* remember the dream. I did remember that it was a cool dream. I remembered that I should commit it to memory and write about it, and I remembered that it was long and complex and had a series of interrelations of which I would have to spend several paragraphs expounding upon in order for you, gentle reader, to see my vision.

Alas, it is not to be. I fucking forgot it during the course of the day. What a shit-for-brains! And, worse, all I remember is that, at least at 3am, it was a really awesome dream. It wasn’t a sex dream, because I never have those (well, I sometimes have dreams involving lingerie, but it never, ever progresses into sex. I just usually observe people doing things. Like this one dream where I watched Tea Leoni standing in her panties and a tank top, ironing a pair of panties. Her back was to me and it was sort of a twilight darkness in the room. A half-drunk cup of coffee was on the table. I seriously have no idea why ANYONE would iron panties, never mind WATCH someone ironing panties, but I tells it the way it is). And it wasn’t a chase dream, or an alien dream, or a dream where I’m struggling between lucidity and waking up all the way. I have vague images of me sitting at a desk, resting from something intense, but I can’t for the life of me remember what.

Damn that book about consciousness! Now I’m tantalizingly close to realizing lucidity and it taunts me! TAUNTS ME! But I can’t get frustrated or it’ll never come to pass. Do, or do not.

I went back to sleep quickly because that’s what I generally do. I don’t have to *DO* anything to make myself fall back asleep. Though I’m certainly not opposed to the aforementioned dolphin wax.

Check this out:

Picture 31 is cool because it’s NH. Picture 33 has some dork begging to be captioned, “I can haz beer and boobies?” In fact, the entire series would be great as a Fark “Photoshop this” thread. (for the uninitiated:

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