...And the Bed Bugs

Dreams. Everyone has them. Some people don’t like to have them because they fear death by a burned, knife fingered man. I don’t happen to live on Elm Street, so I’m able to dream freely. More recently I’ve been having some pretty messed up dreams. It could be the fact that I’ve been drinking quite a bit recently, but I don’t want to hide behind that excuse. Anyways here’s a dream that I had last night that carried into today.
Jeric, PRIVATE DECTIVE.
So this dream involved Erin from the fire house. She was trying to become a ring announcer for the world wrestling federation and someone was trying to kill her before she could sign the contract and make history. She hired me to find out who might be behind the nefarious plot. For most of the dream I was tumbling around, just sort of rolling about trying to get cover, even when it wasn’t necessary. We were driving around in her car, which for some reason was a blue Toyota from like 1987 so it wasn’t remotely stylish. We rode around town basically going down any alley we could find. I would always dive out of the car and tumble into wall, gun drawn. But we were unable to find any leads. We stopped at her dry cleaners to pick up the suit she was going to wear. It was black and sequined; it was pretty sweet, yet ridiculous at the same time.

She pulled into a gas station and started to pump gas. I looked into the rear view mirror to see the coat hanger pull out of dry cleaning bag. I leapt into the backseat and started to use my karate skills on the hanger, which was an advanced robot that was going to try to kill Erin. I eventually won the mortal battle with the coat hanger and snapped it in half, but I electrocuted myself and passed out.
I think I woke up at this point because when I got back into the story I was now driving a Tan/gold H2 hummer through rush hour traffic chasing behind the shitty blue Toyota and frantically looking into the mirror behind me to see the 3 black SVU’s chasing behind us. In the seat next to me was a massive Samoan dude, who had a long black beard that was intricately braided. In the rear of the H2 were 3 girls covered in yellow slime, like they had just escaped from nickelodeon studios. They were screaming and crying. “Hang on!” I yell and I climb out the window and on to the roof of the Hummer. I tumble to the back of the truck, and with my gun drawn; I fire six quick shots into the first SUV. The vehicle loses control and spins out taking out another SUV with it, only leaving one left hot in pursuit.
The hummer starts to spin out as well and I start to make my way back to the wheel. I swing into the window and back into the seat and I pushed the petal to the metal. I look back into the mirror and apparently the motion had made one of the girls hurl, but she hurled complete lucky charms, which was odd, because they were dry. I looked back to the road in front of me as we weaved through the cars. Out of the corner of my eye I see the Samoan guy push a button on his watch. Erin’s back tires explode and she spins helplessly out of control, sparks and smoke start to fill the air. I punched the Samoan in the face, but he’s Samoan, so it didn’t really help. I get as close as I can to her spinning car and reach out and pull her out of the driver’s side, never slowing down in the process. I open my door and swing her in. “Hold the wheel” I yell, as I open the Samoan’s door and start to push him out the door, but he’s Samoan, so it’s not easy. I get it one last push and we both go out the door.
I catch the seatbelt, and his leg gets trapped in the door. I proceeded to rub his face against the moving ground, grinding his face off. I kicked at his legs, eventually getting them free. He flopped out of the door and flew into the SUV behind us, the driver swerved to avoid the man but crashed into a city bus and came back across bursting through the bridge’s cement boundaries, and fell hopelessly into the river. I closed the door and we drove back to the house where she successfully signed the contract. I worked my way upstairs to make sure the threat was gone, when I found the Samoan guy in one of the guest rooms. I drew my gun and pointed it at his fat head. He was packing a duffel bag. “Don’t shoot!!!” Erin cried. She ran in and hugged the guy. “That’s not possible, “I said, not lowering my weapon,” he doesn’t have a scratch on him.”
“Because that wasn’t him!” and hugged him tighter.
I shrugged and she signed the contract again for some reason. Just another day’s work as a… PRIVATE DECTIVE. QUE BITCHIN’ MUSIC!
So I’d like to see you find a book that explains that dream, because it’s pretty fucked up on many levels. However, I can’t deny that it was horribly entertaining.

Later,

-Jeric