My lust for tuna covered with pasta sauce and onions had me dreaming again - dreams of a sultry blond midget who babbled in order to get my attention. Fantasies about red-headed cops swearing at me because I was vulgar with them. Food. Is it really a passion? I mean, you have to eat.
The dead Mexican would be eating no more. Who had left his head on my front porch? Why? I'm not a cannibal.
The press were in the yard looking for drug dealers and I was screaming at the idiots to go way. Had they no sense - no respect for others? The easy answer? No. Many of them were as sociopathic as a crusading politician who starts to believe his own easy promises and absurd lies.
But the blond midget. Should I get involved with her? Was her psyche scarred by years of alienation?
Again I've decided no one knows what dreams mean.
Text is Copyright (c) 2009 Yoga Punguin for Boopi's Millions, Inc. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Illustration is Copyright (c) 2009 MAGPIE for BW Groovy Kilts, Inc. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
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