Grumpy Blogs about life, dreams and Work

Dreams. Black Bear, Eva, Bee and I stopped at some scummy bar that was actually a happy ending strip club.  They stayed in the car while I went in for a quick drink. I was drunk already. One of the strippers offered a happy ending. I agreed. As I lay down in the backroom on a nasty mattress with my pant off, Bee came in to see what was taking so long.  She was wounded by my betrayal and angry. I tried to blow it all off like it was not a big deal.  Making her and the others wait ...

The dream shifted into a real version of the Simpson’s episode I watched last night.  I was Homer. I pretended to be a mailbox-robot. In the episode Homer got cut by a buzz saw, shot and crushed by a superior robot.  In the dream it was not so fun to be a mailbox robot cut, shot and crushed.  Being Homer Simpson sucks. D’oh!