I had this really odd series of dreams last night. It started when I was fighting/wrestling with Patrick Stewart in the employee lunchroom of a grocery store. There were folding tables and hard-plastic chairs all over the room and it was lit with those terrible fluorescent lights. I got the impression it was kind of a wrestling thing, as I didn’t feel mad at him and didn’t get that vibe from him either. It was odd, because I kept considering that it was a good idea to let him win, since he was my boss / superior in some way.
The dream then flipped over to me trying to get into a small, three-wheeled car, similar to the little electric cars they use in heavily populated European cities. Except, this car was egg-shaped and was pretty much too small for me to fit in it comfortably – like it was designed for a kid or something. It was small enough, in fact, that the roof would split in two and you’d have to climb into the car to get in kinda like a convertible with the doors welded shut. So, I got into the car and realized that I had to severely hunch over when I pulled the roof closed. The steering wheel was too close to me and the seat was uncomfortable. I then realized that I was in some weird industrial/military complex encircled by fences. There were those huge tractor-trailer sized crates everywhere and large hanger-like buildings. It was overcast and looked like it rained recently. There were a few people walking around, loading and unloading trucks and carrying boxes into the hangers. Somehow I realized that there was something bad coming, like an invasion army or something – but I knew it was high-tech, like alien invasion ships or something – and I knew I got in this little car to get the hell out of there before the attack happened. I began driving around the complex, up and down little access roads, over a field or two, trying to get to the gates so I could get out on the open road. Each gate I got to was closed and I had to go off and try to find another one. I eventually realized that the trucks the guys were loading had to be coming through the chain-link fencing from somewhere, so I went back to the hanger and realized that the gate there was open. I drove out of the complex past the guard house and started down this winding country road. The whole time this driving is going on, I’m not scared or worried about the attack in any way, just irritated that the car is so uncomfortable. I continue down the road until I get a flat tire. I get out and look at the car, trying to calculate if I’m far enough away from the complex to avoid a nuclear blast or not, just incase the bad-guys have that in mind.
Of course then it all switches to me and Millard watching TV at my place. We’re actually watching some credits rolling at the end of a movie when I realize it’s a Star Wars movie that we just watched. We’re talking and making fun of some of the names, when the credits finish and the screen goes dark and some weird little infomercial comes on talking about the “contest” and its winners. An announcer comes on talking about how original the video submission was and that “Chewbode” should be proud that his movie made the grade and was voted best short film. I see the word “chewbode.com” scroll past the screen, and they start playing clips from the movie I evidently submitted. Although it wasn’t really a movie, it was just a strange collage of clips of me, Millard, Will, and Jared all in black and white talking, doing things, and eating food. It dawns on me that this infomercial must have been made months ago to be put on the DVD, and I never was contacted by LucasFilm – or maybe I just never got the message from anyone that I won. So, I start panicking that I’ve missed this awesome opportunity, and I’m telling Millard that “this is it, man! But why the fuck didn’t they call me to tell me?! I’m missing out on this!” He just shrugged his shoulders and said “you should have followed up with them – you know how those big companies can get…” I realize he’s right and get really upset with myself that I wasn’t organized enough and disciplined enough to follow up on it. At this point, I see that there are two older women on the screen talking to some interviewer, and I realize they’re extras in the movie I submitted. I sit there in total disbelief as I realize they took credit for my work, and there was no way for me to rectify the situation at that point.
Sick Thought of the Day: Third-finger knuckle twist.