I’m having weird dreams again, although luckily not as weird as this one, since that one involved mutations into Claymonters, and scary black guys with bad acne. (I woke up crying like someone had waxed my butt while I slept.)
Last night’s dream started out reasonably sane; I was involved in some kind of ESPN game show that had me playing football with Michael Vick. The only thing I really vividly remember is participating in an industrial-strength handshake, featuring multiple hand-slaps, fist pumps, and rump-shakes. I also made sure to have Michael give a shoutout to his biggest fan, my boy Kyle, for the benefit of the TV cameras.
Possibly sexed up by The Hearn?
Next thing I know I’m at the ESPN studios (I’m not sure how I got to Bristol, Connecticut, but it’s a dream, dammit, get off my case for once), wandering around, chatting with the peeps. I may or may not have made love to Stuart Scott at this point. Suddenly, I’m auditioning for a job as SportsCenter anchor, although I don’t have any prepared material, so I end up telling a couple jokes to some woman inside her house, and then I sang a Stone Temple Pilots song to her. I don’t even know any Stone Temple Pilots songs.
Come to find out, I’m disqualified from the auditions because I went outside to get something out of my truck and missed part of the musical audition. And here I thought the only requirement to be a SportsCenter anchor was dance skills! (I remember saying exactly that to one of the actual anchors, who was hanging around, watching the festivities. He agreed.)
I think it all means I should quit this computer career and get a job calling hockey games on the radio.
In other news, ZICAM IS THE BEST STUFF EVER. The cold I mentioned I had? Gone. I was able to sing my usual Sunday church service PLUS yesterday afternoon’s concert with minimal difficulties, although I was fairly dry. Total number of days sick: 4. This is well below the normal of 2 weeks.
I should qualify the above paragraph; I am still venting slight amounts of nose-juice, but nowhere near as much as I’d be without Zicam. Let it be said: If I didn’t already have a dad, Zicam would be my real dad.
That’s all we have for today, kids, but there may be more tomorrow! And be sure to check out this week’s Strong Bad email (turn your sound on) if you like peeing your pants. I knows I does!
