The first part involved the impregnation (by me) of some goddess, a mortal-immortal coupling that came around once every couple of thousand years. We never quite got around to the holy act, but the divinity made several brief presentations portraying everything from why it was to be done to the exact mechanics. This all made my randy female friends, for whom there was no stud-god equivalent, quite jealous.

I imagine this was brought on by strange pre-sleep contemplations of the nature of the Immaculate Conception, though there really wasn't anything immaculate about this (except for the fact that it hadn't happened. ... or had it?)

The second part of the dream involved me rescuing the randy friend's lovebird Maxwell from a flash-flood, and an ex-roommate refusing to hold it while I went back for the hamster. Bloody sod. (and that really is the worst kind of sod.)

in our last episode... | p_i-logs | and then, all of a sudden...

« beck | ford »

I am chosen to lead the procession. I get on my bike and proceed. This should be easy: just get back on the expressway, going back the several exits to the place from which I came; I don't know San Francisco well, but this trek is simply a matter of retracing my steps, backwards. But, on the expressway, I'm in the far-right lane, and I know I need to merge; in my nervousness, I end up staying in my lane. It seems to be OK, since I still hear the Swedish procession music behind me, and no yells of "merge, you idiot!" But I can't merge, and end up taking the exit that my lane becomes; I can still hear the music, so maybe it's OK. But then the music's gone, and I'm in some residential area. I look behind me to see if I've led anyone else astray. I thought I hadn't, but a few minutes later, someone rides his/her bike furiously in the distance, going somewhere in a hurry. Was this person part of the procession?

I'm the Heavyweight Champion of the World! Or maybe I'm just his manager. Don King arrives, for his man is also the Heavyweight Champ - the belts will be unified, going to the winner of the upcoming bout. But for now, there are contracts to draw up and sign - we're still in the early stages of things. King and I greet cordially, even to the point of a friendly hug; I'm putting aside my usual dislike of him, though maybe not my distrust. King invites my people to join his people, who are kicking back in a room near the hallway where this greeting is taking place. My people file into the room. I'm reluctant, but my trusted assistant insists I go in - he has been there before, and says I'll like it. I go in, sit around, get bored. But everyone else seems to enjoy it. Good.

Log in or registerto write something here or to contact authors.