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Last night, I had a dream. I dreamt I was visiting a college in the hills around Charleston. There was a plaza there with several glass-fronted shops. All of the shops, though, were brothels. So was the college! It was basically a college for hookers, where they prostituted themselves even to get the education they needed to become Proffesionals.

Another weird aspect of this dream, is that the college was a series of boats on the bay (for those of you who don't know anything about West Virginia, keep in mind it's away from the ocean and away from any bays. Just so's you know.) and I met the dean of this school on a small boat covered with a blue and white striped canopy. She looked like a Professional Hooker, I'll tell you that much. Anyway, basically, she asked me to rescue some hostages held on a different boat. I agreed to do so.

The next part is a bit fuzzy in my memory, but I was suddenly driving up and down my road in a cargo van. Well, I wasn't driving. I was in the back, scrunched up amongst some boxes.

Once again, the dream goes fuzzy and I find myself someplace else. This time, I'm in a cramped speed boat, steering with one hand, and wielding my katana in the other (which proves it's a dream. I really don't much care for the katana. If I had my preference, I'd have had a broadsword instead. But, that's the way the cookie crumbles. *sigh*) as I rocketed towards a big cruise liner. I leapt from the boat and grabbed a convenient rope hanging off the side and climbed up, fighting pirates hanging out the windows all the way. Once I reached the top, though, I realized I was too far up. So, I leapt down. The fall would have killed me, so I used my katana to somehow cut/slide through/down a canopy so I could fight the ninjas on the main deck and free the hostages.

That's when I woke up and noticed my teddy bear was on the floor. I picked him up and rolled over to go back to sleep, but it just wouldn't take. So I finally got around to getting up.

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Yeah, I know you don't care, but I have something I find to be funny to write about. If you don't like it, you can go down to the next section (if I write one. I don't know yet.) or just stop reading it all together. No one's making you stay.

Have all the stragglers left yet? No? Kill that one so we can get back to business.

I don't know, throw it in the pool.

That being done, I shall now commence.

During band today, I was getting on Andrew's back a bit about not right guiding well enough or not moving fast enough or other such things. At one point he said "Look John-Boy, we're not all on steroids like you."

Laughing, I grabbed a handfull of my pudgy belly and said "Does this look like I use steroids?" Forty then interrupted, saying "It's not steroids. It's just that he doesn't have blood. Instead, he has pure testosterone."

Now, that may not seem like much of a laugh to you, but it is to me. Last year, my friend Matt and I joked about me having a combination of testosterone and Rogaine in my veins instead of blood because of my beard onsetting faster then anyone else's. So, it's an inside joke. And stuff. Yeah.

I'm going to bed.

Slainte Mhath