Funkatronic Dreams

I've never been on crack, but I seem to have had the strangest, most vivid dreams lately.

Take last night, for example. In that dream, I was supposed to be a Roman Emperor. Somehow, I had the urge to summon the other 'co-emperors' (who were incidentally, my high school classmates)to the Flavian Amphitheatre, there to decide whose cuisine reigns supreme... er, who the Really Truthy True Emperor is. Strangely, instead of duking it out ourselves, we were given access to giant monsters to do it for us.

My beast looked like a cross between the latest incarnation of Godzilla and Z-Ton, the space dinosaur who spewed trillion degree fireballs, who was the original Ultraman's final enemy. This fat guy in my class clapped his hands, and from the ground came up a vaguely humanoid shape, with a rubber chicken for a head.

The referee of the fight was almost universally referred to by the voice in my head (in the classic narrator accent) as 'Whatina' reporter Maria Teresa Guadalupe Aranzazu del Santissimo Nombre de Jesus 'Cheche' O'Flannagan, who was wearing one of those black garbage bags. She was watching the 'fight' atop a curious-looking platform which reminded one of a flying saucer.

So the fight started; my beast, whom I called 'Dunbar', spat fireball after fireball at the rubber-headed chicken beast. Then, all of a sudden, there was a darkness in the sky, and a comet fell to the earth, whence came forth a grisly looking hand, attached by duct tape to a weird mishmash of fluff that gave the impression of innards and offal, as rendered by bad special effects. The hand 'spoke' in sign language, introducing itself as The Thingy.

For some reason, King Crimson's 'In The Court of the Crimson King' began playing in the background, followed by a Rush song whose title escapes me now. Then, a mariachi band composed of dwarf monsters dressed lime Oompa Loompas began swaying to some 60s beat. I don't think I've ever seen such huge asses, hahaha.

Again, this is one strange dream. The next moment, I found myself, no longer dressed in imperial robes, but in neon-pink pimp robes, complete with a staff cut from a single, gigantic diamond. Somehow, my name became 'Sweet Buttah O'Reilly'. Then a stewardess dressed in a bunny outfit leaped and bounded into the ring, and began singing and swaying to the tune of that Abba monstrosity, 'Dancing Queen'.

Finally, a strange sound began to ring in the air. It sounded like a screaming banshee, which seemed to cause an earthquake in the ring, where fell the party animals. It was my alarm clock.

I wonder what my dreams would be like if I had actually taken drugs? I imagine it would be strange, indeed.