I think we’ve all agreed before that dreams are bullshit and no one really cares what you’ve dreamt about. I think we’ve all also agreed that blogs are for posting bullshit; so why not dreams?
Last night I dreamt I was walking through the woods and happened upon a cabin. It wasn’t spooky or anything so I knocked on the door and Ryan Gosling opened it.
I was all “Oh, hi Ryan Gosling.” And he said “Hey.” I looked down and there was a raccoon climbing up Ryan Gosling’s jean clad leg biting him. “Is that your raccoon, Ryan Gosling?” “Yeah. Would you like to come in?” he said. I looked closer at the raccoon and it was all fucked up crazy looking, with runny eyes and a snotty nose and drool falling out of the side of its mouth. “Fuck. I think your raccoon has rabies, Ryan Gosling.” “Yeah, I was afraid of that.” I told him he had better get it off of his leg and he walked out of the house past me, still with the rabid raccoon on his leg, and he set it in a cage that was sitting next to a set of garbage cans.
“You’d better go to the hospital and start on some rabies shots, Ryan Gosling.” I said as he walked back towards me. He said he would, but he needed to change his clothes first and he invited me into his cabin while he changed. I was all “Okay” and I walked in and he went back in what I supposed was a bedroom and then he came out all shirtless and hot like in that one movie he was in with Steve Carell and he said “Want to make out?” and I was all “Umm, HELLS. YEAH. But you have rabies so I’d better not, Ryan Gosling.” He shrugged and picked some car keys off of a table and said he was going to go get his rabies shots and I thought for a minute that maybe I’d risk rabies, make out with him, and then go get the shots too but then the fucking alarm went off before I decided. I bet I would have.
P.S. A woman died from rabies this week here in South Carolina. They say she “may” have been bitten by a bat. I think she “may” have made out with Ryan Gosling in a dream. It’s like that thing where if you dream you’re falling and you don’t wake up before hitting the bottom you die for real, except if you don’t wake up before making out with Ryan Gosling you get rabies for real. So my alarm clock saved my life, but not really because my body is always racked with rabies, just not that fucked up-crazy-foaming-at-the-mouth kind. I think I still would have risked getting the fucked up-crazy-foaming-at-the-mouth kind of infection though. I’m pretty much a celeb-whore in my dreams. Shut. Up.59 Comments