Archive for the ‘Dreams’ Category

I’m having writer’s block!

April 16, 2011

Remember how in my last post I was all “I’m gunna write a legit post soon, so hold your breath!” Well stop holding your breath because a real post isn’t coming any time soon. Why? I think I have brain termites. No, seriously.

Exhibit 1: I was going to write a post entitled “What your sleeping position says about your personality,” and it was going to be full of drawings and magic and awesomeness. But then it just never happened. I lost interest. Instead, I didn’t post anything.

Exhibit 2: I was going to write an homage to bacon, explaining its wonderful magnificence and how delicious it is and how much I’m craving some right now, but then I didn’t. I don’t know why. I just couldn’t get my brain thoughts out into the open.

Exhibit 3: Recently, I was struck with horribly sad news. Ahmed came back from Oman and told me that the College of Agriculture at SQU no longer produces my favourite chocolate milk on Wednesdays, rather, they’ve moved production to Sundays. This is a great tragedy. I cried for hours. Who goes to Oman on Sundays? No one! I will probably never taste this delectable treat ever again. I was going to write a tribute to SQUCOACM*, but was too devastated to get the words out.

Exhibit 4: I came up with the most brilliant invention in the history of inventions (even better than bacon bits), and was going to detail it in a blog post, but then I feared someone would steal my idea and get rich and famous off it, so I decided not to write about it.

Exhibit 5: I had a dream. Natalie Portman was the leading actress. She died multiple times. Something about Source Code. I forgot the other content, so I couldn’t write it as a post even though it would have been awesome.

So instead, all I’ve left you with this week is a shitty little post about this tweet-generator, and I don’t even like using twitter! This is unacceptable.

Therefore, I have decided to combine Exhibits 1, 2, 3, and 5 into a drawing, in order to try and make up for the fact that hungry little termites are eating my brain cells and rendering me incapable of writing a proper post.**

Click to enlarge:

*Sultan Qaboos University College of Agriculture Chocolate Milk

**Note: Exhibit 4 will not be featured anywhere until I get an approved patent.

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It only gets weirder…

February 12, 2011

The other day I had a weird dream and I really wanted to blog about it. So when I woke up, I went straight to my laptop and jotted down the key points of the dream, with the intention of filling in the details later. When “later” came, however, I couldn’t find the pen for my drawing tablet, so I just saved the draft and forgot about it.

Now, four or five days afterwards, I remembered this little half-started post in my drafts folder. However, I’ve forgotten the real details of the dream and I still haven’t found my pen.

So it’s going to be brief, might not make sense, and the comics will look even worse than normal because I’ll be drawing them with my finger on my mouse pad:

We were at a house party, but then we started moving. Apparently we were at a boat party and I didn’t know. I was scared.

There was a dog. But not a normal-sized dog. It was elephant-sized.

Viktor gave me twenty vials of drugs for my birthday. But Viktor looked like the old (current) version of Brad Pitt.

I was holding a snake. It bit me. And didn’t let go for several hours. I was light-headed.

The big dog could fly. He had a jet-pack. If you whistled, he’d come back.

Sometimes the big dog turned into a man who looked like Jesus.

The houseboat started moving at warp speed. The deck got really slippery. I fell into the water.

Big flying Jesus dog saved me.

I repaid him with a vial of drugs.

Dream Contest!

December 17, 2010

Note: Just because I used the word “contest,” don’t fool yourself into thinking that you’re going to win anything. Because you won’t. Except perhaps the feeling of personal victory for being as cracked-out as I am.

I had a dream. And it wasn’t about one day my four little children living in a nation where they won’t be judged by the colour of their skin, but by the content of their character. Nay. Definitely not as deep and inspiring as my homeboy Martin’s dream. Rather, it was about ____________ and I’m fairly certain it was based on my recent viewing of the film “_________________.”

“But Ona, we don’t speak in blanks! What does this mean? What was your dream about? We need to know before our minds spontaneously combust!” Well guess what, my friends. That’s why the title of this post includes the word “contest.” I’m gunna show you a couple scenes from my dream, and you get to guess what it was about! Wee, fun times!

And yes, the reason I’m doing this is because I’m actually too lazy to type and draw out the whole thing. I got other shit to do.

So… good luck? Leave your guesses in the comments section in the form “Your dream was about _________, based on the movie ______________.”

Scene 1:

Scene 2:

P.S. I’m not tricking you. These scenes are related. If you need more clues, I might add some. But even more likely, I’ll just laugh maniacally and watch you suffer. Muahahaha!

UPDATE: Okay here are some hints.

1999

Kinda creepyish

My depicted scene about the banquet does not happen in the movie, but the dancing one directly does.

Another series of weird dream-happenings

December 12, 2010

I was at some sort of surfing competition thing at the beach and there was a drowning baby. I saved it and it starting purring.

I had to get a medical and when I got my results back, there was some interesting additional information. Apparently, I didn’t have the HIV, but there was an 18% chance of current pregnancy with quadruplets. Also, my “Personality Factor” was a 19, which was considered below normal and in the comments section, the doctor wrote, “Needs help.”

So we had bombs, right? But mine fell apart. :(

I had something on my mind. And some alien douchebag decided to take it out. But then I karate-chopped his face and won the war against terror.

And that was pretty much it. I’m not sure if/how these stories are related, but my brain is just wonderful that way.

The good, the bad, and the WTF is wrong with me?!

November 12, 2010

For those of you who are loyal readers, you already know that I have severely fucked up, twisted, and vivid dreams. The content of said dreams are typically reserved for the minds of the criminally insane, the drug overdosers, and the brain damaged (due to a cigarette-smoking birth defect). Sadly Fortunately, I don’t fit under any of these aforementioned categories. Yet still I have the weirdest dreams.

Last night’s dream was particularly long and detailed, so I’ll spare you the intricacies and instead just outline a few key points that I think were particularly interesting, both in the bad sense (i.e. “Oh my God, please don’t ever let that happen or exist in real life! Lock up your brain, you sick freak!”) and the totally awesome sense (i.e. “Aww, why can’t that be real? I’m jealous of you that you got to experience that and I never will.”).

Talking fish that can morph into humans. This one’s pretty self explanatory. Basically I had a fridge. And you know those little drawers at the bottom that are meant to keep vegetables fresh? Sorry, side-note: How is that supposed to work? What’s so special about the bottom of the fridge that keeps my fruits and veggies fresher than on a normal shelf? I don’t like banishing them to a drawer, because it makes them sad, which in turn makes me sad. Not cool. Anyway, back to my dream. So in those freshness drawers I had about forty live, swimming little fishies. And they were all pretty, as far as fish go. Like, not just ordinary like goldfish, rather, exotic-looking and flamboyant, with vibrant colours. And they could talk.

At one point I took a little tupperware-full of like, three or four, and when I got to the train station and opened up the little plastic container, they morphed into really good-looking females of the human species. Except one of them had a damaged fin, so her arm turned out to be in a cast, but whatevs.

Evil demon Chewbacca/bear/cat. This was almost traumatising enough to wake me up, but not quite. Basically, I was visiting some random dream-person in the hospital, and the evil demon Chewbacca/bear/cat jumped out from under the bed and started growling at me for no reason. None whatsoever! I didn’t taunt it. I didn’t step on its tail. I didn’t insult it. I wasn’t looking for a fight or anything. I was just minding my own business, visiting a sick person, and then I got growled at. But not just a normal growl. It was exactly as I said: a combination of Chewbacca’s weird-ass voice, a mother bear’s deafening roar when she’s defending her cubs, and Tommy’s low cat-growl when he fights other cats in the neighbourhood. It was so very frightening.

And then I must have made a sudden movement, or maybe the demon sensed my fear or something, because it proceeded to attack me and clamp onto my arm and not let go.

It was one of the worst experiences of my dream life, even worse than that time I was delivering pizzas to a creepy alien guy.

Awesome elevators that transport you in all directions at nearly warp speed. We were on our way to this party in a huge warehouse, and when we got to the elevator, I was expecting it to be normal, like every other elevator I’ve ever been on. As in, it only goes in two directions – up and down. But this elevator also went left and right, and it did a loopty-loop at one point! I didn’t really understand the physics behind it, because I didn’t feel the effects of g-force, but it was cool nonetheless. And, it took me to my desired level, which is all that really mattered.

Getting into a fight with a car-wash ghost because he confiscated your car and motorcycle. Different party, same warehouse setting. So I drove into the parking garage. I drive a Ford Edge in real life. It’s a little bulky, and is difficult to handle at slow speeds, but it’s cool. In my dream, I was driving the same car, maneuvering it around all kinds of twists and turns and corners. You know how parking garages can be. Anyway, I was informed that this garage used to be a car wash back in the day, but they tore it down and rebuilt it into thousands of parking spaces instead. I found what appeared to be a completely legal parking space (near the “elevator”) and got out of the car.

Then, a car wash ghost floated over to me and started talking about how I can’t park there because I’d be blocking other customers who want to come and have their cars cleaned. I tried explaining to the ghost that he was dead and this was no longer a car wash, but he was in denial and a physical fight ensued. A few minutes into the most useless fight in the history of violence (because no punch was ever landed, they just kind of passed through us), I decided to be the bigger person and just walk away.

Upon doing so, I noticed that my car was gone! Ghost guy laughed and said that he confiscated it due to the illegality of my parking. This made me very irate. But I was late for the party, so I let it go, and went upstairs.

Fast-forward to a few hours later, when I left the party. I got back down to the garage and asked ghost guy what he did with my car. He said he took it down the road to the Ford service centre, which was about two kilometers away. I definitely did not feel like walking that far. Luckily, I had my spare motorcycle parked one level above. So I went and got it, but I fucked something up and the clutch started smoking and then kind of just exploded off. I was sad.

I went back to ghost guy and asked if he could fix it, but he said he didn’t know how to. So I figured I’d walk the bike to Ford, pick up my car, and leave the bike there, for Ford to maybe fix in the morning. But when I went back to my bike, it too was gone! Why does this keep happening to me?! My blood boiled with anger. In a forced-calm voice I asked the ghost what he did with it and he said he sent it to Saudi Arabia.

Cake that tastes like weird non-cakey things. I was at the hospital again, celebrating the life of someone. There was cake. It didn’t taste like chocolate or vanilla or marble or strawberry or walnut or carrot or cheese. It tasted like chicken. Grilled chicken. There was another cake that tasted like mashed potatoes and peas. And another cake that tasted like barbecued spare ribs. And finally, a spaghetti-flavoured cake. Yes, they were all exact replicas of the original taste. But because of the cake-like consistency, I was slightly grossed out. However, to be polite, I had a small sliver of the ribs-cake.

And yeah, that’s pretty much it. I mean there was a lot more to it, but I’m not going to delve any further into my insanities. Bear in mind though, that all of the situations that I discussed above happened over the course of a single dream. So I don’t know if that means I need a brain transplant, or if it means that I’m actually a genius mastermind.

I’d like to think the latter.

A comical* nightmare

October 26, 2010

*By “comical” I literally mean that there will be comics. In no way am I implying that there was anything funny about this nightmare. In fact, it was freakish and disturbing.


I was just minding my own business, taking a casual moonlit stroll around the lake. Out of the corner of my eye, I see some light coming from the surrounding forest, like a campfire. “I love camps!” I exclaimed aloud, and decided to go towards it.

The fire grew closer, and soon I was on the site itself. But this was no ordinary campsite. There were no marshmallows. No tents. No illegal fireworks. Just this one old dude who looked like a tribal leader of some sort.

“Ah, we have been waiting for you, my child,” spoke the old man. “You are just in time!” I was wondering who this we was that he was referring to, because there was no one else there. I later found out the skull on his totem pole stick thing had like, a soul or something. It was weird.

“Uh okay, well, what exactly am I in time for?” I asked.

“The ceremoooony….” he replied ominously.

Now, I’ve seen enough horror movies in my past to know that “ceremony” usually means “freaky-ass rituals in which several people and animals die as a sacrifice.” So in no way did I want anything to do with said ceremony.

“Oh okay cool, well I think I’ll just, you know, pass. It’s getting late and I’m not really feeling the whole ceremony thing tonight. Thanks for the offer though, gramps! Bye!” And I started backing away.

“Oh no, you have misunderstood. It’s not an offer. It’s an order. You have twelve hours to chop off your hair and turn it into a wig for Mr. Snuffles. If you fail to do so, all of mankind will instantaneously cease to exist!” It seemed the skull’s name was Mr. Snuffles. And I had to chop off all my hair to save humanity?!

Well at least I had twelve hours to decide. I wandered around the forest. I did a full circle around the lake. Not a single barber. I guess I was going to have to do this myself. But with what? I had no scissors! Then I remembered this show I once saw on Discovery Channel, where the guy needed a knife, so he cracked a rock and it splintered into sharp knife-like tools. So I found a promising stone, threw it against another stone, and using my new caveman blade, proceeded to cut off my hair.

Looking like a total douchebag, I then started weaving my own hair into a fucking wig for a goddamn skull called Mr. Snuffles. I was furious. Why was I the chosen one?!

Just as I put on the last finishing touches (I decided the skull would look better with bangs, to hide the massive forehead), this random girl pops out of the bushes and starts making fun of me for having been so gullible. She explained that the tribal guy was actually just an old dude who escaped from a mental institute and had a fetish for hair. He discovered that by disguising himself as a creepy tribal chief, his ploy tended to work on the majority of his victims. But Blondie over here was ironically smart and told him “humanity shmanity, I like my hair and you can’t have it!” and twelve hours later, there was still no apocalypse, and she still had a full head of luscious shiny hair.

I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to cry. Not only did I look ugly, but I was being made fun of, and I got duped by an insane person! How much worse could my life get? Suddenly, I had a brilliant idea.

If grandpa couldn’t trick this girl, maybe I could! I would tell her that it wasn’t humanity that would be destroyed, rather, all the cute bunnies in the world would die violent deaths if she didn’t give me her hair to take to the Chief! Then, I could make another wig, wear it on my head, the creepy guy still gets his hair, nobody dies, and karma would grace its presence by allowing me to make fun of her! It was brilliant! BRILLIANT, I SAY!!

She didn’t buy it.

So, in an act of sheer desperation, I did the only thing I knew how. I slit her throat with my rock-knife, skinned her head, created my new wig, as planned, and headed off towards the campfire. Little did I know that now I was the deranged lunatic, because while I thought I looked like this…

I actually looked like this…

So I scampered off into the woods, with a twitch in my eye and maniacal laughter in the back of my throat. When I arrived at the campsite, however, the old guy wasn’t there. Grunting like a werewolf who just morphed into the beastly state, I looked around, confused, angry, and still exhilarated from my kill just a short while prior.

“SURPRIIIIIISE!”

All of my friends and family jumped out from behind the trees. A Happy Birthday banner swung down. A small child was carrying a big cake, lit with candles for me. I was confused. And then it all made sense. I thought I recognised the tribal chief!

Turns out, he was my marketing professor, and this whole thing was carefully planned as a surprise party. He dressed up as a chief to send me away for twelve hours, so everyone would have time to arrange the event. The blonde girl was sent as reassurance that I needn’t actually cut my hair. And the plan was, that she and I would become friends and gallivant through the forest for a couple hours, until finally she led me back to where the party was. Oops.

Anyway, the cake was delicious, I was slightly less delusional, and everything turned out okay.

…later…

“Hey guys, has anyone seen Sally?”

Worst driver ever.

July 23, 2010

Disclaimer: Ten doesn’t actually drive yet, so the title of this post is based solely on my dream-events, and in no way ridicules her driving in real life. Because as of now, there are no skills to make fun of. Ten, don’t take offense.

I was minding my own business in the garden, watering the plants and enjoying the hot summer breeze, when my mom’s car suddenly slammed through the wall. And who was behind the wheel, jamming along to some music? Yeah. Of course. Ten.

“Dude! Are you fucking crazy?! 1.) What are you doing with Ma’s car? 2.) Why did you slam through the wall? and 3.) WHY DOESN’T THIS BOTHER YOU?!”

“Hey, hey, hey. Calm down, okay? It’s just a car. Just a material possession. It’s nothing to lose sleep over.”

“Okay well I get that, I guess, but can you at least park properly and find a way to fix the wall so we don’t get a gang of hoodlums in here tonight?”

“Yeah I suppose I could do that.”

So she drove the rest of the car through the hole in the wall, and parked it on the open paved area next to the garden. Just as soon as she turned off the engine, my mom pulled up in front of the house. She glanced at the gaping hole, shook her head, and continued her phone conversation in the comfort of the air conditioned car. When she hung up, she grabbed her handbag, switched off the engine, and left the car.

“Are you people crazy? Who did this to the wall? Now we will get Black Paw attacking us in the night!”

Ten gave her whole materialism speech, acting completely nonchalant the entire time. When she finished, she went inside to get something, and my mom just sighed and followed her into the house. Meanwhile, I was awestruck.

Soon, they both exited the house again, and my mom told me she was going to the carwash with her two-week-old Porsche Cayenne S. She asked if I could stay home and wash the Ford, the one that just crashed through the wall. I agreed and watched her walk to her expensive new vehicle through the gap in the wall.

“MA! WAIT! CAN I COME?! I WANNA GO THROUGH THE CARWASH IN THIS CAR, OKAY?! I’M COMING WITH YOU, JUST WAIT!” screamed Ten and she hurriedly put on her shoes. Then, she grabbed the keys off the lawn, jumped in the Ford, and before I had time to react, she threw the car in reverse and squealed out of the driveway. My mom was surprised (in a bad way) and started freaking out at Ten to stop driving. But Ten continued reversing a lot faster than necessary out of the driveway. At the bottom, she hooked the steering wheel to the left, and reversed a bit down the street. Then she got out of the car, triumphant at her victory.

I saw it happen before it happened, but there was nothing I could do. Ten had put the gear in D instead of P. As she and my mom were busy yelling at each other, the Ford slowly inched its way down the road. About ten meters from our house, the road has a dip in it, and upon reaching this slope, the car sped up from about 10 kph to 30 kph and then SLAM! The Cayenne got smashed and I woke up.


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