Sunday, August 12, 2007

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, I know

I totally moved at the end of the month - that's an absolutely viable excuse for not posting for a couple weeks, no? Stuff's all in boxes, my scanner's all kinds of unplugged, it's a catastrophe, blogging-wise.

I have decided to break my silence with the Most Boring Type of Story Humanly Possible: A Tale of a Dream I Had Last Night.

I've long maintained that there is almost nothing more soul-crushingly dull than hearing someone describe a dream aloud, but screw you, you're here already and this involves some weird crotch-imagery.

Alright, here goes: I'm watching SportsCenter, like I do occasionally while awake, and the anchor's doing a full-on Owen Voice*. He's announcing, sadly, the death of a Little League kid after a protracted battle with infection in a Mexican hospital. They bring on the kid's father, by phone, to discuss the circumstances of his death.

Seems they have video of his initial injury, and after a standard Please Don't Sue Us, We Warned You This Was Crazy disclaimer, they run the tape. It's home video footage of a kid standing waist-deep in the ocean, shot presumably by his father, as you can hear him yelling "what are you doing? What are you doing?" as a fish swims up the kid's shorts and apparently digs its way into his weiner.

Yeah. I had a dream about a kid dying after getting his wang attacked by the Dreaded Candiru.

So they keep showing the footage, and with every repetition, the fish is slightly larger. Trout. Nurse sharks. A manta ray. Non-fish get swapped in - an alligator. A very large bird (perhaps an albatross, I do not know). Finally we cycle into ocean-going mammals, and I awoke with a start as an orca whale leaned in to viciously shear a crotch clean of protruding genitals with one Iceman-like chomp.

Iceman from Top Gun, mind, not Iceman from X-Men. Though that would be decidedly more on-topic.

Anyway, Dream ESPN is really weird. And I have a tremendous fear of the ocean wrecking my dong. Apparently.

*"Owen Voice," for those of you who don't know, is a term stemming from WWE superstar Owen Hart's baffling in-ring death - the announcers had to articulate any information on it as soberly as possible, since he really was, you know, actually dead. Since then, any and all attempts on the part of the WWE to sound serious (like, say, when they were briefly pretending that Vince McMahon was blown up) are done in what's now called "Owen Voices" - which is to say "as dramatically serious as possible. Even Especially if you are Jerry Lawler."

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1 comment:

Crowded House said...

"I have a tremendous fear of the ocean wrecking my dong. Apparently."

Residual effect of Alex Ross's Justice Society of America #7 cover. Penis envy leading you to envision your rival Citizen Steel-whom you imagine as a child, for some reason-having his uberwang bitten off so you no longer have to fixate on it.


Or maybe you are just afraid of the ocean taking away your dong. I'm just winging out a random idea here.