Monday, April 27, 2009

Nemesis #1 This Week (with Update!)

My brain hates me so much that it might as well cook up an elaborate scheme to befriend me after it gets a face lift,  and then we hang out and become best friends, and then POW! Guess what? It's a trap and he steals my woman and ruins my business and makes my children choose to go with him to the carnival instead of me, and when it's over it reveals that it is my brain and I'm all flabbergasted and go "What the Eff, Brain?! Why did you ruin my life?" But the twist is he's all "Meh. No reason." and then he and my love and my kids turn their backs and go back to the carnival and they stop at the cotton candy booth and I fucking love cotton candy in reasonable amounts. Because if I eat too much I feel gross. Fuck you, Brain!

The reason I think my brain hates me is because of all the effed up dreams I keep having. It is obviously sending me convoluted messages from my subconscious trying to get me to jump off a bridge, which is actually okay around here because all the bridges are low and that would only be like a 15 foot fall, so I guess my subconscious just wants me to get annoyingly wet and it probably wants me to wear jeans when I do this because wet jeans make me crazy and I yell unpredictable things when I'm uncomfortable like "Jesus! Can you move it along? " and most hookers don't like it when you interupt them at their craft. They are perfectionists mostly, it seems. And then the hooker would stab me, so checkmate! Brain. You've done it again and had me killed.

I swear I'm getting to the story. It's just You-Know-Who (not Voldemort), is also in charge of what I think about and what I write and obviously he's stalling. Jesus. Can you move it along, Brain?

In the dream, I was living in this hippy commune and everyone wore white robes and okay maybe it was a cult, but it was a nice one and there were no secret rape rooms, or baby-birthing dens of continuous fornication except probably my bedroom. (zing!) and the people weren't all weird and zealoty, I mean except for the white robes. Most people don't hang out at home in a white robe except maybe Moses, and he didn't even have a home for like 40 years so he didn't either. So forgetting the robes and before you even ask, I don't know if the men had underwear on or if the place smelled like balls, so don't even ask. Not central to the dream's main theme. 

So we're all hanging out (zing!) and then this group of strangers stops by and asks if they can spend the night, and because I'm living with super-hippees we say sure and let them in, and they have a robot with a spike for a head as a pet, and that should've been my first clue, but I was more fixated on how cool it was that they had a robot and I was trying to keep this other bearded guy from sitting on my lap, probably because I didn't want to have to deal with his balls, and all the other people in the house are welcoming the Strangers* and I'm just sitting there in the arm chair watching this whole "Last Supper" type image with men in robes, and woman in robes, and bearded strangers and killer robots and they are all laughing and I turn for a second to do something like talk about robes or whatever...I don't know, and when I turn back it's a scene out of Dante's Inferno. There's an effing impalement for fucks sake. And the children are all screaming and the strangers are making sweet non-consensual love to all kinds of things and the robot is stabbing with his head. And I'm all "Time out! Stop! Time out!" and I realize it's a dream and then I wake up. 

I just sit in bed in the dark for a minute reflecting on how fucked up that just was, and I wonder if maybe I'm repressing a childhood memory or something because what the fuck is up with that? And I try not to think about what it means because screw you, Sigmund Freud I'm all about the Baby Steps© and then I wonder if I'm hungry and I say "Yeah. I could eat." out loud and then I go make a sandwich and I forget about it until just now, when I'm writing and I guess my brain thinks I'm feeling inclined to share my weirdness with the whole world or at least a hundred + people in it.

Like I said my brain hates me.

*"The Stranger" is also that wicked move where you sit on your hand until it falls asleep and then you masturbate and you can't even feel your hand so it's like a stranger is touching you and probably everyone knows about that and it's funny and sure maybe you tried it and it made you all sad because of what it implied but that was okay, until that jerk from the front counter burst in on you and was all "What the fuck are you doing in the broom closet?" and "Why are you naked?" and "Holy shit! Call 9-1-1!" I hate McDonald's.

UPDATE: YOU can avoid being my nemesis by reading Mama Pop and my Monday morning idiocy over there.


Kristine said...

"Time out!" didn't work? Fucking animals. (HA!) But seriously, my analysis? Sure, since you asked.

There's a bit of Catholic guilt (could just be a regional thing) coupled with your desire for more friends (could just be a blogging thing) coupled with your desire to have sex with a robot, just to switch it up a bit (it's okay, we're all intrigued by new technology).

I'd say that's all pretty much normal.

(Except for The Stranger thing. C'mon, dude.)

Dana's Brain said...

For some reason your dream was reminding me of The Wicker Man, (1973 version, not that god-awful thing with Nicolas Cage.)

Because you all seem so happy and culty. But I guess instead of a giant burn you alive guy, it's the spike headed robot. But that doesn't really make sense either since the crazy people are the ones who do the burning. Soooo, I guess I don't know why it reminded me of that. Maybe your brain is trying to tell me something.

Anna Russell said...

I have deduced from having once read two chapters of a book about dreams that you are either Jesus or Satan. With sexual repression issues.

Scandalous Housewife said...

Were people dying from the inferno or the stabbing robot head?

Prosy said...

I always think everythings a trap. I'm mad paranoid yo.

Soda and Candy said...

You've gotta stop drinking those Rohyptinis before bed, Kurt.

I'm Nate's Mom said...

"probably because I didn't want to have to deal with his balls"

Yeah, that's what I always think about when my husband tries to make a move: am I going to have to deal with your balls? Ugghh.

Steam Me Up, Kid said...

I sat through so many lectures about "Stranger Danger" as a kid that I'm pretty sure I'd scream and bite my hand and kick it in the balls and run to tell the nearest adult if I ever tried that Stranger trick. It's second nature now, like crying for forgiveness and doing the sign of the cross after every orgasm.

FACE!!! (off)

OhExcuseMe? said...

But was there self-immolation?

From what I heard, that's the standard for a really good cult.

The ones which merely host impaling/rape fests are considered sub-par, as far as cool cults go.

Kurt said...

@Kristine: The stranger thing is what separates the men from the SAD men.

@Dana's Brain: My Brain is trying to tell Nicholas Cage to never dress up in a bear suit again.

@Anna: It's only an issue if I acknowledge it.

@Scandy: I woke up before I could really take it all in. I just remember the impalement. It's like a Postcard from my insanity that says "Wish you were here"

@Prosy: There's a name for people who never think they are being trapped. It's "my victims".

@Soda: I like the edge they give to my dream state though.

@Nate's Mom: Dealing with balls is a tricky sport and I'm glad you are paying it the proper attention and fore-thought.

Kurt said...

@SMU, Kid: I try to do a hail mary after each orgasm. The football throw I mean. Not that weird thing with the anal beads or whatever.

@OhExcuseMe: Well we only just got our immolation license and everyone is a little shy and Hey! That shit hurts!

Char said...

stop eating cool ranch doritoes before bed

sour said...

the last supper had a robot in it?

there was something funny or cool that i wanted to say but i forget

Steam Me Up, Kid said...

You're getting your beads mixed up again, Kurt. There's anal beads, then there's rosary beads. If you say a Hail Mary on each anal bead as it pops out, you'll be there all day. Instead, try ripping the whole strand out really fast like you're starting a motorboat, and scream out "Praiiiiiiise Jesus!" really loud. That's pretty much the same thing as praying with a rosary, only with a little more poop shrapnel.

How am I not a Sunday School teacher yet?

I'm Nate's Mom said...

I am so offended and disgusted right now (yeah, I'm talking to you, Steamy!). Did I tell you I have a sister who's a nun? Yeah, Our Lady of the Perpetual Rosary. Not kidding.

Kurt said...

@Char: But they help me smell my feelings!

@Sour: Hahahaha. That was so funny and cool.

@SMU,Kid: You're practically a saint by now probably, Like St. bEcKy of Pedophilia.

@Nate's Mom: Well that's a real kick in the scrotum.

Brandy Rose said...

Start using "the stranger" before bed, you'll sleep better.

Susan said...

And just what's wrong with an impalement? I've been entertaining that idea all day...

And it'll happen the instant someone puts their naked, smelly balls in my lap.

Sleep well.

Mona Lott said...

It was so hard not to skip ahead to the * this time. Oh The Stranger! I haven't done any research (yet), but I think it's like the whole pee standing up thing:( Darn you again, God.

@SMU,Kid: The whole "Praiiiiiiise Jesus!" scenario... Solid gold!

Miss Yvonne said...

I think the important thing here is that I also feel really gross after eating too much cotton candy. But yet I love it and can't stop eating it when I have it. Up yours, cotton candy.

Kurt said...

@Brandy: Hey M.I.A! It's nice to see you around. I think the Stranger needs to not visit my house. Too many kids.

@Susan: Me and my exceptionally clean and appropriately covered testes will sleep like a baby.

@Mona: Yeah, for ladies a stranger would feel like a OB/GYN visit probably.

@Miss Yvonne: Cotton Candy is a hard woman to love, yet I still do. She keeps promising she'll stop drinking. I believe her.