So I have this recurring wet nightmare where I'm a contestant on that game show "Who Wants to Sleep with a Homeless Guy?" It's on channel 13 of my magic television that nobody else can see. It's a really good show, you should watch it sometime. Except you can't, because you're a slave to coherent perception and the laws of reality.
The show comes on every Friday night at nine, right after Cancer Dancer. That's that show where Paula Abdul and Christina Aguilera give lap dances to cancer patients while hot new teen idols sing karaoke to Journey songs. It's so fucking inspirational, you have no idea.
But you probably can't see that either, and if I showed you then you'd just tell me I was crazy because the screen was smashed and the TV wasn't even plugged in to begin with. So the fuck what? You think that's how TVs work? Electricity? That is not how they work. They run on mind…tricity. Which is so much more powerful. Until they cut it off because you forget to pay the bill and you try to get it reconnected but you don't have any money because your sister stole it all to buy bathtub crank made from airplane glue and Enfamil, and then you ask her why it's made with Enfamil, but then you remember that she's six months pregnant.
Wow, that metaphor did not go as planned. I just confused the hell out of myself, let's slow it down for a minute. I know this story had a point when I started.
Okay, so in this dream I'm a contestant on "Who Wants to Sleep with a Homeless Guy" and I'm supposed to ask these seven dirty whores a bunch of weird questions to find out which one of them has the lowest self-esteem. The questions are different every time, so I wrote everything down when I woke up, and it went something like this.
ME: "Dirty Whore number one, if I asked you to cook me dinner, what would it be?"
DIRTY WHORE #1: "Well I'm Italian, so I love cooking spaghetti. I like mine with lots of hot sausage."
ME: "Nazi!"
DIRTY WHORE #1: "Excuse me?!"
ME: "You sided with Hitler in the war! Did you think we'd forget?"
DIRTY WHORE #1: "Um… I don't…"
ME: "Dirty Whore number two, would you shave my back?"
DIRTY WHORE #2: "Of course. I'll shave anything you want me to."
ME: "Why would you steal my back hair? For voodoo?"
DIRTY WHORE #2: "But I thought…"
ME: "Stay away from me, you crazy voodoo bitch. Dirty Whore number three, what's your favorite color?"
DIRTY WHORE #3: "Pink, just like…"
ME: "Shut up. Dirty Whore number four, how would you protect me from aliens?"
DIRTY WHORE #4: "Oh that's easy. I'd just tie you up to my bed and we could hide under the blankets all night long."
ME: "Are you crazy?! They'll kill us both! Dirty Whore number five, if you could fight any animal…"
DIRTY WHORE #5: "You're not supposed to call us that. You're supposed to say bachelorette number five."
ME: "Dirty Whore number six, same question."
DIRTY WHORE #6: "What was the question?"
ME: "Dirty Whore number seven, have you ever been convicted of witchcraft?"
DIRTY WHORE #7: "Um, I'm actually Wiccan and I find that extremely offensive."
ME: "Then why do you worship Satan?"
DIRTY WHORE #7: "Wiccans don't worship Satan!"
ME: "Why not? He's cool. Dirty Whore number two, would you kill a dolphin for charity?"
DIRTY WHORE #2: "What? No!"
ME: "It's for charity, you heartless monster! Dirty Whore number four, have you ever had sex with a horse?"
DIRTY WHORE #4: "Well I've certainly had a stallion or two in my day, if you know what I mean."
ME: "Wasn't being figurative, horsefucker. Dirty Whore number one…"
DIRTY WHORE #1: "Why are you being so mean to us?"
ME: "Why do you hate Jews? Dirty Whore number seven, if I threw a bicycle at you…"
And at this point in the show everyone was crying and we had to cut to commercial. But here's where the shit gets weird.
To be continued in part 2…
******
Which starts right fucking now. So the host walks up to me, I think it was Bob Barker or Richard Dawson or one of those guys. I think they're both dead now. Are they dead? They're probably dead. I don't know, it was one of them. In fact, it actually switched back and forth between the two. Dreams are funny that way.
So Bob Dawson comes over and says… wait, no, Richard Barker. That one's funnier. So Dick Barker comes over and says, "Copernicus, that wasn't very nice." And that's when I realize that the girls aren't crying, they're laughing. They all shed their skins and turn into squid monsters and… well, I mean, you hear one tentacle rape story, you've heard 'em all. I won't bore you with that part.
So then it's round three and I'm supposed to decide the winner. I guess the tentacle rape part was round two. Usually a sign lights up, but I never saw it. Plus the room was melting and everything was flashing colors like a Black Sabbath video from the seventies. So anyway, I went with number four except I didn't know which one that was anymore because they were all squids now. Dick Barker gives me fifty bucks to go on a date with Squid Girl. I blow the entire wad on malt liquor instead. I ride the big blue Schlitz malt Liquor bull into the sunset.
Fuck, I could've sworn this story had a point.