And I’m the one who’s gay. Riiggghhtttt…
I had another dream!
This time, on the way back from a work site, I saw a deli called “quatoria’s deli”. I went in there, and there were all kinds of women running the place, and one guy in the back. I ordered a pastrami with swiss, then the guy walked up to the counter. I asked him if he ever did anything on the internet. He flashed me a sign with his finger… “Q T 3”, I responsed, but it wasn’t quatoria, it was some other guy who’s name I forget. Then I woke up.
Yup.
If somebody walked up to me and asked me that question, I’d shoot him and hijack an airplane to Bimini.
Xpav, do you have airline ticket stubs in your dresser that you don’t remember using?
Shut up, you’re gonna tip him off! Alex, everything is okay. Stay calm. It was just a dream. It was just… a dream…
I must find quatoria’s deli. There, all my questions will be answered.
The deli of quatoria is a deli… of DREAMS and MADNESS. Oh, you’ll find what you’re looking for. YOU’LL FIND IT! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Uh… that is, what deli?
Now I’m starvin’!
Mmmmm… Dreams and madness. However there is still a hint of homoerotic undertones…
Awesome, Quarter to Three gathering at quatoria’s deli.
++. Valrhona’s some of the best there is.
Does anyone know of a dream analysis forum? That would be cool.
A little while back I had a dream so connected with Qt3 and its pop culture that I didn’t want to say anything about it. I felt it was embarrassingly derivative. But [certain recent events], so I feel safe.
So in my dream, there was another Qt3 meetup, at Tom’s father’s place. Tom’s father turned out to be some kind of Aztec-worshipping fugitive Nazi who looked exactly like George Bluth, Sr.
His house was a concrete-and-terracotta Aztec lair/sacrificial plaza. So there you all were, with Tom’s Nazi father in a big headdress, cutting people’s throats in a concrete courtyard whose every surface was constantly running with water. The rest of you were really getting into sacrificing people but I was bored with it. “There are two group activities I really can’t get involved in,” I thought to myself, “Basketball and human sacrifice.”
Tom had a little apartment nearby in some South American housing block. I’d sneak out to Tom’s apartment, where Tom was kind of hiding out because he didn’t like his father very much. He had a laptop there – Roger Wong’s tablet laptop, for some reason. I used the laptop to browse the forum while Tom flitted through the apartment’s other rooms, making espressos and complaining about his broken Xbox.
I was browsing the forum, but it was all vampire threads and stupid next-gen speculation. I remember that every subforum was headed by a dumb post from Jake Plane re-hashing some dumb shit. (Lieberman, console wars, and a vampire game.) In that detail, the dream was fairly accurate.
I wanted to post something about how I wasn’t enjoying the meetup very much – and how you all turned out to be FREAKS, and we were staying with Simon Wiesenthal’s last big target, the one who got away, but I wasn’t sure if we were supposed to talk about it on the boards. “The first rule of Fight Club…” I thought to myself.
Tom called out from the other room that I should post about how his Xbox was still broken and he hadn’t gotten a new one. “Use my account,” he said, but he didn’t tell me the password. For some reason this made me feel unwelcome. I excused myself and went back to his father’s place, resolving to try to enjoy myself.
But I got a little lost in his Aztec compound and wound up in an underground chamber whose only illumination was from a skylit grating at ground level through which thin sheets of water constantly poured. Inside were four zombies, one of which was definitely Hitler. I wasn’t sure if they saw me with their milky white eyes, but my reaction was more awkwardness than fear. I hurried out, not wishing to intrude.
As I tried to find my way back to where you guys were, I debated with myself over the identity of the one female zombie. I had initially guessed that she was Ann Coulter, but I told myself that that was impossible or at least implausible and probably just my own political bias talking.
I searched around for a while, thinking of a Neruda poem I’d recently read about hunting the one you love. [The poem in question is entitled Love Sonnet XI and can be found on the internet.] I thought about how much the building resembled one near where I live – the infamous concrete “Death Star” Social Sciences building. I wondered if I’d imagined – or dreamed – the whole thing.
Then I woke up.
I’m so fucking clichéd, even in my sleep! Zombie Hitler? Come on!
Man I wish I had such awesome dreams. That was positively hilarious.
Pretty much all buildings in my dreams look like this thing. I’m quite intrigued.
http://www.daviswiki.org/Social_Sciences_and_Humanities_Building
That is weird and unsettling. But I can’t really believe that you’re not into basketball.
A version of Ann Coulter that can only say “grrr” and “arghh” isn’t a dream, it’s a fantasy.
I had a dream last night that there were several new forums on QT3. Like “News” and “Sports.” I don’t remember the others but they seemed SO REDUNDANT!
I had a dream awhile back that the moon exploded and created a giant cloud around Earth that plunged us all into eternal darkness and, for whatever reason, rain. Aside from millions of goths dying of pure joy, the effects also turned countless legions of people into lunatics. IRONIC, NO?
So anyway, I’m the erstwhile leader of a ragtag band of qt3 losers unlucky enough not to die or go blissfully insane. I recall searching for Unicorn McGriddle, as he evidently knew something about what had caused the catastrophe as well as how to potentially reverse it (man had some big plans, what can I say?). Of course, we found his half-eaten corpse in a shallow, defiled grave. I recall his arm sticking out of the grave. He was flipping us off, the old scalawag.
Anyway, we were driving in some ridiculous vehicle that was like an RV stylized like an SUV, very sporty yet big enough to live inside. mlatin was the driver. He wore a large black smooth helmet and refused to take it off, I got the impression his face had been horribly mutilated.
We stopped along the way to, I dunno, wherever (I think we were making for the coast, to sail to Australia and find nutsak), to buy ammunition and assorted supplies from Angie. Seems she lived upon a hill, in an old mansion. Matt had been killed by the maniacs, so she passed the time defending his grave by sitting on her porch and blowing the heads off attacking crazies. I asked her if she wanted to come along and she told me something along the lines of FUCK YOU I’M SICK OF BEING AROUND PEOPLE AND CARING ABOUT THEM. GET YOUR SHIT AND LEAVE. Thanks, Ang!
I recall some nutbags were about to attack. mlatin was yelling GET IN THE GODDAMNED CAR, MAN.
We ended up staying at Union Carbide’s impressively-sized mobile home. Some of us played video games, which is pretty retarded, cliche, and anticlimactic. I think at some point I looked for a quiet place to beat off, because the TV set I was watching starting showing porn suddenly, but could find nowhere private enough, which is even more anti-climactic, har har. Alas.
There has been an incident on Praxis. However everything is under control. We have no need for assistance. Obey treaty stipulations and remain outside the Neutral Zone.