Message-Id: <9402042340.AA06267@netmail2.microsoft.com> Subject: my dream last night From: Elliott Night Date: Fri, 4 Feb 94 15:38:04 PST Last night I dreamt that I was with Jesus Christ in an old fashioned drug store sucking root beer floats through striped straws. Jesus says, "I can make this float come out my nose." I said, "That's okay, Jesus, you don't have to prove anything to me, I believe you." We walked outside to our motorcycles. I had on a red mini skirt and black t-shirt, my tiny black combat boots, and,...no socks. I was riding a yellow Ducati and had a matching yellow helmet. I felt very Italian. Jesus had on a white robe, sandals, and a wreath of thorns. He was riding one of those Honda Harley knock offs known as a "Rebel". He refused to wear a helmet. I said, "Jesus, come on man, wear a helmet." He says, "Elliott, I am the son of God. I don't need a helmet." Then he smashes himself to the cement face first. He gets up and of course, he's not injured. Then he gives me this condesending smile. I let it drop. We get on the bikes and he says, "I can do a wheely at 75 miles an hour for over thirty feet." I say, "You don't have to do that for me, my friend. I believe you." We take off and he speeds out of town, giggling inanely. We ride into a town called "Hell". Jesus is really getting off on this, giggling and waving his arms as he careens down Main Street. I, myself, find it a bit obvious. What can I do? I roll my eyes. I can see Jesus up ahead. He's parked his motorcycle and he's surrounded by little kids. This is the part I hate. He is signing autographs. He charges these kids a buck a piece. I think it's a sin, but he claims it's not. I'm not going to fight with him about it. After all the kids have their autographs, Jesus turns to me and says, "Hey, El, let's go grab a brewski." We go into a little tavern called The Dew Drop Inn. And I hear a chuckle from the back and a deep voice mock whisper, "Hell, that guys wearin' a dress!" This is another bad part about hanging out with Jesus. He just loves these situations. You wouldn't expect it from him, but there it is. Jesus gets this little smile and he whirls around and says, "Any Lepers in the audience?!? No? How about any blind folks? NO??? Hmmm, anybody lame? No.....Oh, I know! Any body out there got a low IQ that they'd like upped a couple of notches? I can do that for you. I know at least one of you has a low IQ out there! I am grabbing for his sleeve, but he keeps out of my reach. He goes over to this old guy sitting at the bar. The grisled old guy isn't bothering anybody...he's just sitting there watching his life go by in each sip of his beer. Jesus says, "How about you old fella? Got a health failing you'd like cured?" The old guy turns to Jesus, he's got blood in his eyes and spit at the corner of his mouth. He says, "I know you. I know you Jesus Christ. I'm Jack T. Chick and I think you know me too." Jesus blinks and then backs off alittle. He shakes off his fear and he's about to get into it with the famous Chick tract publisher when I say, "Jesus, psst, there's a bunch of girls out by your bike. They look like college freshmen." That does it. The freshman line always does it. He's out of there like a shot. When we get outside he's sore at me, because of course there aren't any young females clustered around his sorry ass rebel. We get on and it takes him nearly twenty minutes to get his damn robe tucked under him so he can ride. I polish the gas tank of my Duc while I wait. Finally he's ready to ride. He turns to me and says, "I can ride five miles on the center line with my eyes closed singing God Bless America." I said, "I'll bet ya five bucks you can't." ===== -- Tired Wired ----- ----- WiReD talk.bizarre