Clubbing
A dream of the nightlife, featuring webmaster Sean. And Batman. But not at the same time.
This one sounds like a pilot for a sitcom or something. Lots of stuff happens.
Sean is generally a much nicer guy than he is in this dream, although I do not know where he stands on Muppets.
My friend Sean, my other friend Charles, some kind of Muppet and I were wondering what to do that night. The Muppet was purple and humanoid, although short.
We decided to go to a club. We'd never been to one, because we were either too young or just not cool enough.
We drove to the outskirts of town because we'd heard there was a really neat nightspot there. It was in a big metal building. We could hear the music from the parking lot.
When we walked in the door, we felt out of place. Everyone in there was wearing an immaculately pressed tuxedo. Plus, they were all men, and judging from the occasional scantily clad server, it was a gay club.
It was even weirder when our eyes adjusted and we realized that everyone there was a teacher or school official.
Sean's Math teacher, and Charles' and my English teacher, Mr. Petitt (I have never been clear on the T configuration in his last name) walked by with a colorful drink. He looked nice in his tuxedo. He gave us a wink and thumbs up, then mingled back into the crowd.
We decided to leave. Unfortunately, we couldn't find the door. We decided to separate. Sean and the Muppet went one way, and Charles and I the other. As soon as we started walking off, Sean started beating the hell out of the Muppet. He was just punching and punching and punching that Muppet. The people at the bar laughed, then Sean gave a feral growl and started biting and tearing the Muppet's felty flesh away.
I guess he didn't like Muppets much.
Charles and I found a door and went through. It wasn't the exit, though. We found ourselves in a garage full of forklifts and other small industrial vehicles. A strange old man in coverall and feed cap popped up and offered to show us around. He said he had one we'd really like.
He showed us to a forklift and I sat down in it. He gave me the keys and I started it up. It made some odd noises, and I realized that I didn't know how to drive a forklift. I did get it to back away from the wall, into the center of the room. The light was better there, and I realized that it wasn't a normal forklift.
It had two musical keyboards behind the seat, and a huge number of pipes and percussion instruments on the front. The old guy helped Charles in. Charles sat with his back to my back and started playing. It sounded really neat, like a Wurlitzer. It was really loud and impressive. I drove around in circles while he played.
We drove the Wurlitzer forklift home. The old guy didn't chase us or anything, so I guess it was okay.
The next day, I went to a class in a big lecture hall. The professor had many overhead transparencies, and was flipping them absently. Suddenly, there was a murmur of suppressed laughter. One of the transparencies was a panel from a Space Moose comic strip, in which Space Moose was having sex with Rip Torn. It was a pretty good drawing of Rip Torn, too.
The professor got really angry and demanded to know who did this. Sean, sitting in another part of the room, stood up and announced in stentorian tones:
"I BET IT WAS THAT GODDAMNED MUPPET!"
The Muppet, looking completely repaired but still worse for wear, was sitting a few rows away from Sean, who threw a heavy book directly at him. The class seemed to agree, and pelted the poor Muppet with books and calculators. Sean was still yelling:
"YES! Oh, God, YES! JUSTICE!"
After that class, I went back to my dorm and took a shower. I packed up my bag and went to another class. The class was called Reading, and when I went in the door, everyone was reading different books. I sat down with my book, too. The professor came in and turned on a green light at the front of the room. Everyone took out their bottle of Reading Pills, took two, and continued reading.
I had forgotten mine. I went to the front of the room and told this to the professor. Luckily, the school kept some Reading Shots (which were cheaper) in case people forgot their pills. Like loaner gym shorts or something. Luckily again, I am a diabetic and quite used to injections, so it was no hassle. Also, the professor told me it wouldn't count against my grade unless I forgot a lot.
After the class, I went back to my dorm room again. The dorm was a lot darker, and made of stone. The stone floor was cold, even through shoes.
The guy in the room next to mine was Batman. He tried not to let people know, but he was really bad at it. He'd wear the uniform into his room, he'd wash it in the laundry room, and he'd talk really loudly on his hotline to the Commissioner. The walls were thin, so I could hear him using his deeper Batman voice on the telephone a lot.
He wasn't the Adam West or the Michael Keaton Batman, he was just Batman. As in some guy who was Batman.
Today, he was fighting a battle in the hallway. I guess the costumed villains also knew where Batman lived and decided to come over here. The Joker and some guy flying around on a hover-sled were fighting him in the hallway. He didn't have his Batman outfit on, and he kept yelling things like "I don't know who you are! I'm not Batman! Go away!"
As I walked by, the villains stopped fighting until I was past. They seemed very polite. Then the Joker asked me, "Say, is or is not this collegiate chump the one and only Batman?"
I said, "Well, if he is, he's a pretty crappy Batman." They laughed, and while they were distracted my neighbor shot them in the head.
Which was abrupt. And out of character, for Batman. I raised one eyebrow, quizzically.
"Well," he said, "it's pretty annoying when I keep putting them in prison, they keep escaping. Who ever said you can't get a little blood on your white hat?"
I agreed with him and went into my room. I bet it would save a lot of taxpayer dollars if we didn't have people trying to take over the world all the time.
Sean is generally a much nicer guy than he is in this dream, although I do not know where he stands on Muppets.
My friend Sean, my other friend Charles, some kind of Muppet and I were wondering what to do that night. The Muppet was purple and humanoid, although short.
We decided to go to a club. We'd never been to one, because we were either too young or just not cool enough.
We drove to the outskirts of town because we'd heard there was a really neat nightspot there. It was in a big metal building. We could hear the music from the parking lot.
When we walked in the door, we felt out of place. Everyone in there was wearing an immaculately pressed tuxedo. Plus, they were all men, and judging from the occasional scantily clad server, it was a gay club.
It was even weirder when our eyes adjusted and we realized that everyone there was a teacher or school official.
Sean's Math teacher, and Charles' and my English teacher, Mr. Petitt (I have never been clear on the T configuration in his last name) walked by with a colorful drink. He looked nice in his tuxedo. He gave us a wink and thumbs up, then mingled back into the crowd.
We decided to leave. Unfortunately, we couldn't find the door. We decided to separate. Sean and the Muppet went one way, and Charles and I the other. As soon as we started walking off, Sean started beating the hell out of the Muppet. He was just punching and punching and punching that Muppet. The people at the bar laughed, then Sean gave a feral growl and started biting and tearing the Muppet's felty flesh away.
I guess he didn't like Muppets much.
Charles and I found a door and went through. It wasn't the exit, though. We found ourselves in a garage full of forklifts and other small industrial vehicles. A strange old man in coverall and feed cap popped up and offered to show us around. He said he had one we'd really like.
He showed us to a forklift and I sat down in it. He gave me the keys and I started it up. It made some odd noises, and I realized that I didn't know how to drive a forklift. I did get it to back away from the wall, into the center of the room. The light was better there, and I realized that it wasn't a normal forklift.
It had two musical keyboards behind the seat, and a huge number of pipes and percussion instruments on the front. The old guy helped Charles in. Charles sat with his back to my back and started playing. It sounded really neat, like a Wurlitzer. It was really loud and impressive. I drove around in circles while he played.
We drove the Wurlitzer forklift home. The old guy didn't chase us or anything, so I guess it was okay.
The next day, I went to a class in a big lecture hall. The professor had many overhead transparencies, and was flipping them absently. Suddenly, there was a murmur of suppressed laughter. One of the transparencies was a panel from a Space Moose comic strip, in which Space Moose was having sex with Rip Torn. It was a pretty good drawing of Rip Torn, too.
The professor got really angry and demanded to know who did this. Sean, sitting in another part of the room, stood up and announced in stentorian tones:
"I BET IT WAS THAT GODDAMNED MUPPET!"
The Muppet, looking completely repaired but still worse for wear, was sitting a few rows away from Sean, who threw a heavy book directly at him. The class seemed to agree, and pelted the poor Muppet with books and calculators. Sean was still yelling:
"YES! Oh, God, YES! JUSTICE!"
After that class, I went back to my dorm and took a shower. I packed up my bag and went to another class. The class was called Reading, and when I went in the door, everyone was reading different books. I sat down with my book, too. The professor came in and turned on a green light at the front of the room. Everyone took out their bottle of Reading Pills, took two, and continued reading.
I had forgotten mine. I went to the front of the room and told this to the professor. Luckily, the school kept some Reading Shots (which were cheaper) in case people forgot their pills. Like loaner gym shorts or something. Luckily again, I am a diabetic and quite used to injections, so it was no hassle. Also, the professor told me it wouldn't count against my grade unless I forgot a lot.
After the class, I went back to my dorm room again. The dorm was a lot darker, and made of stone. The stone floor was cold, even through shoes.
The guy in the room next to mine was Batman. He tried not to let people know, but he was really bad at it. He'd wear the uniform into his room, he'd wash it in the laundry room, and he'd talk really loudly on his hotline to the Commissioner. The walls were thin, so I could hear him using his deeper Batman voice on the telephone a lot.
He wasn't the Adam West or the Michael Keaton Batman, he was just Batman. As in some guy who was Batman.
Today, he was fighting a battle in the hallway. I guess the costumed villains also knew where Batman lived and decided to come over here. The Joker and some guy flying around on a hover-sled were fighting him in the hallway. He didn't have his Batman outfit on, and he kept yelling things like "I don't know who you are! I'm not Batman! Go away!"
As I walked by, the villains stopped fighting until I was past. They seemed very polite. Then the Joker asked me, "Say, is or is not this collegiate chump the one and only Batman?"
I said, "Well, if he is, he's a pretty crappy Batman." They laughed, and while they were distracted my neighbor shot them in the head.
Which was abrupt. And out of character, for Batman. I raised one eyebrow, quizzically.
"Well," he said, "it's pretty annoying when I keep putting them in prison, they keep escaping. Who ever said you can't get a little blood on your white hat?"
I agreed with him and went into my room. I bet it would save a lot of taxpayer dollars if we didn't have people trying to take over the world all the time.