Hello, Kitty...Nice Kitty...

The sun had already given rise to a luminescent waning crescent, but that did not keep the bustling Chinatown festival from slowing down.

A friend had brought me into a traditional-looking Buddhist temple that apparently had been remodeled into a school. Whisking through the dimly lit hallway, I noticed each room was jam-packed with kids with light exuding from every crevice and pore made between the door and its archway. We finally turned left and broke through the double doors into a much larger room filled with familiar faces (not unlike coming back to the Great Hall at Hogwarts).

Everyone was busy enjoying themselves whether it be playing Big 2, surfing the web on their laptops, or simply chatting it up with the person sitting next to them. A certain sharp clinking noise caught my attention. There were a few people messing with puzzles in the corner of the room. Intrigued, I took a seat next to them and picked up my own puzzle to solve.
“You don’t mind, do you,” I gestured to the old man who was seemingly in charge of the activity, “I promise I’ll be careful.” The man nodded.

Several minutes later, I found myself holding several warped metal fragments and a shredded piece of string. I had “solved” the puzzle in my own personal way. The man narrowed his eyebrows.
“Careful, right,” the man said in a cold tone. Silenced by guilt, I simply looked at my hands. “Well, since you like puzzles SO much, you can come back tomorrow morning. I’ll hand you some things to fix this mess.” Fix this mess? Impossible. Nonetheless, I returned the next morning.

I walked down the hallway, but this time alone. Dawn broke, allowing a gentle stream of sunlight to seep through. I arrived outside the room I was in the night before. Sunlight did not shine through these doors.

Hesitantly, I brought my hand up to push the door ajar. It was dark and musky inside, but two figures were visible. A Geisha was standing inside, whispering to the old puzzle man.
“Where is he,” she violently hissed.
“He should be here, my Lady. I told him to be here after he broke the puzzle.”
“Enough! I grow impatient. The boy has lived too long…”
“…The fuck,” I questioned to myself, “It was just a puzzle, I don’t think I should die for it…”
“IT’S HIM,” she screeched. The man burst through the door as I backed away and started to run. The old man was too slow; there was no way he could get me.
“WORTHLESS OLD MAN, MOVE ASIDE!”
I made no attempt to look behind me and sprinted down the hall. A mirror on the opposite side of the hall was perfectly placed for me to catch a glimpse of the beast. With the poise of a Geisha, she extended her arms and let loose a shrill cry, flaring her rows of exceptionally jagged incisors (not unlike 1:33 in http://bit.ly/kAY9j). She pointed a slender white finger at my forehead through the mirror.
“Oh…FUUUUCK!”
Several moments later I heard a deafening roar and felt a hard stabbing feeling in the back of my head. The geisha had sent her personal attack crow (Adam Carolla’s dream come true!) and lion.
Just as I burst through the temple door, the lion smashed down the wall. The geisha’s shrill cry resonated through air. Sunlight flooded my eyes, but I continued to blindly sprint across a stone bridge and back into the heart of the Chinatown hussle and bussle.
“OUT OF MY WAY, I DON’T WANT TO DIE!”
I crashed through the vegetable and fruit stands and shoved aside anyone who had so much as a hair in my way. The lion had a similar disregard for who or what it bulldozed through on its path to my forehead. Stumbling through the center plaza, I found myself surrounded by several Asian stationary and gift shops. I look a glance over my shoulder and didn’t see the lion. I took my chance and dived into the nearest shop and took refuge behind a shelf, closed my eyes and held my breath. The next few seconds took forever. I heard the paws of the lion pound against the ground outside the shop. It growled and continued to rage through the market.
“Er, can I help you,” a lady asked. I finally opened my eyes and looked up.
“WHOA THERE,” I exclaimed as I stumbled back down on my rear. The clerk was standing directly over me, holding a very large Hello Kitty plush doll.

You’re kidding me, right? How on Earth did Hello Kitty manage to manifest itself in my dream?

Outrage!

"Man I love these so much...What do you have there? Chocolate chip?" bonBon and I entered my old 2nd grade cafeteria in Texas each with a tray of cookies in hand.

"No. Dude, these are hella better. Oatmeal raisin, man!" His smile transformed into a smirk while his eyes bulging eyes darkened under a mysterious shadow, mouth salivating. It seemed as if he lived for such cookies. Maybe it was just the notion that he preferred oatmeal raisin over chocolate chip that made him seem crazy. I abandoned the thought.

We found a table and planted ourselves down upon the circular blue seats.

I opened one of three cartons of milk sporting a picture of yet another lost child and took a hearty swig. I wiped the milk-stache from my face. bonBon already had three cookies stashed in his mouth like a chipmunk and began attempting to make that number five, dual wielding two more cookies. He was definitely crazy.

Julia, an eccentric girl from a previous programming class, was sitting at the bench in front of me, back turned.

Exercising my Gentleman-like skills, I offered her a cookie. She turned, looked at the cookie, turned back around, picked up her tray, scoffed with her nose pointed towards the sky and proceeded to find another spot to eat her food as if the cookies weren't good enough for her.

Bewildered and angry, I gazed at the back of her head while she stormed away with a blazing intensity as if I were trying to get my eyes to shoot laser beams and screamed...

"How DARE you turn down such cookies?!"

-------------
Leave a comment and guess what kind of cookie I was trying to offer her.

The Best Drink Ever

So I've been bringing my lovely pillow to STAR testing all week. Today, I had enough time to actually have a dream. I told some people in my math class (without a lot of details of course) and when I got to the end...Actually...forget it. You'll probably say the same thing after you're done reading it anyway. Just for the record, I've never had Pina Colada but it's now on my long list of to-dos.

It'd been a long day and an even longer journey. I'd been cruising along I-20 (goes through Dallas, Texas) in my 1957 Ford Fairlane 500 Sunliner tapping the driver side door, singing along with country radio. Watching the sun approch the horizon, I wondered if I should start looking for a place to stay for the night. The car suddendly lurches once and sputters. ~5 MPG doesn't really get you all that far in one go, apparently. I pull up to a roadside home. I tap on the door. It opens.

Small fans with streamers were littered across every counter and table whirring away in a feeble attempt to delay the oncoming Texas heatstroke. A lady appeared behind the door. She was lean with fair skin accompanied by modest bodily features. Her weight was shifted to one side of her body, arms crossed. A nearby fan pushed her brown, shoulder-length hair across her chin. "She ain't bad," I thought. "Not bad at all."

"What'chya need," she said with a gloomy tone.

Beckoning to my car, I responded. "Do have any gas? I'm trying to get somewhere. I can pay you for it."

She nods, fetches the gasoline and follows me out to my car. While I fill the car, I ask if there's a nearby motel. "I don't think so," she said, "No one ever passes by. If you'd like, you can stay here for the night. It get's pretty lonely out here. No fee or nothin'. I just want some company for once."She looked at me with her green eyes, waiting, begging for me to say yes. She certainly looked lonely and it didn't make much sense to me to pass up a free night's stay so I accepted her offer.

We entered the back room and she directed me to a worn in couch with a blanket in her arms. "Well, this is free," I thought to myself. We sat ourselves down and sank into the couch several inches. The sun kissed the mountains. A moment passed by. I took a look at her lonely green eyes again.

"I should say something," I thought. "She looks really depressed." I suddenly realized it was really hot in the room. Perfect.

"It's pretty warm in here. Can I get a Pepsi Cola?"

"Oh," she said quickly, " yeah I'll be back. Hold on."

She came back in the room moments later with a drink in her hand. I didn't bother looking at what was in the glass and took a big gulp. I swallowed the liquid and I realized that something was wrong.

In the most polite voice I could summon, I said, "Hey uhhhh, this ain't Pepsi."

"I know," she said. "It's Pina Colada."

I looked at her lonely green eyes. Then at the drink in my hand. Then back at her eyes once more. I brought the glass back to my lips and drank it with my eyes still fixed on hers.




It was the best drink I ever had.

Reveal

READ MY NOTE FIRST!

Several weeks ago, I posted a note on Facebook about 7 truths and 3 lies about me. Now, several people have guessed and I feel that it's nigh time that I reveal which spell truth, and which spell deceit. If you haven't visited my note yet, it's here. I worked pretty hard to recall those memories of my past (I'm pretty bad at remembering stuff) and so I encourage you to see it before spoiling it for yourself.

The answers are:

3.Wisdom teeth?
I have wisdom teeth. However, they I only have them on the bottom row. I have been gracefully spared only half the pain of that dreaded surgical procedure. I suppose 2 brought about some emotional baggage that took a while to clear, but whatever. You win some; you lose some.

5. Fire to the island
I've been back on that island with a can of spray paint and a lighter, but when the island burned down, I was not present. I was actually at home while my brother and his friends brought down the front of the island in flames. I only have the details because my brother was there.

6. I'm good at lying.
If I've ever tried lying to you in person, you probably could have figured it out. I almost NEVER resort to lying because I know I'm terrible at it (How do I know? Ask me and maybe you'll be one of the lucky elite who will find out. I have told this story to ONE person so far. This person is NOT my brother. You know who you are. Shush). That being said, some people who know that I'm terrible at lying tend to think I lie more often than I actually do. Somehow, I am apparently not good at telling the truth either. Who knew you could be both? I ask that you give me the benefit of the doubt and simply believe what I have to say in times of mystery and distrust. Hopefully, I've earned that benefit by sharing with you a glimpse of my past.

On a side note, you may be thinking, "Solomon, why do your lies suck?" It's because I couldn't lie any better. I actually thought 6 was a dead giveaway, which is partly why I included it since I couldn't think of any real ones. Go figure.

Feedback on Feedback

It was interesting to see how people responded to my note. I just want to comment on some of the truths that I revealed.

1. Living in Texas
Pretty straight forward actually. Nothing much to say for this one...except "Don't mess with Texas." There are actual signs in Texas that say just exactly that along with the announcement of a fine for littering. I want to someday visit Poughkeepsie, NY and the hospital I was born in.

2. Teeth (Or a lack thereof)
I thought everyone was going to guess this one because it's pretty absurd (ie. "WTF..." - Albert Chen). To be honest, I actually don't know where those pictures of me at that stage are at the moment, but either way, you ain't a peakin' :]

4. Sk8r Boi (Bad song btw)
Really, Delia? You were the only one that guessed this one (and without explicit reason, I might add). I'm not trying to denounce you or anything for it; I'm just saying. Take it easy :] Anyway, so all that stuff is true about how I used to skate and how I want to get a longboard or another skateboard and also how I ripped those jeans fairly recently on Jack's board. Also, just because I've never been and because I think I'd be a lot like longboarding, I really want to go snowboarding. I remember my brother and I built a funbox by hand out of materials we got from a near by construction site. Those were goooood times :] For the record, I don't skate anymore because my board was stolen. I've also been through 3 scooters and 3 bikes.

7.Rat Bones in the forest
Fucking creepy.




Texas! :]

8. Apply directly to the forehead
I wish I had less scars to prove stories like this one, but I do still have the scar to prove it. It's not like a Harry Potter scar or anything. It's just a small lump near my hairline at the left side. It's actually worse than it was before. A really aggravating pimple spawned next to it, and in my pimple popping rage (Disgusting, I know), I seem to have disturbed the scar again many years after it's recovery. It used to be a really pale spot on my head, but now it's like a dark spot :\ Someday, I'll get all these scars removed (especially the ones on my arms and fingers). I know some of you might ask, "How did you get those scars anyway?" I know how I got the one on my left arm, which at the moment is the one that looks uglier, but I'll save that story for when you ask me in person (I still might not tell you because it's pretty stupid and careless). As for the one on my right arm, I have no recollection of it's development. The one on my right hand knuckle is from a handball accident that got infected and the one on my left thumb is from a fabric burn that I neglected to treat properly. I have one scar from airsofting (Thanks Albert). I have more scars and if you want to know where and from what, just ask me.

9/10. Treasure Hunter
Yes, I have found all of these things and I still have the ring. I don't have the ruby anymore though. I kept it in one of those empty weekly tablet schedule containers that my grandma didn't use. She found it in my room once and cleaned it out. She has terrible vision so I guess she didn't see A GODDAMN RUBY IN THERE >:[ You can ask Hanson for confirmation. He should still remember (I mean if I can remember, anyone can). I do have a sapphire though. Anyway, the ring is pretty ugly. It's a pretty cheap ring to. It's not solid gold, but gold electroplate. Cubic Zirconium is cheap as shit and so are amethysts so I could probably fetch no more than like 15 bucks on eBay given it's poor condition.

This is the conclusion of my 7 truths and 3 lies. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :] Now, all that's left to do is wait for you guys to do your own 7 truths and 3 lies.

I hope your break was eventful!

Get Schooled.

This post is recommended for those with strong stomachs and the male version of the human race. The author of this post is NOT responsible for any physical or mental harm that results in reading the following wall of text. Reader discretion is advised. Thank you.

I’ve realized that something is wrong. Something isn’t normal. I’m not sleeping as deeply as I used to. I don’t dream as wild as I used to. I don’t remember as well as I used to. I don’t walk as fast as I use to. An old lady beat me up the A-building stairs today which quickly erased any belief in my advanced walking abilities (I am a member of Facebook’s prestigious group, “I Want To Punch Slow Walking People In The Back Of The Head”). I’m just not the way I was. Because of these unnatural occurrences, I have been unable to provide my modest audience (many thanks to you!) with another post. As a way to extend the life of this blog and simply because it’s hilarious, I share with you another story. This highly educational and enlightening story offers a lesson in physics, bathroom etiquette, biology, and programming. This story is not my original work. I read it a couple of years ago and recreated it to my best ability. The narrator is in fact, not me (however we share a similar educational background and knowledge of bathroom etiquette). Oh, and don’t worry about me. Time heals all wounds, right?

All in all, it hadn’t been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, id had been over forty-eight hours since I’d last taken a dump. I’d tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order for my fiancée. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sign proclaiming, “Everything Must Go!” This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go.

I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 0 through 4 (I write a lot of software) for your convenience:

0. Occupied
1. Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it’s next to the occupied one.
2. Poo on the seat.
3. Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.
4. No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of toilet.

Clearly, it had to be Stall #1. I trudged back, entered, dropped trou and sat down. I’m normally a fairly shameful shitter. I wasn’t happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.

I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from the next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Shitter was blathering to Mrs. Shitter about the shitty day he had. I saw there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about it in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn’t get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.

Finally, my anger reached a point that overcame shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed will all my might. I was rewarded with a far of colossal magnitude – a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.

Once my ass cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became apparent: (1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon’s continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom was now beset be a horrible, eldritch stench. It was as if a gateway to Hell had opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial “herald” fart had ended his conversation mid-sentence.

“Oh my God,” I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of choking, and then, “No, baby, that wasn’t me [cough, gag], you could hear that [gag]?”

Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later, in surveying the damage, I’d see that liquid poop had actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side onto the floor. But for now, all I could do was hang on for the ride.

Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispense as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony. “Gotta go…horrible…throw up…in my mouth…not…make it…tell the kids… love them… oh God…” followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.

Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one’s phone and wipe one’s bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plot and splash from next door, followed by a string of swear words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.

There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final anal announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the janitor who’d be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.
As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.

I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate. I think it’ll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public – and I doubt he’ll ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.

Dragons, Barrel Rolls, Dumbledore, Oh My!

1910 words of poorly edited awesomeness encased by pancakes and win sauce (no, not that kind of sauce. Shame on you). I present to you the embarrassingly late first post of the New Age. Enjoy.

Randomly generated faces wearing tuxedos and dresses forced their way to the lower deck from where melodious echoing of orchestral music permeated throughout the ship. Not to my surprise, I was at a lack of a date. Fighting against the current of cashmere and sequins, I finally made it to the upper deck to avail myself to the air of ocean. All was well during that breezy, autumn night until disaster struck. While leaning against the rail, the ship lurched forward and came to a grinding halt. Caught off guard, I found myself clenching the arm of the nearby waiter with white knuckles. After apologizing to the I make my way back inside to my cabin to find Allen, bonBon, and Thomas playing a friendly game of Go Fish.

"Shit guys, did you feel that?"

"Yeah, are you kidding me," replied Allen, "I was sippin' some Bawls and then the next thing I know, my face is thrown towards the bottle and I spill fizzy sticky stuff all over my face and down my shirt." (That part actually happened in real life at SLC ’08. Get owned Allen).

"We might have hit something. Let’s go check it out."

Allen, bonBon and I go to that part of the ship where the steering wheel of the ship is to determine a solution to our dilemma. I don't know what that place is called 'cos I'm not a sailor.

It turns out that whoever was steering the cruise ship was stupid enough to get the ship beached. Beached! Honestly, I didn't think there would be anyone on this planet thick enough to steer a 51000 ton hunk of technology onto the shore of an island. You have to be pretty blunt to do something like that. Of course, it could have been worse (lol Titanic). While the rest of us are trying to figure out a way to get us unbeached, Allen's curiosity got the better of him. He pulls down a lever and all of a sudden, the ship starts to tip over. We tried to keep the ship balanced by running to the other side, but we realize that all the other passengers on the ship probably aren't cooperating. Now here's where it gets weird. Because my brother and his friends invest their free time in perusing 4chan, the barrel roll somehow manifested itself in my dream. What happens next is reminiscent of that particular scene in Wall-E where the fat bodies of the Axiom tumble to the end of the ship. The ship tips over once, but the bodies continue to flop around smashing the opposite wall again causing a chain reaction of barrel rolls. After the ship completes several lateral rotations, it stops rolling over. Allen declares, "Uh...My bad."

Soon, another ship comes by and agrees to get us off the island. We load onto that ship and all is well again until the captain of that ship is equally as thick as the previous one. We get beached again. Everyone piles out of the ship and onto the beach. The girls are greeting each other with hugs, kisses, and remarks of concern (ie. OMG Debbie like, are you okay?!) while the guys give the customary grunt and nod of affirmation (ie. You good? Meh.) My posse and I pass by Benjamin Juang and Karen Zhou who greet us as stated above (only my name isn’t Debbie). The survival instincts of the men start to kick in, readying crude spears and hammers to afflict blunt force trauma onto what would be their next meal. The women are still worried about the damage done to their dresses. As I am on my little excursion to find natural resources, I inherently stumble across a really shiny rock. When I say really shiny rock, I mean REALLY SHINY ROCK. Clearly, it catches my eye and I reach out for it. The tip of my finger flows over the rock. “Shit,” I tell myself in amazement. The really shiny rock abruptly becomes even shinier. Radiating hot white, the rock begins to vibrate. A distant explosion sets off sending a shockwave throughout the island. Women start to scream. Men shut up. As I look up towards the sky, I find that I am encircled within a tempest of radiating metal. One piece bludgeons me on my side, sending me sailing off the hill. I come to at my brother’s feet. He tells me that we’re screwed. Two very large, metal dragons appeared from the cyclone of metal. I agree. If you’re having trouble imagining this, just Google image search Red-Eyes Black Metal Dragon and/or Blue-Eyes Metal Dragon from Yu-Gi-Oh. You’ll get the general picture of what these epic dragons look like. I suppose these dragons were married or something because they apparently had a baby dragon (Not as cute as you might think it would be. It was like ferocious and stuff, sort of like a Hungarian Horntail from Harry Potter). Momma dragon (I never actually asked for her name so that’s what I’m going to call her.) handed her baby to my brother and me and told us to follow her. Naturally, I ain’t going to mess with something that’s like 50 times bigger than I am and can match the force of a cube-seeking Megatron so I comply with her demands. Metal is heavy, but baby metal dragons are heavier. We labored across the beach trailing behind Momma dragon. She makes a sharp turn into the foliage. We follow and stop. “You’re kidding me,” Jack bluntly asked. In hindsight, the answer is, “No bitch, this is my dream.”

Behind the foliage was a deep chasm. There was stuff down there at the bottom. It seemed pretty lethal to me. Then again, bubbling acid and fuming sulfur would probably appear to be lethal to anyone with at least two pieces of string and a marble for a brain. Momma dragon is big enough to walk over the chasm, leaving Jack and I behind.

“Hurry the fuck up,” she says. Seriously, that’s exactly what she said.

Obeying, Jack and I “hurry the fuck up” and traverse the chasm. It was narrow enough for us to put our backs together and plant our feet on the walls to keep us from falling. Jack held the baby ‘cos he’s a manly man. I guess I was wearing some form of like acid-proof pants because they managed to stay on while protecting my bum all the way through the pit of doom. What was interesting was the smell of sulfur. I know what it smells like since I’ve been to Yellowstone and it actually smelled like it did in the dream as it would in real life. It smells like rotten eggs, by the way. Yum. At the end of the chasm, Momma dragon sees that we are in need of a rest. Indeed we are. She led us to a cabin ahead in the forest. Jack and I thankfully put her baby down and tuck it into a makeshift basket for it to bunk in for the night. We begin to talk about our day, wondering why Momma dragon couldn’t just carry her own damn baby.

“Can’t she just carry it on her back,” Jack reasoned.

“Seriously, she’s huge. She can surely carry something like this on her back and fly away with it.”

Caught off guard, Momma dragon scolded us. “WHAT, BITCHES?! YOU GOT A PROBLEM?” We stopped talking about Momma dragon.

Later that night, a man barges into the cabin knocking the door clean off its hinges. Startled, Jack screams, “WHERE’S THE CANNON?!”

“There’s no cannon, you dumba-“ Cut off short, my face was slammed down flat against the cot.

“Where’s the dragon,” the mysterious man demanded. He repeated himself again, applying more force to my forehead. He soon realized that I couldn’t speak with my face down. Idiot. He flipped me over and backhanded me right across the kisser.

“Dude it’s the glowing white thing in the corner. I don’t understand why you had to do that to me.”

“Oh. Well, I’m going to have to punish you now since that’s what burglars do to people.”

He takes out his knife and cuts the back of both of my hands. What’s interesting is that I could feel the “pain.” It wasn’t actually pain, which is why the word is in quotations. It felt more like someone spilt a fresh cup of Cup ‘O Noodles on my hands. He picks up the dragon and shoves it in his rucksack. Just as he is about to leave, Professor McGonagall (Yes, from the Harry Potter series) untransfigurates from her feline form and appears in the doorway. She stops the man and firmly remarked, “Where do you think you’re going, young man?!”

“Uh…Nothing, Professor. BAIL OUT!” The strange man jumps away, leaving a blue swish reminiscent of a jump scar behind.

“OH NO YOU DI-N’T,” McGonagall declares and enters his jump scar.

“Whoa,” I stoically mumble. Totally aware that I’m dreaming, I follow suit into the jump scar leaving Jack behind (If you haven’t caught on by now, it’s the same kind of jumping seen in the movie Jumper). I can see why David told Millie to take a deep breath before jumping because it felt like your entire body was being compressed and then uncompressed at the same time. Having this as my first jumping experience, I gracefully land on a smooth concrete surface on the side of my face. McGonagall and Mr. Mysterious were nowhere in sight. I make myself upright (you know I first put the word “erect” there, but I figure there would be some sort of misinterpretation especially from my male audience) and open my eyes to a different kind of world. The first thing I noticed was how clean everything was. It was so clean there weren’t even spots of gum on the pavement like how it is at UC Irvine, or in Mirror’s Edge. Hover Lexus’ were zooming about along the Minority Report-esque highway structures. I stand on the edge of the building I’m atop and notice that the faces are the same except now everyone is decked in uniform only varying by different arrogantly shaded colors also much like how it is in Mirror’s Edge (A good game btw. I loved it). Realizing that I need to tell someone about the stealing of Momma dragon’s baby (She’s probably going to destroy the world when she finds out that her baby’s be kidnapped), my mind starts to crank. That’s when Dumbledore apparates behind me and told me to go to room “6 Funk 11.” Before my mind can digest the ludicrousness of what he just said to me, Dumbledore apparates away. I figure that anything important and as exotic as room “6 Funk 11” will be at the top of something so I search for the tallest tower around and begin my way towards the Shard (tallest building in Mirror’s Edge). I leap from the edge and slide down the shaft of the crane landing a top the roof of the next building. I vault over the air conditioning contraption and wall run across the Traxus billboard. Wall run, turn, jump, vault, dive, tuck. I finally arrive at the gleaming red door, heart beating, lungs greedily absorbing the air. I cleverly knock the seven knock knock. The patterned knock is returned.

“So-lo-mahhhn, yooh ah going to be laate!”

News

There's good news, and bad news. The bad news is that there's been a slight delay in the releasing of the re-rendering of the dream. I've been typing it up in a Word document and it looks like it's going to be about three pages give or take a couple inches or so. The good news is that I've taken the liberty in creating a "trailer" image album. Check it out here.