I recall very little of this dream, and for those who don't watch Once Upon a Time on ABC, it will make even less sense.
What I do remember is that Belle and Rumpelstiltskin decided to put on a Broadway production of sorts. At least, Belle decided to do so. Rumpelstiltskin just went along for Belle's sake. He kept a black cloak on at all time to hid his face while Belle bustled back and forth across the stage and the seats, fixing lights and what not. For some reason, she could not get the filters the change from blue to gold. Of course, Rumpelstiltskin magicked the problem away, and of course he became quite awkward when she thanked him for it. He even tried to behave himself when the audience came in, although he could not quite contain the urge to transform a particularly fat man into a chipmunk when Belle wasn't looking.
Apart from that, I know that some epic, world changing events involving characters from the web comic Homestuck went on. Yet, when I try to recall it, the only image that comes to mind is John Egbert disappearing gleefully into a toilet...
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Monday, April 2, 2012
Dream Log 7: Lasersabers
How I love night classes in the summer. The bonfires, the stars, the picnic-table lectures. To help take notes I even took out a high strength flashlight that illuminated the ground for several yards around us. Yep, when learning about philosophy, that's the way to do it.
Even more fun is making "lightsabers" out of flashlights and battling it out in the smoke of the fire. My classmates and I felt like the coolest Jedi the world had ever seen. We felt even cooler when we upgraded from flashlights to laser pointers...and then laser pointers to actual high strength lasers. You'd be amazed how hard it is to avoid maiming friends when you try to kill an enemy with a laser that doesn't just stop 3 feet from the source...
Even more fun is making "lightsabers" out of flashlights and battling it out in the smoke of the fire. My classmates and I felt like the coolest Jedi the world had ever seen. We felt even cooler when we upgraded from flashlights to laser pointers...and then laser pointers to actual high strength lasers. You'd be amazed how hard it is to avoid maiming friends when you try to kill an enemy with a laser that doesn't just stop 3 feet from the source...
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Dream Log 6: Desperation
We thought he would end the starvation. We thought he had the answer to the famines. What we didn't think, what we couldn't imagine, was that the alien aristocrat we had put our hopes in did not come to earth to save it. He came to enslave it.
My home had grown sick somehow. Plants wouldn't grow. Animals died. Little by little, the world starved, and no one knew how to stop it. Then Rafeahd arrived. He looked just like us, perhaps a bit taller, a little greyer and thinner, but no one saw him as much of a foreigner. The only reason anyone really believed he had come from space was the spaceship he flew in with. He had come on a diplomatic mission, he said. His world had long known of Earth but had never had enough to offer us to make contact until now. He could heal the planet if only we'd let him. How could we say no?
The first step, he explained, required that we all be vaccinated in case the alien terraforming proved dangerous to humans. We should have been suspicious then. We should have asked how he knew about our biology. We should have looked at his terraforming equipment. Starvation, however, makes men stupid.
A few hours after the vaccinations started, the eggs started to grow. It was amazing how fast the microscopic things turned into clots in the bloodstream, bulges in the muscle, swarms in the organs. A few friend and I were late in the vaccination line up. We saw what was happening, and for all Rafeahd's reassurances, we weren't quite that blind. We hid, collecting all the stores of canned food we could find. For a month or so, we lived in a bunker and just waited. Finally, we ran out of food and had to search for more. When we did, we could not believe our eyes.
The land had all turned into sand, and every so often, you could see the shapes of giant arachnids on the prowl. As we traveled, armed with a few tools we had thought to take with us, every so often a spider would swoop down from overhead or burst up from the sand beneath our feet and attack with razor legs and pinching, clacking mandibles. A crack to the head will kill one sure enough. However, a spider's eight eyes are quite useful at detecting sneak attacks. The apocalypse is full of useful instructions like that.
After what seemed like an eternity, we stumbled across a metal structure beneath the sand. We banged on the doors until a man came and furtively led us inside. The room seemed simple enough, a bunker just like ours. However, after the man performed a quick scan to make sure we weren't incubating spiders, he opened a secret back door that connected to a massive complex filled with people and scientific equipment. In the center of the room stood a seemingly complete rocket.
It turned out, as the man explained to us, Rafeahd only used a third of the population to create the spiders. They needed living bodies in which to grow, so he kept a stock of humans alive to serve as wombs. The harder you worked building Rafeahd's palace or tending to his whims, the longer you got to live. However, an underground still existed, in this case literally. They had discovered that Rafeahd took a medicine that kept the spiders from laying in him. He kept his stock on the spaceship orbiting Earth, so if we could get up there, we could find out how to make it and destroy the only real source of power he had over us.
Thus, three companions and myself volunteered to go up with the rocket. The day of the launch finally came. The flight went perfectly, from lift off to docking against the spaceship. However, we had not prepared for Rafeahd to greet us when we came out. One of my companions and myself had the second visor down to protect against the sun. We pushed passed Rafeahd and went along with our mission anyway. The other two, poor souls, had their visors up and could see Rafeahd straight in the face. He told them to remove their helmets, and they did. He casually drew two infant spiders from his pocket and told the men to stay still. They did, even as the creatures burrowed through their faces, they stood still. However, he had said nothing about screaming. I don't know what terrified me more, their cries, or when they stopped.
All I knew was that I only had so much time before Rafeahd found me. My companion and I had split ways to search faster. Finally, I found it, a vile of magenta liquid. I turned to run back to my shuttle, when I came face to face with a human holding a pistol. He forced me to hand over the vile and escorted me back through the ship. Another human guard appeared as we went. He started to giggle to himself about the deaths of the men that had been my friends. I wanted nothing more than to kill him, but I had a gun to my back and a hope that my final companion would get out alive. The first guard at least had the taste to make the other one shut up. At last, I was forced into a prison cell. My hopes died there, when I saw my final friend already sitting in a corner, dead.
Rafeahd hasn't killed us yet. Perhaps he's thinking of how best to get information about the rocket from me. Perhaps he just wants to experiment with psychological torture for a change. After all, sitting in a room with a corpse for days does things to you. All I can do is write this down. The nicer guard who's just trying not to die took a risk and gave me some paper and a pen when I asked him for it. He said he'd return it to someone on the surface when he goes down next. When you can't fight, and you can't flee, all that's left is to tell others what happened. Besides, knowing someone might hear this someday makes me feel a little less alone.
My home had grown sick somehow. Plants wouldn't grow. Animals died. Little by little, the world starved, and no one knew how to stop it. Then Rafeahd arrived. He looked just like us, perhaps a bit taller, a little greyer and thinner, but no one saw him as much of a foreigner. The only reason anyone really believed he had come from space was the spaceship he flew in with. He had come on a diplomatic mission, he said. His world had long known of Earth but had never had enough to offer us to make contact until now. He could heal the planet if only we'd let him. How could we say no?
The first step, he explained, required that we all be vaccinated in case the alien terraforming proved dangerous to humans. We should have been suspicious then. We should have asked how he knew about our biology. We should have looked at his terraforming equipment. Starvation, however, makes men stupid.
A few hours after the vaccinations started, the eggs started to grow. It was amazing how fast the microscopic things turned into clots in the bloodstream, bulges in the muscle, swarms in the organs. A few friend and I were late in the vaccination line up. We saw what was happening, and for all Rafeahd's reassurances, we weren't quite that blind. We hid, collecting all the stores of canned food we could find. For a month or so, we lived in a bunker and just waited. Finally, we ran out of food and had to search for more. When we did, we could not believe our eyes.
The land had all turned into sand, and every so often, you could see the shapes of giant arachnids on the prowl. As we traveled, armed with a few tools we had thought to take with us, every so often a spider would swoop down from overhead or burst up from the sand beneath our feet and attack with razor legs and pinching, clacking mandibles. A crack to the head will kill one sure enough. However, a spider's eight eyes are quite useful at detecting sneak attacks. The apocalypse is full of useful instructions like that.
After what seemed like an eternity, we stumbled across a metal structure beneath the sand. We banged on the doors until a man came and furtively led us inside. The room seemed simple enough, a bunker just like ours. However, after the man performed a quick scan to make sure we weren't incubating spiders, he opened a secret back door that connected to a massive complex filled with people and scientific equipment. In the center of the room stood a seemingly complete rocket.
It turned out, as the man explained to us, Rafeahd only used a third of the population to create the spiders. They needed living bodies in which to grow, so he kept a stock of humans alive to serve as wombs. The harder you worked building Rafeahd's palace or tending to his whims, the longer you got to live. However, an underground still existed, in this case literally. They had discovered that Rafeahd took a medicine that kept the spiders from laying in him. He kept his stock on the spaceship orbiting Earth, so if we could get up there, we could find out how to make it and destroy the only real source of power he had over us.
Thus, three companions and myself volunteered to go up with the rocket. The day of the launch finally came. The flight went perfectly, from lift off to docking against the spaceship. However, we had not prepared for Rafeahd to greet us when we came out. One of my companions and myself had the second visor down to protect against the sun. We pushed passed Rafeahd and went along with our mission anyway. The other two, poor souls, had their visors up and could see Rafeahd straight in the face. He told them to remove their helmets, and they did. He casually drew two infant spiders from his pocket and told the men to stay still. They did, even as the creatures burrowed through their faces, they stood still. However, he had said nothing about screaming. I don't know what terrified me more, their cries, or when they stopped.
All I knew was that I only had so much time before Rafeahd found me. My companion and I had split ways to search faster. Finally, I found it, a vile of magenta liquid. I turned to run back to my shuttle, when I came face to face with a human holding a pistol. He forced me to hand over the vile and escorted me back through the ship. Another human guard appeared as we went. He started to giggle to himself about the deaths of the men that had been my friends. I wanted nothing more than to kill him, but I had a gun to my back and a hope that my final companion would get out alive. The first guard at least had the taste to make the other one shut up. At last, I was forced into a prison cell. My hopes died there, when I saw my final friend already sitting in a corner, dead.
Rafeahd hasn't killed us yet. Perhaps he's thinking of how best to get information about the rocket from me. Perhaps he just wants to experiment with psychological torture for a change. After all, sitting in a room with a corpse for days does things to you. All I can do is write this down. The nicer guard who's just trying not to die took a risk and gave me some paper and a pen when I asked him for it. He said he'd return it to someone on the surface when he goes down next. When you can't fight, and you can't flee, all that's left is to tell others what happened. Besides, knowing someone might hear this someday makes me feel a little less alone.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Dream Log 5: Beasts, Thieves, and Evangelism
I went out on a mother-daughter outing to an aquarium of sorts. We were allowed to swim with the marine life, which the aquarium staff claimed were all perfectly tame. Yeah right. The moment my mom climbed into the pool, the water churned and turned an oily black around her. I only had brief glimpses of fins and flippers through the murky chaos seeking to pull her under. The aquarium employee dove in, wrestling blindly with the creature. He drove it off long enough for my mom to resurface and swim to the side where I hauled her out. A second later, the employee joined us, gasping for air.
It turned out that a ravenous ink shark had been recently introduced to the aquarium. Someone's head surely rolled for that mistake, but I didn't worry too much about that. I was more concerned with my mom, who'd gone into a semi-catatonic state from the experience. She needed an indefinite leave of absence from her job, which according to dream logic was managing a bridal store for Greek weddings.
During this leave of absence, the other women working in the store competed bitterly to see who would take over the shop. They jumped on every opportunity to make a dress or a cake or specialty banners saying "Opa!" I was disgusted by the women's lack of concern for my mom, whom I visited frequently at the resort stationed in the backroom of the shop. One day, she looked out her window and saw a bunch of gorillas playing rugby crossed with soccer on a field painted like a basketball court. When I came into her room to say hello, I didn't see her. When I looked out the window, I saw a gorilla grabbing her and jumping up and down angrily to get her to let go of the ball she'd grabbed.
Somehow I got her out of the gorilla area and they went back to their game. I recall scolding her for an hour: "You're trying to recover from an animal attack! Why would you go out in the middle of the gorillas? Don't you know they're like Wookiees? Let them play however they want!" etc.
As I left my visit and went through the shop again, I saw the mother of a friend of mine trying on wedding dressed. This encounter was strange for two reasons: 1. She's Puerto Rican , not Greek; 2. She had shrunk by two feet. However, I wrote it off as cultural differences and decided to hang out with her and my friend for the rest of the day.
As the three of us went to her car in the parking garage, we saw three punk-looking teenagers trying to break in to it. Rather than shooing them off, we carefully opened the hatch of the car and climbed into the back without them noticing. We then waited. The punks finally broke into the car, rummaged around in the front seats, turned to search the back, saw us smiling at them, and froze. They then carefully put everything back, closed the doors, and walked stiffly away.
However, we didn't leave it at that. My friend's mom grabbed a bag of Rice Krispie Treats that she had come close to squishing while hiding in the back, and walked up to the punks before they could get too far away. "Do you want some food?" she called out. The punks turned, eyes bursting with confusing, fear, and shame in turns. Finally, a particularly lanky girl asked, "Wat'cha got?" as coolly as she could muster. When they saw the treats, they agreed to join us, so we all sat in a circle on the cold cement floor and shared the snacks. The punks seemed wary at first, but as we introduced ourselves and talked a bit, they began to relax. Finally, the lanky girl caved and asked, "What's the catch? Why're you doin' this?"
"No catch. We just wanted to show God's love to other people," the mom replied, sincerity written on every inch of her.
We actually proceeded to share the gospel with the punks, who seemed quite interested. By the end of the dream, they were agreeing to go to church with us and actually telling us their real names as opposed to the fake ones they gave early on in the conversation. It was perhaps the best religious/spiritual discussion I never had.
It turned out that a ravenous ink shark had been recently introduced to the aquarium. Someone's head surely rolled for that mistake, but I didn't worry too much about that. I was more concerned with my mom, who'd gone into a semi-catatonic state from the experience. She needed an indefinite leave of absence from her job, which according to dream logic was managing a bridal store for Greek weddings.
During this leave of absence, the other women working in the store competed bitterly to see who would take over the shop. They jumped on every opportunity to make a dress or a cake or specialty banners saying "Opa!" I was disgusted by the women's lack of concern for my mom, whom I visited frequently at the resort stationed in the backroom of the shop. One day, she looked out her window and saw a bunch of gorillas playing rugby crossed with soccer on a field painted like a basketball court. When I came into her room to say hello, I didn't see her. When I looked out the window, I saw a gorilla grabbing her and jumping up and down angrily to get her to let go of the ball she'd grabbed.
Somehow I got her out of the gorilla area and they went back to their game. I recall scolding her for an hour: "You're trying to recover from an animal attack! Why would you go out in the middle of the gorillas? Don't you know they're like Wookiees? Let them play however they want!" etc.
As I left my visit and went through the shop again, I saw the mother of a friend of mine trying on wedding dressed. This encounter was strange for two reasons: 1. She's Puerto Rican , not Greek; 2. She had shrunk by two feet. However, I wrote it off as cultural differences and decided to hang out with her and my friend for the rest of the day.
As the three of us went to her car in the parking garage, we saw three punk-looking teenagers trying to break in to it. Rather than shooing them off, we carefully opened the hatch of the car and climbed into the back without them noticing. We then waited. The punks finally broke into the car, rummaged around in the front seats, turned to search the back, saw us smiling at them, and froze. They then carefully put everything back, closed the doors, and walked stiffly away.
However, we didn't leave it at that. My friend's mom grabbed a bag of Rice Krispie Treats that she had come close to squishing while hiding in the back, and walked up to the punks before they could get too far away. "Do you want some food?" she called out. The punks turned, eyes bursting with confusing, fear, and shame in turns. Finally, a particularly lanky girl asked, "Wat'cha got?" as coolly as she could muster. When they saw the treats, they agreed to join us, so we all sat in a circle on the cold cement floor and shared the snacks. The punks seemed wary at first, but as we introduced ourselves and talked a bit, they began to relax. Finally, the lanky girl caved and asked, "What's the catch? Why're you doin' this?"
"No catch. We just wanted to show God's love to other people," the mom replied, sincerity written on every inch of her.
We actually proceeded to share the gospel with the punks, who seemed quite interested. By the end of the dream, they were agreeing to go to church with us and actually telling us their real names as opposed to the fake ones they gave early on in the conversation. It was perhaps the best religious/spiritual discussion I never had.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Dream Log 4: Summer Camp
I have worked at summer camps in the past, so it was no great surprise that I was roped into group leading at the start of the dream. What was odd was that everyone insisted that I had done this particular camp before. What is more, I had been an all-star.
Now, this did not mean that I was skilled at corralling eighth graders and keeping them entertained and happy. It meant that during the Hunger Games-esque basketball game between group leaders, I had performed so miraculously well that no one else had ever dared to wear my jersey number, 105. Yet, despite the vivid descriptions they gave to me, and even pictures of me slam dunking in a neon orange uniform with the legendary number on it, I could not remember actually having done any of that. However, I let it go and chalked it up to coincidence.
On the first day of camp, I felt a bit flustered. I had only recently joined the program, so no one had fully explained where I was supposed to be and when. They didn't even tell me which group I had to lead. After a little guessing, I figured out that I had to lead the blue group comprised of eight or ten spunky little middle-schoolers wearing bright blue tees. They seemed to get along with me well enough, although one of them had a tendency to walk through walls if I took my eye off of him.
After the opening ceremonies, we sat with our groups and distributed the snacks, or more accurately, snack. You see, I was given one gigantic chocolate and prune cookie to divide among my campers. One of them, a small mousy boy, stared longingly at the fragment I offered him, but refused to take it. When I asked him why he didn't want it, he explained"I, um, oh that looks good, but....I'm a recovering plum addict." I let the subject drop.
Once the cookie was fully devoured, the real fun began. The activities director instructed us to head off to the simulation grounds. I had no idea what that meant, but whatever. I was getting good at pretending I had a clue. We arrived at a massive room filled with fake terrains of all types, rocky, hilly, wet, dry, etc. Each group was directed to a different starting station in the complex and told to do whatever the leaders decided. All I could think of was to try and get out of our zone, a mountainous, cliff-like territory, into the next zone over full of streams and lush vegetation.
As we started, some members of the group went out of bounds onto the ordinary concrete floor of the room. A referee came promptly and kicked those members out of the complex, saying that they had left the simulation and could not return. He then handed me a manila folder full of plot details and maps, which I had to use to guide the game, revealing as little to my group as possible. I leafed through the instructions and saw that they did indeed need to get to the next zone, but that the way would be blocked by simulated monsters we would have to defeat. Simple enough, right?
While the group goes on, more and more people manage to drop out. I couldn't tell how though. Some seemed to simply lose interest in everything. They refused to move and just lay down, so we had to keep going. The referee would reappear from time to time, pointing out that I'd lost group members, simultaneously approving and condemning me, but of what I did not know.
Finally, only two members remained, but we had gotten to the cliff top and were ready to cross the boundary. I consulted the notes. And saw that signs of the monster included wind. Every the subtle one, I pretended to sneeze as the wind picked up, remarking, "All this pollen is being kicked up by the wind. I wonder what could be causing this wind. Maybe we should pay attention to the wind." Amazingly, the two campers picked up the hint and started to look around. Seconds later, a three headed Blue Eyes White Dragon flew down upon us. It looked like a hologram, but there was nothing holographic about the white lightning it used to fry the first camper.
At that moment, I was not afraid, nor angry, nor sad. I was simply annoyed that this punk dragon was getting in the way of my job as group leader. I had no choice but to charge in, readying my wooden shield and sword I'd inexplicably acquired. The surviving camper took cover while I swung wildly at the monster. I managed to cut of a head, and for a moment, the hologram faded out. Seconds later though, it reappeared, this time with just two heads. Well, I thought, at least it's not a hydra. Before the referee could come in and accuse me of cheating by one remaining group member, I woke up.
Now, this did not mean that I was skilled at corralling eighth graders and keeping them entertained and happy. It meant that during the Hunger Games-esque basketball game between group leaders, I had performed so miraculously well that no one else had ever dared to wear my jersey number, 105. Yet, despite the vivid descriptions they gave to me, and even pictures of me slam dunking in a neon orange uniform with the legendary number on it, I could not remember actually having done any of that. However, I let it go and chalked it up to coincidence.
On the first day of camp, I felt a bit flustered. I had only recently joined the program, so no one had fully explained where I was supposed to be and when. They didn't even tell me which group I had to lead. After a little guessing, I figured out that I had to lead the blue group comprised of eight or ten spunky little middle-schoolers wearing bright blue tees. They seemed to get along with me well enough, although one of them had a tendency to walk through walls if I took my eye off of him.
After the opening ceremonies, we sat with our groups and distributed the snacks, or more accurately, snack. You see, I was given one gigantic chocolate and prune cookie to divide among my campers. One of them, a small mousy boy, stared longingly at the fragment I offered him, but refused to take it. When I asked him why he didn't want it, he explained"I, um, oh that looks good, but....I'm a recovering plum addict." I let the subject drop.
Once the cookie was fully devoured, the real fun began. The activities director instructed us to head off to the simulation grounds. I had no idea what that meant, but whatever. I was getting good at pretending I had a clue. We arrived at a massive room filled with fake terrains of all types, rocky, hilly, wet, dry, etc. Each group was directed to a different starting station in the complex and told to do whatever the leaders decided. All I could think of was to try and get out of our zone, a mountainous, cliff-like territory, into the next zone over full of streams and lush vegetation.
As we started, some members of the group went out of bounds onto the ordinary concrete floor of the room. A referee came promptly and kicked those members out of the complex, saying that they had left the simulation and could not return. He then handed me a manila folder full of plot details and maps, which I had to use to guide the game, revealing as little to my group as possible. I leafed through the instructions and saw that they did indeed need to get to the next zone, but that the way would be blocked by simulated monsters we would have to defeat. Simple enough, right?
While the group goes on, more and more people manage to drop out. I couldn't tell how though. Some seemed to simply lose interest in everything. They refused to move and just lay down, so we had to keep going. The referee would reappear from time to time, pointing out that I'd lost group members, simultaneously approving and condemning me, but of what I did not know.
Finally, only two members remained, but we had gotten to the cliff top and were ready to cross the boundary. I consulted the notes. And saw that signs of the monster included wind. Every the subtle one, I pretended to sneeze as the wind picked up, remarking, "All this pollen is being kicked up by the wind. I wonder what could be causing this wind. Maybe we should pay attention to the wind." Amazingly, the two campers picked up the hint and started to look around. Seconds later, a three headed Blue Eyes White Dragon flew down upon us. It looked like a hologram, but there was nothing holographic about the white lightning it used to fry the first camper.
At that moment, I was not afraid, nor angry, nor sad. I was simply annoyed that this punk dragon was getting in the way of my job as group leader. I had no choice but to charge in, readying my wooden shield and sword I'd inexplicably acquired. The surviving camper took cover while I swung wildly at the monster. I managed to cut of a head, and for a moment, the hologram faded out. Seconds later though, it reappeared, this time with just two heads. Well, I thought, at least it's not a hydra. Before the referee could come in and accuse me of cheating by one remaining group member, I woke up.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Dream Log 3: The Evil Factor
It started off typical enough. Some friends were doing that Russian squat-kick dance, having a little competition. I decided to join in. However, for extra fun, I didn't just do the kicks. Physics took a coffee break long enough for me to do the Russian dance while goose stepping. Needless to say, my friends were all quite impressed.
However, this led to a conversation about nazism, which of course led to a conversation about evil, which led us to decide to find what the "Evil Factor" really was. We concluded that the only way to know for sure was to write computer program that found the greatest common factors of all evil people we could think of. I still do not know how one factors Cruella de Vil, but we managed it. It turns out, that the greatest common factor of evil, the key to what makes men and women turn to destruction, what made Satan turn on God...
is the bunny of doom.
Warn your friends.
However, this led to a conversation about nazism, which of course led to a conversation about evil, which led us to decide to find what the "Evil Factor" really was. We concluded that the only way to know for sure was to write computer program that found the greatest common factors of all evil people we could think of. I still do not know how one factors Cruella de Vil, but we managed it. It turns out, that the greatest common factor of evil, the key to what makes men and women turn to destruction, what made Satan turn on God...
is the bunny of doom.
Warn your friends.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Wouldn't you know it?
The night after resolving to record my dreams, I don't have any. At least, I can't recall anything past staring at a 27 on a homework assignment, wondering if it's 27 points or 27%.
Therefore, I'll briefly describe a previous dream, one which I have resolved to make a reality some day.
I dreamed of a printer...that printed hot chocolate.
You simply put a mug in a slot, and as your papers printed, the ink was converted somehow to chocolate and dripped steaming into the mug.
My friend in the dream seemed to think this was perfectly boring, but I knew better. I grabbed him by the shoulders, looked him square in the face and declared, "You don't understand. IT. PRINTS. HOT. CHOCOLATE."
What more can I say?
Therefore, I'll briefly describe a previous dream, one which I have resolved to make a reality some day.
I dreamed of a printer...that printed hot chocolate.
You simply put a mug in a slot, and as your papers printed, the ink was converted somehow to chocolate and dripped steaming into the mug.
My friend in the dream seemed to think this was perfectly boring, but I knew better. I grabbed him by the shoulders, looked him square in the face and declared, "You don't understand. IT. PRINTS. HOT. CHOCOLATE."
What more can I say?
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