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Welcome to The Dream Archive. I write all kinds of things and catalog them here. I hope you enjoy.

Nonsense (1)

             If the point of it all was reason, then the tangerine had a lot to fear. It wasn't the fuzzy toes that were blue, but rather, the goat had left out the milk. The hammer dropped at dawn, but by the look of things, no one was in any mood for Scrabble. Pickled as they were, the mafia wanted their onions sliced, and that was that. The dub step was in full swing and the moon rays were on full blast. Santa, however, was nowhere to be seen.

            The Mortal Kombat tournament was under way, but sheep seemed to be all over the garden. In response, Bartholomew decided to ride his Zebra into Walmart. Pictures hung at odd angles in the caves, and bubbles dances all around the fan. Jelly, who up until this point had been a jar full of jelly, continued to be a jar full of jelly.

            Time was a factor, but in the sense of smell, sand weighed nothing. Rather than being at the bottom of the pile, javelins fly to the middle. Pants hung in the trees like kittens while the washboards hummed out the tunes of their ancestors. Letter rang out like the mountains of old, reminding the hills of what the llamas had once written: "Be not who the paper are, but instead, do as the dumpsters have."

            I was not an only child, but I was without siblings for my entire life. The traffic cone gave an odd look to the police officer as he picked the wildflowers that grew on the ceiling fan. It seemed that cookies were the only ones who hadn't stabbed Mr. Caputchen thirty four times in the sternum. On the other hand...

            Sighing deeply, the dolphin named Montgomery rose from the meat aisle and pronounced the German alphabet perfectly.  The television flickered with annoyance at the state of the union, and the bananas hollered in disgust. Mailboxes flew around on their carpets, as they were prone to do when the rain had called saying it would be out late for a drink with Doris.

            The computer screen showed what the entire party feared most; pixels. And while the pixies danced on the toupees of their elders, the mammoths slept. Leaves danced on the wind, rather than in it as they were told by the stagehand, and the entire play had to be shut down for medical reasons.

            Greg stood silently during all of this, wishing he hadn't booby-trapped my cereal that morning. And indeed, Tony the Tiger loved the saxophone. Ants loved to sit and watch Rosie O'Donnell, but sadly for them, Death had come early this year in the form of Rosie O'Donnell. Wrapping paper intertwined with melon juice, creating a bouquet of garden gnomes unheard of in the deepest rivers of the Himalayan Mountains. Unfortunately, many wing men died in the battle of Bunker iParty, and the cash register was never found. Although I have heard tale that a monkey tail washed up on the beaches of Normandy, the ship of course, and went on to pursue a career as a world renown plastic surgeon slash Slash impersonator. Of course it all went to hell when we learned that the cactus had been used in a rather adulterous confrontation with the Prime Minister, but there you have it.

Cacti Bloom For Love

Excuse Me