Monday, March 21, 2011

My Racist Dream

Sometimes you dream dreams about the upcoming zombi apocalypse, sometimes you dream racists dreams, but it is a rare occasion that you do both. But the other night, it happened to me. Now, I don't consider myself a racist, I don't hate people because of their skin color (though remember in this case, gingers do not count as people) but sometimes you are just bombarded with so many stereotypes in the media that you can't help but dream about them.

See what I just did there? I blamed the media for my zombi apocalypse/racist dream.

Thats called transference.

So as I lay in bed, contemplating all the French work I had yet to do, I finally nodded off into dream land. Little did I know the horrific visions I was about to see, accompanied by poorly written sitcom comedy!

Suddenly I'm working for this firm in the city and were all trapped there past working hours because there was an announcement a terrorist attack was about to occur at midnight. As it gets closer to 12, the people started getting anxious.

So to help them calm down I regal them with this little gem: "this might be the last conversation we ever have."

People were not amused, though my friends there who were in the debating Society started arguing that we were NOT in fact having an actually conversation because more than two people were involved and you cannot technically have a "conversation" without more than two people.

I of course prove them wrong —with my brain logic— and escape the city to an alternate universe-version of my old town with two of my friends.

The terrorist attack hits, and the majority of the populace become, what else, zombies.

So most people in the town are now zombies. Awaiting our ultimate demise, we go to our old high school, but not until at like 1:45 so we could "hang out with friends," but were not required to actually "go to class."

My dude friend became a guardian of the school, and did thorough searches of everyone entering to make sure that no zombies got in.

The next scene my brain did one of those weird things where I'm still in the dream, but I'm not a specific character, and even some of the characters change around their identity, but I digress. There were three friends in the school, one guy who was really cool, found out that everyone, including his friend the guardian was actually a zombie, and then they demanded that he choose the person to turn him into a zombie. He was very picky about it, because most of them
were ugly (though not real zombie movie ugly) and decided on one, which then turned him into a Zombie.

But then none of the three friends turned out to be actually zombies and then I magically come back into the story and run away with the girl.

You can't explain that!

We end up going to the other high school in town because, after the first one worked so well, we thought we'd try it again.

When we finally reach the other school we find, not former high school clansmen, but a group of middle-aged black women.

They were searching for a device that Rusty from ABC Family's really crappy show, GREEK!, had installed for them.

They climbed up this ladder to the box, but found that at one point it had been condemned, because as they opened it, a metal foldable ladder came flying down, hitting many of the older black women in the face and knocking several of them off the ladder.

Don't worry they were fine, it is a dream after all.

All of a sudden the first woman to look into the box starts tearing up out of thankfulness. "Oh my GAWD!"

The other women gather around the box which appears to be a portable salon hair dryer (the one where you sit in the chair with the helmet-like thing over top) and the rest of the women were hopping around excited because they could get their hair "did" before they were turned into zombies.

But! We were mistaken!

What they thought were curling irons was actually an inflatable TV, at which point they all looked at me to make it work.

We go back to the cafeteria and I blow up the TV and try to start programming it. Out of nowhere my mom appears and helps me program it, since the TV, and all the available stations were broadcasted in the 70's, and she lived through the 70's.

Because we were all aware of our eminent doom to the zombies, we decide to put on something that would calm down the black women, many of whom were older and had overall lumpy figures (This isn't important to the plot, but I had to mention it somewhere).

So we spend the last few hours of our non-zombie lives watching the Cosby Show.

The End.

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