So I woke up just now, and all I could remember was the last sentence of the dream, and it was so strange I had to jot it down. Here’s my little gem of wisdom from the nether-regions of my subconscious. Someone in the dream was talking to me, and this is what they said:
“And when you get tired of getting advice from a monkey at a funeral for $12.99 a pop, call me.”
What? What? Who’s funeral? What advice? Where’d the monkey come from? Who was telling me this at the end of the dream?
So there you go patient reader, a little sludge from my gray matter.
Have a nice day. I’m going to try.
2 comments:
advice from a monkey is EXPENSIVE!
hah - maybe the monkey belonged to one of the ex-special-forces transsexuals who were guarding me in an off-grid safe house last night.
damn monkeys.
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