Bouncy Ball is the Source of All Goodness and Light
pure enlightenment
Saturday, November 06, 2004
Amateur Night at the Shrink's Office
A little background:
One of, if not, my dad's best friends from high school came to visit us from New Jersey over the summer. His name is Fred Tadesco, and every one calls him Freddy. He is a smaller guy, probably 5'7" 130 lbs. and about 55 years old, not a scary or intimidating figure. Well, he left his shampoo and conditioner in the guest shower when he departed and is now coming back to visit over the OU-Nebraska weekend. The shampoo that he left is some kind of Redken Headstrength, or something like that anyway. I assume that when he comes back he will take this shampoo with him. Since I use the shower that is shared with guests, I decided to see if it was so much better than the cheap stuff that I normally use to justify its high price. It was alright, but I stuck to my Suave.
The Dream:
Freddy Tadesco was leaving our house in the middle of the night, but I was awake to catch him in the act. He was trying to take the shampoo! This was no ordinary shampoo though, this shampoo and conditioner combo was really my soul. No clue as to how we both knew this, but he was being very sneaky and tried to make an escape from the house with my bottled soul in tow. Having been caught red-handed he knew that there was no explanation that would suffice, thus began the battle. "Freddy T., return my soul to the middle shelf in the shower, or face my wrath." He chose wrath, little did I know of the wrath that he also possessed. He may be small, but that just gives him speed and agility. He struck first by throwing something nearby at my head, but missing and hitting my leg (I don't know, that's just what happened). I studied his movements and dodged his attacks until I figured out his patterns, then attacked. I proceeded to pummel him with my flip flops (thong sandals, if you prefer), they happened to be the closet things to weapons that were nearby until he was wailing "UNCLE!" at the top of his lungs. When I let him get up and brush himself off, he acted like he was going to hand over the soul, but instead squirted it into my eyes, it stung. I screamed, "My soul burns, my soul burns!" right before waking up and wondering exactly what is wrong with me.
Please leave any insight you might have in the comments.
Linkage heaubeau's enlightment as of 6:02:00 AM |
One of, if not, my dad's best friends from high school came to visit us from New Jersey over the summer. His name is Fred Tadesco, and every one calls him Freddy. He is a smaller guy, probably 5'7" 130 lbs. and about 55 years old, not a scary or intimidating figure. Well, he left his shampoo and conditioner in the guest shower when he departed and is now coming back to visit over the OU-Nebraska weekend. The shampoo that he left is some kind of Redken Headstrength, or something like that anyway. I assume that when he comes back he will take this shampoo with him. Since I use the shower that is shared with guests, I decided to see if it was so much better than the cheap stuff that I normally use to justify its high price. It was alright, but I stuck to my Suave.
The Dream:
Freddy Tadesco was leaving our house in the middle of the night, but I was awake to catch him in the act. He was trying to take the shampoo! This was no ordinary shampoo though, this shampoo and conditioner combo was really my soul. No clue as to how we both knew this, but he was being very sneaky and tried to make an escape from the house with my bottled soul in tow. Having been caught red-handed he knew that there was no explanation that would suffice, thus began the battle. "Freddy T., return my soul to the middle shelf in the shower, or face my wrath." He chose wrath, little did I know of the wrath that he also possessed. He may be small, but that just gives him speed and agility. He struck first by throwing something nearby at my head, but missing and hitting my leg (I don't know, that's just what happened). I studied his movements and dodged his attacks until I figured out his patterns, then attacked. I proceeded to pummel him with my flip flops (thong sandals, if you prefer), they happened to be the closet things to weapons that were nearby until he was wailing "UNCLE!" at the top of his lungs. When I let him get up and brush himself off, he acted like he was going to hand over the soul, but instead squirted it into my eyes, it stung. I screamed, "My soul burns, my soul burns!" right before waking up and wondering exactly what is wrong with me.
Please leave any insight you might have in the comments.
Linkage heaubeau's enlightment as of 6:02:00 AM |