Dream of the Month
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A Real Spine-Tingler
Note to lawyers, law students, judges, prosecuters, wig-wearers, solicitors, defenders, senators, and disgruntled English majors who may be considering The Paper Chase: This is a dream. This is just a dream. It is not intended as an attack on the NBA's former wonderman.
Anyway the deal was, I was going to let Magic Johnson (wearing tailored suit and capped-tooth smile á la "The Magic Hour") crack my forearm with the understanding that someone would immediately set the broken bones and supply me with premium pharmaceuticals.
WHACK! My arm is broken. The plant still looks like shit. And Magic Johnson is sitting on his ass in front of the TV and I'm walking around with a compound fracture of the radius and ulna.
"Aren't you going to set my arm?" I ask, starting to get annoyed.
Magic looks up from the boob-tube and answers, "You know, you could be a really pretty girl if you would just learn to stand up straight."
Obviously, I'm a Virgo.
What happens when you sail into the Land of Nod? Send us the poems, specters, ghosts, jokes, itches, and moments of pleasure that insinuate themselves from that worm hole that stretches from the dumb-days of consciousness into the wild free green grasses and outrageously salty peppermint forests of the dreaming mind. We'll slather it around.
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