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I was walking around on top of this skyscraper right. Nobody was there with me. I was dressed in a Taco Johns apron, snake skin boots and a karate kid bandana around my forehead. I'm practicing my crane kicks next to the ledge, bare ass naked. I'm doing exactly like Mr. Myogi does in the movie, perfect balance, and I spy a two lepracaun-sized men walking my way. One is wearing a Canadian National Hockey team jersey (it's WAAAAY too big) and the other has on a three piece suit with mismatched pieces, like a navy blue vest, black suit coat, red tie and powder-blue, off-white stiped slacks. It's not flattering, and quite ill-fitting as well. I thought to myself, however, how hard it must be to find Lepracaun-sized clothing anywhere, let alone mixed separates suits, and therefore I don't make any comments about it to them. It doesn't phase me at all.
The diminutive Canadian pigmy man crawls up onto the ledge where I'm standing, now both feet on the ground... no crane, and says "What's YOUR definition of the meaning of life?" Now that's an odd question, totally not what I thought he was going to say. It takes me a while to respond, but I reply with my customary "Preservation and happiness" line. He seems confused, like I was going to say "Helping little people cope with the perils of a super-sized world" or something. The mismatched suited fellow then screams... "YOu MUST DIE!", and before I can react, he's all over me. He had a tremendous vertical leap and within seconds, I was being pummled by his tiny fists. I'm trying to fend him off and I notice that the small Canadian fellow is still pondering about my "Meaning of Life" definition. He looks up at the fracus in front of him between me and his evil buddy, and calls him off like a dog... "ENOUGH!" The little man climbs down my chest and legs onto the ground, never breaking eye contact, like a prize fighter saying "This ain't over bitch, I HAD you." The Mini-Cannuck whispers something into the tough little guy's ear. His face turns deathly white and they start to walk away, reluctantly, again, never breaking eye contact. This time, however, it's not to be tough, but instead as if they are watching me for my next move. The Canadian whistles and the two of them are charioted away on the back of what looked like a flying dog. It had wings and it barked, so I'm drawing pretty generally here. It was dream, I mean they were miniature Canadian lepracauns for God's sake, what's so nuts about a flying canine... nothing. Again, oddly enough, this doesn't phase me.
All of a sudden, I'm downtown Eugene, Oregon, watching some street vendor try to sell rainbow pepper plants to a group of North Dakota tourists. One of them is the state's Representative, Earl Pomeroy, with whom my mother and father went to school. I try to make conversation because for some reason I think he knows who I am, but I can only talk in Yoda-speak. It sucks. "Representative you are...hmmmmmmm?" "With my mother and father, to high school you went...hummmm?"
Now not that anyone in EUGENE is going to think that a person in nothing but a food service apron and bandana, spaeking backspeak is at all odd, but it bugs me and it totally spaces out the NOrth Dakotans. They quickly move on to the man playing the mouth harp and peddling "fertility scrotums", which are just that, dried animal scrotums, filled with something or other, which supposedly helps bring about ovulation and fertilization. I make a conscious effort to steer well clear of that man, considering I just had my first son, and my wife woudl be PISSED if I knocked her up again right away.
I, instead, decide to take a nap, ass up in the park next to a methodone patient. He's talking to someone, perhpas himself, about his tour at Midway. He's a nice chap, and right before I fall into a deep sleep, I form a new opinion about Methodone users. Then I woke up.
Weird huh?
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