Don't ask...

Last nights dream wasn't coherent, wasn't based on much ... it was just weird...

From what I remember, I was in a house (or a separate room in a restaurant), and I was with some friends. We were all eating Oriental food. Oddly enough, I was using chopsticks without stumbling all over myself, or anything. For some reason, I was having the hardest time trying to get this food down! It wasn't gross, but everyone else was beating me. I don't remember who was there, but they were looking at me like I was weird, because they were finishing up first. I was about half done with my box of food when they were picking out the last grains of rice -- that's how far behind I was.

Well, we were all together, and I was still hungry, so they all left to check this place out, and I concentrated on just trying to finish all of it. I wasn't getting full, it just seemed like I wasn't able to get much in the chopsticks at all.

Well, as I slowly worked my way through the food, there was long, thin, pink thing, about as wide as one of my fingers. I didn't know what it was. I simply couldn't tell. I poked at it, hoping to discover what kind of creature it was. It suddenly dawned on me where I had seen one of those before: a larger one was inside my own mouth. You got it, a tongue.

I stared in disbelief. I've never had a tongue in any of the Chinese, Japanese, Thai, or any other Oriental food that I've ever had before. I was stunned. What should I do? Should I ignore it, pretend I never saw it, eat around it, and throw it away? But that's wasting food, and I am not known for doing that. Many people would eat it without thinking twice. In fact, I'm sure that in some places, it's a delicacy.

Well then, should I eat it?

Yuck. No way.

But why not? I've eaten practically everything else in my life that's been set before me. I do claim to be entirely not picky--especially since I can't cook, I have no room to complain.

But a tongue? Blah!

Well, I poked at it once more. It was thoroughly cooked and rather soft. I picked it up, and it looked like it had simply been cut up.

After grossing myself out, I decided to not eat it. Very decidedly, I put it into a corner of the box, well away from the rest of the food.

The fried rice was actually quite good. It was easily some of the best that I've ever had. Suddenly I realized that I was almost done with the box. I hurried to try to finish it up, because I wanted to see what was inside this restaurant.

I took a bite, and chewed. It was a different texture and a slightly different taste. It was very soft, but somehow slightly rubbery. What I was tasting was slightly more bland than the fried rice, but it was good in its own way. I froze in horror and looked in the box. No, I hadn't accidentally eaten that piece of tongue. Then what in the world...?

I had to inspect what I had just put in my mouth. There was another piece of the tongue, smaller than the major piece, and I had just eaten it. A wave of revulsion ran through me, and then I checked myself. Why was I disgusted? It wasn't all that bad...

I reconsidered my original idea, and picked up the piece of tongue in the corner. I looked closely at it. I don't know what I expected to see. Maybe a message saying, "Don't eat this"? Whatever it was, all I could see is that it was simply a tongue. I braced myself and ate it.

Not bad. It was as I described before, but without all the fried rice, it was easier to tell what it tasted like by itself. It was chewy on the outside, but rather soft on the inside, not unlike taffy with a cream filled center. However, it was a much softer "chewy" than anything.

I can't even describe the taste. How would you describe the taste of your own tongue? You can't can you? Well, I guess that my dream was telling me that all tongues tasted like my own...

In any event, I finally got done with that. The box was empty. I got up to look around the place, and maybe catch up with my friends. As I walk out of the room, I see the next room has some targets in it. Curious, I walk in.

As soon as I clear the door, a man hands me a pump action shotgun.

{SIDE NOTE}

Of course, you know that I scoured the internet for pictures and names of shotguns. The closest that I could find was the Navy A Remington 870 Wingmaster 12-gauge shotgun. I tried to post a picture of one here, but it wouldn't work for some reason... Anyway, if you're that interested, just search for the name of the gun in quotes: "Navy A Remington 870 Wingmaster 12-gauge shotgun". You'll find the picture, and it should be the first link you get.

{END SIDE NOTE}

I take the gun, and it's surprisingly light. It was almost amazing at how light it was. Well, I had six rounds, so, with much gusto, I strode over to the center of the space where I was supposed to stand, and held the gun up. After firing one round, I realized that this really was as easy as the movies made it look. I tossed the gun from my right hand to my left hand. My left hand grabbed the pump, and I did a one handed pump, and the gun was ready to go again. I tossed the gun up with my left hand, and caught it with my right hand exactly where it was supposed to be, spun 360 on my heel while lowering myself to floor, and fired without aiming. I was just slightly off bulls-eye, but what do you expect for a rookie like me? Well, I continued doing stuff like that and went through five shells quickly. On the sixth one, I decided to break the rules and pretend to be Neo, so I did a one-handed cart-wheel on my right hand, and while I was perfectly upside down, I fired again (left handed) and hit bulls-eye.

Feeling quite proud of myself, I went back to the guy to get another six shells, which he gave me. I looked at my target: it was practically non-existent anymore. At this point, it was obvious that the wall behind it was drywall, because it was missing a huge chuck of it, and white powder was everywhere. As I reloaded the gun, the man motioned to the door, as though telling me to go out and shoot things. I gladly accepted, because I knew that I would have to save innocent lives from an evil terrorist dictator who has set himself up as the ruler of the land.

Six shells wasn't going to get me too far, so I got a couple more...

As I walk out the door, the stereotypical sunglasses go on, and I stand in a menacing pose outside the door. The first door opens, and I do my best to look intimidating.

Airborne drywall powder comes pouring out of the room, and a young man completely covered in it comes out, choking from the sheer volume of dust. I look at him, wondering if it would be my first opponent.

Nope. It's Alex Y. (a fellow Christendom alum, who was from the basement my senior year, and graduated class of '05). He looks at me in sheer disbelief, and says, "What in the world do you think you're doing? You just shot out that wall!"

Not having a good answer for him, I woke up...