Whenever I Want (to stab) You, All I Have To Do Is Dream

Me, scrolling through the Horror & Suspense category on Hulu: “Oooh, Killer Legends. This looks like it will give me nightmares. I can’t wait!

Alan: “I love how you’re excited by that.”

What Alan doesn’t realize is that my normal dreams are vivid like Technicolor and driven by stress, and otherwise make no damn sense whatsoever. For example, last night’s journey through Nod involved storming out of a recovery conference because of unspecified wrongs and wandering into a gay bathhouse conveniently located in the same hotel, where I had to fight off a grabby bear with entitlement issues while explaining that no, I would not care for any cocaine.

Seriously, after that, getting chased around by an accepted and explainable urban legend like the Hook or the Halloween Sadist or the Man Upstairs would be a fucking respite. Go check on the children? With pleasure, imaginary psychosexual serial-killer dude. Hell, if it translates into an extra ten minutes of uninterrupted shuteye, I won’t even have your calls traced to inside the house.

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