Saturday Slop

Last night, I had a dream and like most nocturnal (re)visions, it was at once vivid yet maddeningly obscure. I scantly recall the particulars, though I do remember stepping into a man's elbow (causing it to bend the way Nature hadn't intended) and then, sometime later, decorating that same gentleman with orange spray paint just prior to dismembering him. There was a woman, too, but I can't remember what happened to her. What I do recall is that she was delightful in some ways, while terribly annoying in others.

Anyway, I awoke from this dream in a ravenous state, which is to say I simply had to eat something, though not anything readily available (for that would have been far too easy). Regarding foodstuffs, some would label me the survival type as the most you'll see in my fridge at any given moment is, for example, a loaf of bread, jar of mustard, half-eaten pizza slice,* bottles of alcohol,** and some milk. I suppose it's the part of me that never thinks too far into the future, or maybe I don't like to throw food away and thus only buy as much as (I think I'll) eat. Whatever the case may be, the food I purchase is never the food desired when I wake up in the dead of night.  

This, folks, is how a person ends up at McDonald's at three-thirty in the morning on a Saturday, decimating a Big Mac when a Big Mac is, honestly, a shitty burger from a mediocre fast food joint. Then again, the place is open at three-fucking-whatever in the morning and when you're starving, even a Big Mac tastes like what you've been dreaming about. Keep the dream alive, I always say.***


* That's the way I found it!
** Kidding, of course. Booze doesn't last a day in my presence.
*** No, I don't.