Last night I had the strangest dream. It all started with a bear chasing me down the road, through my neighbor’s lawn, and into my backyard. I stood my ground when I reached Shep, my dog, who was chained to the back deck. He would protect me. He is known for being, well, protective. Not this time. He nuzzled with the beast, and otherwise did nothing. “Huh,” I thought, “it must be a friendly bear.” When I tried to pet it, it snapped at my hand. I ended up punching it in the face. Defeated, it ran back behind the pool, out of sight. I went back inside through the kitchen door. As it shut, the mother bear, eight times the size of that weak little punk of a cub, crashed into the screen door. I held it shut the best I could, but it was not easy. Finally, it latched shut, and I shut the storm door, and locked it. For whatever reason, the storm door had a doggie-door on it at this particular time. So I took the initiative to mock the stupid animal, only pissing it off more.
I rolled in my sleep, and was bearly (heehee, get it?) woken up by my parents talking in the other room about how worthless of a son I am for wanting to build myself a little study area in the guest room so I could get my artwork done in peace. My dad was trying to be on my side, from what I recall, saying that there is no harm in rearranging the guest room a little. That is when I fell back asleep.
My dream was altered, and I dreamed me and my parents were all resorting the guest room, moving the furniture. Dad was being overly helpful, chainsawing the really nice recliner, and my mom was getting overly excited about how moving the bed will destroy the balance of her dusting rituals. Much junk was being moved, despite the fact that there is not much junk in that room. There are some ugly stuffed bears, and dolls of some sort that my mom has from my grandmother, that she is probably too embarrassed to put anywhere else in the house. Other than that, that’s about it.
Before I knew it, I was up on my top bunk in my room, kicking my zombified parents in the head until they stopped trying to eat me. I noticed a shovel on the floor, and a Zombie Randy laying next to it. I noted to congratulate myself later. Somehow, Mr. Jones was a Zombie as well. He kept trying to eat me. In particular, my hair. He was making Zombie sounds, but you could tell he was trying to say, “Let me love you.” Good ol’ Jones. Fortunately, I was able to revert Zombie Jones into a slightly deformed, bony, malnourished Jones (so back to normal), by telling him I was filled with High Fructose Corn Syrup. Then, of course, we checked to make sure that he could eat other Zombies. He could. And he did, the same way he eats cheese. (As a note, I don’t think Mr. Jones understands his cheese addiction. I would like to bring it up to him sometime, but I’m afraid it might get out of hand, like when I brought up that little addiction he had with alcohol, which then became a serious issue. Jones… You eat a hell of a lot of cheese, and I am proud of you for it.)
Rybo was half Zombie. Don’t ask me how that happened. He could fool Zombies that he was chillin’ with their crew. That reminds me. If I hear anyone respond to anything with the word, “Word,” I will slowly carve every other word in the dictionary into their body with a broken 7-up bottle. Rybo also carried around a ton of weapons and explosives. He was drunk.
Silent Mike was sleeping in my brother’s bed, grinning wildly, bathed in the blood of 1,000 teenage virgins. Of course, that means every teenage virgin in the United States, plus 483. Mike was just plain creepy, even for the primal mentality of the undead, so they left him alone, or re-died by looking in his eye.
Together, we were, the God Quad reunited. We were the most powerful force on Earth. Captain Planet, Popeye, Vegita, and that lame-ass Vin Diesel couldn’t do a thing. Steve was there too. He had a skull on his shirt, and honestly, I think he had a chain saw for a hand. He was what I determined as crowd control.
We had to get out of that house, and take over a city. Unfortunately, there were Zombies everywhere. You would think this would be an awesome part of the dream for something heroic to happen. It wasn’t that big of a deal, but the bear came running in and started taking care of business like a Sorority girl in a “Stupid parade.” Those Zombies were as good as… well, they were already dead… but… Man, won’t it be awesome when science and genetics goes far enough to cause an outbreak of deadly zombies who destroy all of humanity? Man, that would be awesome!
So we ended up in a large city, all lit up, with war and terror on the streets. We managed to get safe, high in the tallest building, with a nice, warmly lit room, with some soft Jazz playing. Lynk, Rybo, Jones, Silent Mike, and Steve, all together, looking down at the humans, fleeing and screaming, as the Zombies made short work of each and every one of them. It was evident that we were now leaders. Jones could speak to the Zombies. Together, we ruled the dead. They asked nothing from us. They were our minions. Like a college girl to her Sorority (sorry for all the references, but man, it sure fits!) or an idiot to their tightwad branch of politics, nationalism, or religion, the Zombies were ours, and we were their Gods. They cheered for us. All of us. Together, the God Quad had Earth. Together, we would purge the world, and bring it back to a more hospitable state, without war, without hunger, and bring humanity back ourselves. With cloning of course. Jones held his flask up high in the window, and all the Zombies rose their fist. The city was suddenly lit as if in celebration for it’s new kings. Then I was woken up by my stereo, set to play a Jazz CD so I could get up and go to work.