Sweet Dreams

Well...last night I had a dream, and I know that, as stated by Always Sunny, "Dreams are like pictures, if I'm not in any of them, and no one is having sex, I don't care." However, some people are in this one.

My buddy Zach calls me up and asks if I'd be interested in going to Pittsburgh to invest in a coal mine. I agree, as I take great personal stake in the nation's coal supply. Anyways, we're driving for about two hours in the driving rain, and the turnpike starts going up these steep, unfinished mountain roads, our wheels are overhanging cliffs, it's all pure rock with gullies of rushing water. Zach repeatedly insists that we're going the right way, and that I do not remember this part of the turnpike because it's under construction.

We go for a little longer and we see this big building made of logs in the distance. Zach says pull over, this is a good place to stop. It's a gravel/dirt lot, with many mud covered pickups. The lot is lit by overhead stadium lights, and we run through the mire to a door that says "Bar" over another sign that says "General Store."

We sit down at the bar, get a couple of looks from the locals wearing cowboys hats...it's obviously the only place for miles, as the bar is very large and filled to capacity. It takes forever, but we eventually get a beer and zach asks the bartender where the closest hotel room is. He gives us directions, but I'm upset because I need to get to Pittsburgh that night so I can be home the next day in time for a party I'm throwing. Zach says it's raining too bad to head home.

We go down a hallway to the general store area, were there are about 12 teenagers wearing kilts and suspenders with dirty button down white shirts made out of some heavy fabric. They all have bad punk-rock type haircuts, randoms lengths of hair long in one area, short in others, but since they obviously have never seen internet or television to know what a punk haircut is, these are actually more authentic punk than most. They area struggling to get a 55 gallon drum of oil to the checkout.

I go get a warm soda out of the cooler, and say "excuse me" to the teens, but they ignore me and continue to struggle with the drum. I go to pay the old man for the soda at a front counter, but one of the teens is blocking the counter who says "we're in front of you, city boy."

I tell him that I'll be done before they even get to the counter, and he repeats that they were in front of me. I hand two dollars to the old man, and go to exit, where another teen has his hand on the doorknob. He goes "poor choice." I grab the doorknob and leave.

The rain has slowed, so Zach and I start walking across the big parking lot to the car to decide if we should head towards the 'burgh or head for home. I look over my shoulder, where I can see the group of teens have left the barrel outside and are slowly following us. I just finish saying "let's just get on the road and we'll decide, I don't feel like dealing with them," when I notice that the teens have gathered together and are looking towards the far end of the lot. Suddenly, someone at the far end of the lot bursts from the passenger side of the car and starts running across an open area behind the building, the teens run after him, picking up broken 2x4s, over run him and begin beating him with the 2x4's and pieces of chain.

Zach and I are both like, "Holy Shit!" but sort of hang around in disbelief, when the teens drag the dude they were beating over to the barrel of oil where they start dousing him with the oil and trying to set him on fire. At that point, Zach and I quietly roll the car out of the lot and head for home.

When we get back to my house, people are swarming the yard. Spot lights are everywhere, as a crew of men are assembling a large stage with "ANDREW WK" emblazoned across the top. I fight my way through crowds of people, some of whom I know to varying extent, to my front door, where one of the girls from the rugby team I coach is standing there in full kit.
"Coach, what's going on?" She asks, although it seems she knows more than I do.
"What're you doing here?" I ask.
"Oh, I just needed a..." she trails off, distracted by the stage.
"Why are you in full gear?"
"Oh, well I just came here to see if you had a...," again, she is looking at the stage.
"What? What do you want?" Just then my boss from England bursts out of the door.
"She wants a beer, just like every other bloody rugger!" he shouts, forcing a beer into her hand, goes back inside and slams the door.
"Why are you here?" I ask again.
"I just wanted to get, a, um, " pausing to look at the stage, "a mouthpiece!"
"It's 2 months until we start practice, I don't have any moth pieces. Besides, you have one stuck in your headband, one in your collar, and one in each sock if i'm not mistaken."
"Oh, well, then I guess I can go then," and disappeared into the crowd, beer in hand.

Andy Young, who I've seen once, maybe twice since high school, uncharacteristically tears up through my yard in a convertible cabriolet, top down with tall dune grass planted in the back.
"Well, glad to see you brough some grass to replant my yard." He hops out over the door carrying two six packs, shoves one into my arms, and goes inside without making eye contact.

I go into the house, where it is wall to wall acquaintances from high school and college engaging in behavior that will cause long term detrimental effects to my home. I try to talk to them to find out what is going on, but shredding guitar music drowns out their answers.

I mosh back to my room, where Sean is guarding the door.
"I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO DUDE!!!"
"what's going on here!?" I ask him.
"I don't know what we're gonna do."
"About what?" I just want to know whats going on.
"ANDREW W.K." Sean yells over the music.
"Is he here, or is that just his stage?"

Sean opens the door to reveal Andrew W.K. sprawled out on my bed, unconscious.

I don't remember what happened after that, but I can only assume I went on and partied so hard that my heart exploded out of my chest at the end of the set, and everyone cheered as they were covered in a shower of Jager flavored blood.