I had a c-c-crazy dream the other night about a psycho House of Debauchery and Bee-yotching fan! And it was all... sexy. That's how sad my love-life is. I can't even get shagged by real people in my dreams. How boring. Isn't the point of sex-dreams to have them about your friends, so you both get all creeped out and you can make "deep" psychological evaluations as to the direction your life is taking, and other Freud-esque (ish?) conclusions?

It sort of takes the fun out of it when you're fucking just some random creation your brain has vomited forward in the backseat of a yellow Datsun. Apparently Dream!Dawei lives in 1993. He probably buys bourbon and Coke in a can, and owns stone-washed black jeans.

Although, he was rather scorching. And I was in good form as well! I was at Ric's in the Valley, and I was climbing the stairs to find the bathroom. But on the upper level they were filming a gay pride documentary, or some religious propaganda or... something. They were filming something. Anyway, I accidently got herded in with the extras, and we had to climb this rickety metal spiral staircase which led up to a massive fire station depot. All of a sudden, this guy bursts out and is all "Dawei!", and then I was all "the fuck?" and he said that he was a regular reader of the House, and how he easily recognised me. And then I got a boner, and we humped in his yellow Datsun outside a 7-11.

Perhaps the dream was prophetic? Are there any attractive readers of [My] House of Debauchery and Bee-yotching?

I can't believe I just typed that sentence. I'm so... sad!

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posted by Dawei at 6:16 pm