Let's put the laughter back in slaughter

Don't you hate it when people blog about their dreams like "Yeah, as if I care" right? It's like cat pictures and weight loss diaries. Keep it to yourself.

I hate it too. But too bad.

Last night I dreamt I was in high school gym class again. Some of my friends and I were all on the same team. The sport was Werewolf Hunting.

Actually, it was more like Don't Get Killed By The Werewolf Until The Bell Rings, similar to how real-life gym class feels to people like me.

So my team was finally able to surround our werewolf target, and that's when the dream turned all emo. As the only one with a weapon (a sharp rock I had found) it was up to me to do the creature in. But upon being surrounded, he got all scared and meek and pitiful, and that's when I remembered it was just a person with a problem he couldn't control. I felt so sad for him that I couldn't kill him.

So I gave the rock to this girl I went to school with, and she went to town on it. She was crazy! I mean she was tearing the animal apart like total gross out cover your daughter's eyes blood and fur and viscera salad! I didn't know my brain could imagine such violence and gore. Way to go brain!

But I wasn't cheering in the dream. No, I was emo, remember? I was crying for all the hurt and pain and cruelty in the world. That Poor Animal, Children Are Starving in Africa, My Mother Never Loved Me, Babies Having Babies! As if that's not horrible enough, I was crying blood. If there were some Rasputina playing, it would have been a scene straight out of a myspace profile.

Oh, and might I add it was all over my favorite white shirt. God knows why I wore that thing to gym class, but I do know that when I woke up, I was genuinely relieved that I had not really ruined it. I was glad my priorities were back in order.

Every now and then my brain plays games like this with me. It gives me a dream like that one or makes me feel all somber and introspective when I see a dead bird on the street. Like it wants me to become one of those kids in eyeliner and a spike bracelet writing poetry for a zine I put out for my friends (read: people whose screennames I can spell).

Well it won't work, brain! The Shah of Schadenfreude won't have it! I like animals and people enough, but I will always laugh at Strangers with Candy when they use the turtle for a hockey puck, and I will always laugh at the scene in Unbreakable where the crippled guy falls down the stairs. Always.

So this is your last warning, brain. If you don't cut the crap, you're totally off my Top 8.