Man, I've been having some weirdo dreams lately.
Not useful weirdo dreams (the ones that predict I'm going to lose something and I should just check myself before I wreck myself), but just plain crazy "Fear and Loathing in Overland Park"-type psychedelic mind trips.
Take this one from the other night:
I have this dream where I'm in Paris (the city, not the celebutard). That’s been kind of a recurring theme lately, Paris. It must be time for another trip to Europe. But I digress.
Anyway, I'm in Paris, but the weird part is I'm not me. I'm actually Roger Daltrey. Yeah, the lead singer for The Who.
So here I am, Roger Daltrey, and I'm on my way to a dive bar in a dusty corner of Paris to have drinks with -- get this -- Robert Plant.
That's right, Robert Plant, lead singer of Led Zeppelin.
See what I mean? Crazy!
And to get to this Parisian dive bar, I have to ride a bicycle -- one of those expensive Tour De France-style racing bicycles. Well I show up at this dive bar and greet Robert Plant like we're old friends. He's got an entourage of about six people.
I, Roger Daltrey, show up alone. WTF is that all about? Alone?! I'm Roger Freakin' Daltry for cryin' out loud!
Anycrap, we sit at this long low table and start having lots of drinks and stuff, you know, living the rock star lifestyle. Everything gets kicked up a notch when we discover that our waitress/sous chef in the kitchen (yeah, I know, a sous chef in a dive bar? But we are in France so this probably makes the most sense of anything in this dream) is wearing nothing but a tight T-shirt and a thong under her greasy dirty apron.
That's where that story line ends.
Basically all that happens is we party a lot and then decide to call it a night. Robert Plant makes some crack about it only being 3:30 in the morning and how, when he was a young rock star, he would stay out until dawn.
Then I, Roger Daltrey, go get on my racing bicycle to head back to my hotel. I get a few yards and then realize that my bike has a flat tire and I have to walk it the rest of the way back.
And that's where it ends. Makes no sense right?
No more turkey pot pie before bedtime for me!
tagged: dream, Europe, Paris, France, Hilton, Robert Plant, Roger Daltrey, Led Zeppelin, The Who, sous chef, thong