the bastard had an odd dream this morning...

ok it's like this.

the bastard cannot remember who he was traveling with. i think it was either the boy or perhaps left hand rob. but we were being hunted by my brother, the mofo and the executive editor of killing stuff monthly.

there had been a massive extinction event in which people had been reduced to piles of moldy cobwebs and i was making my way to my parents house to get the guns.

QUICK SIDEBAR: for the last 6 month's the bastard has been reading a comic called the walking dead. it's about a massive zombie holocaust and the stories of the people who have survived and also how their lives are changed forever by this extinction level event. this also came on the heels of a book i had been discussing called world war z which was written by mel brooks' son who also wrote the zombie survival guide. anyway, the book's web site has a quiz that grades your chances of survival if a zombie holocaust occurs. this has prompted lengthy discussions with the chairman about what we would do in the event of a zombie holocaust.

the bastard always starts off his survial situation by heading to my parents, to get the guns.

OK WE'RE BACK: so the bastard is at my parents house getting the guns and they are dead of course. i don't know if this is always the conclusion i come too because my dad reduces his options by not flying or demanding that he drive or because the subconcious narrative simplifies things by killing off my parents. maybe it's because i want a bollywood style revenge side plot to develop where the bastard sings and dances his way into getting even with the zombies.

but anyway, my parents have been reduced to cobwebs and upon getting the guns, we have a standoff. the editor from killing stuff is blank faced and speaking in his ross geller voice and the mofo is talking about the infection that has lead to this situation. i tell him i'm heading west and he tells me he thinks i have it or somehow, i've caused it but, i haven't shown any syptoms of the disease that has killed humanity. then he starts wiping the blood off of his lip and he's painting his own blood onto his face like war paint.

then the bastard wakes up. the boy wants his breakfast. what did you expect, closure? go to hell.

—the bastard