It always fascinates me when I realize it's getting to be 2 or 3 in the morning, and I should go to bed...and knowing that my friends on the East Coast are just starting their day.
Enjoy your breakfasts, guys, I'm hitting the sheets.
"...not the kind of girl one could take home to Mother, unless Mother were a mulatto prostitute with a missing eye and a cocaine fiend to boot."
- Sandman - Midnight Theatre (background character, overheard at a party)
Odd dreams last night.
Disjointed now, at best, but I do recall being at some kind of school or castle (hard to tell, really). I was armed and armoured, like other knights, though there were definitely two classes of us. The larger group of us were geared with lighter weapons/armour, while the smaller group wore heavier armour and carried larger battle-axes. We were defending this place from assault by undead creatures, also armed and armoured, and not mindless shambling things, but intelligent, evil, and strong bastards. Most of the fight is hazy, but I distinctly remember most of the lighter armed group breaking and running, and the heavier group shouting to stand ground and hold fast, to deny the dead entrance to the castle, taking up key positions in front of the main doors. Though lighter armed, I stayed, and a huge rotting mofo came at up, with something that, in retrospect, looked like a shield, but was razor-edged and vicious. I recall swinging my own axe as he plunged the thing at me and the man beside me. We both connected and damaged it, but not before the weapon sheared through our armour, causing a fairly ugly would to my lower left side (which is a little sore this morning, dig it...psychosomatics in action, baby!). Still, I took up arms and fought on with my brethren beside me, unwilling to falter. Hazy again, I recall the aftermath of the battle, as we lay about the courtyard, men in various states of injury, but struggling to my feet as our King walked among us. I can recall making it to some sort of crenelated battlement, but it seems to have been on ground level, because, looking over it, I was only looking at a table, on which sat a statue of a dragon. Not very large, it was maybe 3' wide by 5' long, dark red and black (dammit, cannot remember the name of that Chinese sculpture style, but that's what it looked like), and something about it filled me with pride, as if this were a symbol for all I had defended and all I held dear.
Then I woke up.
Two elderly ladies were outside their nursing home, having a smoke, when it started to rain. One of the ladies pulled out a condom, cut off the end, put it over her cigarette, and continued smoking.
The lady asked, "What's that?"
"A condom," the other lady responded. "This way my cigarette doesn't get wet."
"Where did you get it?" the other lady asked.
"You can get them at any drugstore."
The next day, the first lady hobbled herself down to the local drugstore and announced to the pharmacist that she wants a box of condoms. The guy looked at her kind of strangely, but politely asks what brand she prefers.
"It doesn't matter as long as it fits a Camel." The pharmacist fainted.