What the *censored* was that all about?

"Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you...Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be... Dream a little dream of me"

Ah yes... we all have them, a majority don't recall them, some are skeery, some are sexy, some are run on themes of the day's happenings and some are just downright "what the *censored* was that all about?" I had one of the latter overnight. Zam Pow! From out of nowhere this thing came.

I have never been one for crushes, idols, untamed passions, being star struck or any such nonsense. I'm a practical gal, feet firmly planted on the ground with stickers abound. To say I live a life full of reality is an understatement. That said, there has been one singular soul that piqued my interest many moons ago. Unlike many in the wild, wild world of the netterverse, this soul does not rule my every move, I don't do the fanfiction thing, don't do the walks on water schpeal, as a matter of fact I very rarely say much on the subject at all, much less think on the subject. Rather, one moment in time etch-a-sketched an image/thought/interest in the deep caverns of the grey matter confined between my ears. It stays there hidden away from prying eyes and other such negative nellies, swinging on the swings and romping through the emty fields before it. This is where the *censored*-ness comes into play about this dream.

I sat in a little diner (is it odd that I was actually sitting in a booster chair?) with a couple of friends having the earth's best DEEP fried taters and cocoa, just yabbering up a storm about absolutely nothing. Isn't that the normal way? When along came a spider and sat down... Opps, I forgot the subject... Ah yes, the dream. Out of nowhere I hear this voice ask if they can join our rather animated discussion about nothing. Without looking up, we chime in.. sure thing mister. The next thing I know, I'm smacking the hand of this etch-a-sketched vision of many moons ago, for having the nerve to dip into MY fried taters. WTH does he think he is anyway? Some superstar? Sheesh! Without so much as batting a singular eyelash, I request that he get his own *censored* taters. After all.. It is reported that he has more money than g-o-d himself. Hell, get me another order while yer at it dood! While he's away, my friends promptly begin kicking me and throwing things at me, reminding me, "why yes.. he is a superstar... WTH is wrong with you? Be nice!" He returned just as I was dipping my eyeballs into his water to clean them off after having rolled around on that floor covered in lord knows what. Conversation prattled on, ranging from nothing much to absurd.

I blinked and the food was gone (what good is a dream without food, I ask you?) and we had apparently launched war on a booth across the room. With finesse, we catapaulted spit wads, ice cube missles and creative insults (I thought the "you are as messy as my melted ice cream cone" was the finest in our arsenal). Laughter erupted when this etch-a-sketched image come to life sitting next to me took a direct hit upon his gargantuan sized schnoz by a very overcooked brussel sprout. It was akin to that neat "squirtshplash" cartoon sound from the days of yore. This instance, but of course, caused war to break out at our own booth. From out of nowhere, food appeared and was hurled at the booth's residents. I took a direct hit to the kisser from a sloppy joe and before I could clear my vision (again, by rinsing my eyeballs in HIS water - wth is up with me doing that?) a wad of smashed taters was sent on the fast track in my direction. Me being an old pro at food wars, I immediately grabbed the plate positioned in front of me and redirected the white glob the consistency of drywall paste toward my etch-a-sketched new friend. Heh! Take that you person who thinks you are a superstar! Splat! As I was clearing the vision and launching into a fit of laughter.... I mean, afterall, who the *censored* comes to a lowly grimy diner decked out in a tailored designer black suit complete with fine egyptian black shirt and silky grey tie with perfectly coiffed hair?... This etch-a-sketched soul that has held my interest since before I was even a tween, grabbed the passing waitress, pulled a fresh WHOLE cherry pie off her tray and kersmashed it square in my mouth full open in sheer laughter face. *censored* ... *censored*.... *censored* Cherry pie? Ewwwwwww.... anything but that!

I blinked and found myself sitting rather close with the most in horror, in total shock, mortified look on my face as this etch-a-sketched soul was passing a camera across to my friends and asking me if I would please take a photo with him. Zam Pow! End of dream, time to rise and shine. I wonder if this is a sign that I should try cherry pie.. hey.. I might like it. Or maybe that I should act on my craving for those DEEP fried taters that only a tiny dimly lit dingy diner can provide. Perhaps... Well hell... I'll just leave well enough the *censored* alone and cherish the new etch-a-sketched image deep within the caverns of grey matter confined between my ears now covered with schplatted overcooked brussel sprout and smashed taters!