Happy Birthday Nick. I Miss You Little Brother.

Boy, Interrupted

I had a dream last night that was too ridiculous not to write a post about. I found myself committed to a mental hospital and who turns out to be my roommate but none other than Dick Cheney himself. So what's a sitting Vice-President and 26 year old Arkansan to do? A jail break of course. I'm pretty sure Cheney was the Angelina Jolie character. We sneak out of the hospital, steal a car and the vice president drives us to my parents’ house. On the way to my house we had a very tender moment in which I told him that while I hated him as an elected official, he was alright guy. Hey, you might become buddies with a war criminal too if he sprang you from a insane asylum. Anyway, we get to my folks house and go in. Cheney has a sandwich in the kitchen while I talk to my mom about why I was committed in the first place. It turns out that reason I ended up at the funny farm was that I drunkly wandered into the First Baptist Church in Mountain Home and yelled "Budissy." Urbandictionary.com defines this word as:

a descriptive conjunction that means butt-dick-ass-pussy. It is a bad thing. Think the smell of butt, dick, ass, or pussy on a hot summer day of working in the yard.

ex.-That scotch tastes like budissy.

We end up going back to the mental hospital and I end up talking my way out of being committed via an interview over a microphone during some kind of banquet for all the inmates. I'm not sure what ever happened to Cheney but the last thing I saw him doing was happily eating pizza with the rest of the crazies.

The other interesting detail in the dream was that Bush was not the President any longer. Who was? President Matt Price.
I also had a dream involving a very goldie locks situation in which I basically squatted in a house owned by three angry midgets on vacation. Something must have been in the taco bell I ate before bed last night.