I had this dream a while back and I wonder what Freud would think of it.
It starts off by me checking my mail. I dont have an ordinary mail box, its the kind that you share with the other people on your block. A communial box I guess you could say. When I opened the door and peered inside, my mail box was cavernous. It seemed to go on forever and its was piled high and deep with canned goods- peaches, pears, tomatoes, soups, whole canned chickens, spam and other processed meats and veggies. I found this to be very odd because I did not realize that I had a canned good-o-the-month membership. Just then a neighbor that I apperantly did not care for came up to me and proceeded to explain the cornucopia hiding in my mailbox. She told me that the neighborhood food drive was "over stocked" and that they decided to split the remains of the leftovers with everyone. I thought to myself about how nice it was that we had remedied world hunger to the point of getting some back... Then my son comes up to me with this huge bicycle. He said that he had won it at school or something (that part is kinda blurry). I just remember how big this thing was and how little my son is. He was 7 at the time and this bike was one of those big three speed, beach cruiser things. He couldnt even touch the pedels. I remember him walking the bike around the neighborhood, like someone would do if they were riding it. I turned and started walking to my house when I overheard a broadcast on someones car radio that the dead have risen from the grave and that the president had declared a state of emergency. He stated that it was every american's duty to give the undead a home, since they obviously didnt have one anymore. So from that day on, every family was assigned an undead to care for. I went home and shortly after there was a knock at my door. It was an agent and he had my zombie. I let them in and showed the zombie where he would be sleeping...or whatever. He couldnt speak and he didnt walk very well. I rememeber that I was relieved that he didnt smell or try to eat me or my son. Another day came and I went to check my mail. No canned goods this time. I walked back and noticed that my neighbor, the one that I didnt care for, had decided to chain her zombie up in the front yard like a dog. The poor thing just kept trying to walk away just to be jerked back by the chain. I sat down on my front step with my zombie, watching my kid walk his big ass bicycle around the cul-de-sac, looking at all the dead people chained up in the yards and thinking to myself how sad it was.
It starts off by me checking my mail. I dont have an ordinary mail box, its the kind that you share with the other people on your block. A communial box I guess you could say. When I opened the door and peered inside, my mail box was cavernous. It seemed to go on forever and its was piled high and deep with canned goods- peaches, pears, tomatoes, soups, whole canned chickens, spam and other processed meats and veggies. I found this to be very odd because I did not realize that I had a canned good-o-the-month membership. Just then a neighbor that I apperantly did not care for came up to me and proceeded to explain the cornucopia hiding in my mailbox. She told me that the neighborhood food drive was "over stocked" and that they decided to split the remains of the leftovers with everyone. I thought to myself about how nice it was that we had remedied world hunger to the point of getting some back... Then my son comes up to me with this huge bicycle. He said that he had won it at school or something (that part is kinda blurry). I just remember how big this thing was and how little my son is. He was 7 at the time and this bike was one of those big three speed, beach cruiser things. He couldnt even touch the pedels. I remember him walking the bike around the neighborhood, like someone would do if they were riding it. I turned and started walking to my house when I overheard a broadcast on someones car radio that the dead have risen from the grave and that the president had declared a state of emergency. He stated that it was every american's duty to give the undead a home, since they obviously didnt have one anymore. So from that day on, every family was assigned an undead to care for. I went home and shortly after there was a knock at my door. It was an agent and he had my zombie. I let them in and showed the zombie where he would be sleeping...or whatever. He couldnt speak and he didnt walk very well. I rememeber that I was relieved that he didnt smell or try to eat me or my son. Another day came and I went to check my mail. No canned goods this time. I walked back and noticed that my neighbor, the one that I didnt care for, had decided to chain her zombie up in the front yard like a dog. The poor thing just kept trying to walk away just to be jerked back by the chain. I sat down on my front step with my zombie, watching my kid walk his big ass bicycle around the cul-de-sac, looking at all the dead people chained up in the yards and thinking to myself how sad it was.
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