I feel like my blog has morphed into nothing but Word Doodles and a few mentions of my novella. (If you buy it, I’ll stop bringing it up.*) So, I thought that I might talk about something different…
I am not sure of all of the details, but last night was filled with some very pleasant dreams.
Until the last one. (Yes, dream posts are usually sucky. But, it’s Friday. Shut it.)
Just before I woke up, I had the kind of dream that you have when you’ve been living on a steady diet of Guatemalan insanity peppers… and smack.
I found myself in a hotel in the Ukraine. As we all have at one time or another. I was on Facebook and complaining about the lack of variety in relationship statuses. (Statii?)
“What about ‘crushing on?’ Or ‘wants to touch her goodies?”
But then the reason for my trip was made very clear to me by a very large and angry man…
I was there to fight in a UFC match.
And my opponent was a man known only as “The General.”
Not TOO ominous.
This large man was not The General. He was a fellow fighter, but his role was to make sure that I was settling in fine.
And I was. You know, if you ignore that fact that I’m not a trained cage fighter and was a little concerned about that.
So dude hung out for a bit. We ordered food. I think his name was Ivan. He removed beer caps with his teeth. It was lovely.
Then my family showed up. They were all very excited. And not at all worried that I’m still not a trained cage fighter. They dropped off their luggage and decided to go shopping for clothes. IN THE UKRAINE.
Someone was knocking on my door and Ivan opened it for… The General.
Turned out that he was the main general in their army. He was… unpleasant. And huge. Every time I’d move, he’d jump into my face and stare me down as if we had just had our weigh-in and were posing for pictures. That got old.
“General dude, I’m just getting a bottle of water.”
Once again it dawned on me that this fella was very likely going to cave in the front part of my head. I didn’t think that was a good idea. I like the front part of my head. It’s where my face lives!
I even started trying to plan a strategy for winning the fight.
“We start… I fake a left and throw a hard right cross… and then he tears my head off and eats me entirely in two bites.”
Clearly my fight plan needed some tweaking.
At that point, I became a little more pragmatic about the whole situation. I closed Facebook and googled “medical facilities in the Ukraine.”
(It should be noted that drunk Ukrainian cage fighters do NOT see the humour in the old “The Ukraine is weak!” bit from Seinfeld.)
At that point, Ivan’s girlfriend showed up on the scene. And, as it turned out, she was Teri Hatcher. Even in my dream I was disturbed by how scrawny she is. I mumbled something about “eat a fucking cheeseburger already.”
But the General didn’t like Teri Hatcher. At all. He said something to her in Russian. (I guess?) She answered in the same language. Then the General became enraged. He lunged at her. Ivan was trying to hold him back, but not doing well. So I hopped over the bed and did a weird nerve pinch thingy on his neck and he went down in a heap. I was very impressed. I though that I was like Jason Bourne and had just forgotten that I am a bad ass.
Then Ivan looked at me, “My friend, you know that you will be wearing gloves in the cage and will not be able to do that.”
I looked at my hands, “Pooooooooooooop.”
And then I woke up.
(*I probably won’t stop bringing it up.)
(No. No I won’t.)