I Hate MASH

So last night trivia at Rocks was nothing short of extraordinary. Charles Darwin 1 Anna Nicole 0 (comprised of Gregerson, Christoff, Remus, the brothers Weeser*, minus Greg of course, and me) finished the final round tied for the lead. It was the first ever tie in Rocks trivia history. There was then a 3-question sudden death tiebreaker. So of course there was a question about MASH, a show that none of us watch, watched, or will ever watch. That ended up being the difference. So we finished 2nd. Next week's trivia round of choice will be Dazed and Confused.

I didn't have any dreams that I wholly remembered last night. That being said, Christoff recently called into question the authenticity of my dreams. I will tell you what I told him, though with fewer four-letter words and accusations about your sexual orientation. Sadly, there is no exaggeration in my recounts of my dreams. You have to realize that I am by no means mentally stable. My head contains both conscious and subconscious thoughts that are beyond unhealthy and bizarre. I have had weird dreams for as long as I can remember, the first of which I can recall is from when I was about 4 and petrified of the Incredible Hulk. Wanting to exploit my fears for his own amusement, God made my dream as follows: This all took place in an exact replica of my Spring, Texas residence, where I was reared from ages three months to seven years and ten months. My parents left me at home alone (Reed was still dead at this point) while they went to dinner. Even though I was 4 at the time, this did not seem weird in the context of the dream. After seeing them out the front door, I retired to the living room. I was wearing a fedora and smoking a pipe while reading the newspaper, lying on my back on the floor next to the couch. I heard some rustling in other parts of the room, and before I knew it, Incredible Hulks of differing sizes and colors were jumping on top of me, with the assumed goal of smothering me to death. Since that time, my dreams have been vivid, strange, often macabre, and it is rare that I wake up remembering nothing of what I dreamt the night before. Go to hell Ryan.