I usually hate it when people I know start to tell me about some dream they had the night before. I find hearing about them to be tedious and boring. Generally I walk away analyzing it and realizing that it was way too much information about them. Sunday afternoon I laid down for a nap and woke up several hours later laughing. Seldom do I ever remember my dreams, nor should I. This one however made me chuckle for several hours so I started to draw cartoons about what I could remember of it. This may be way too much information.
I can't remember what I did exactly to get in trouble with the law. However, having my friend Waffle represent me in a Louisiana court room was probably not the best decision I ever made. My choice resulted in the stiffest penalty for littering in Louisiana history. After the judge examined my financial records, I was given thousands of hours of community service. Being an artist, my first duty was to paint a mural on the wall of a recreation room in a mental institution.
From what I remember in the dream, I painted a large hole on the wall opening up to the outside. My intention was to make it look so realistic that the patients would run into it like Wyle E. Coyote. Community disservice. While painting the mural this rather attractive looking female mental patient came up and started to flirt with me. She kind of looked like Sandra Bullock without make up on a bad hair day, but for a psych patient kind of hot. I figured she was going to bum cigarettes from me and that's why she was flirty.
The next thing I knew, she had talked me into helping her escape. On the way out, she grabs a huge bottle of pills off of a psychiatrist's desk and starts to eat them like popcorn. Evidently my only mode of transportation in my dream was one of those stupid little scooters that don't do over 30 mph with just one person on it. These scooters are real popular down here in New Orleans. I've seen 300 pound drag queens point to people on scooters and laugh.
Anyway, as we raced down a dirt road away from the institution for the criminally insane she's reaching around and starts to stuff pills in my mouth. I turn around to tell her that twenty of whatever are enough. I see an old school early 70's police car with a bubble gum machine light on top racing after us. She starts screaming 'Faster, faster, head for the bayou' BITCH! I'm from Jersey, I don't even know what a bayou is. I couldn't say anything because I had a mouthful of dissolving psychiatric meds. The cop car got closer and I heard a very angry 440 wanting to play bumper tag with my scooter....
Then my landlady started to scream at someone in the house and I woke up. As I was drawing these cartoons I had the TV on. One of those commercials for Progressive car insurance came on and it dawned on me. The nutty chick selling insurance was the girl from my dream who used me to bust out of the asylum. Was this way too much information?