Wednesday, September 23, 2009


I had a dream that I was the assistant for a speechwriter named Qudus (pronounced Kadeuce like the MTV asshole) who was also somehow the president of Iran, so I guess he wrote his own speeches. He was the great new hope for the Middle East, something like that. We were at a gigantic rally with signs and people holding banners in New York, which was filled for some reason with burly white dudes and the types of people who would take the Saint Patrick's Day Parade mad seriously. We had a security contingent with us as we walked through the crowd that was two white cats, who did nothing but just follow us around and get rubbed on, and my friend Dashiell Mitchell-Brody was there and had a pistol, which was cool. As we're walking through the crowd the speechwriter gets SHOT IN THE HEAD and we all hit the ground and the crowd starts screaming. Dash pulls his gun out and runs into the crowd. It was me and one of the cats (the other one disappeared) and this dead guy on the ground. I woke up (IRL) and the TV was blasting CNN. Muammar Gadaffi was addressing the U.N. with a really bad translator with a funny accent.

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