I have some pretty effed-up dreams. Mostly because they’re so lifelike that it takes me a few minutes after waking up to realize they weren’t real. Like, I could be eating breakfast by the time I realize I’m not actually pregnant with John Krasinki’s baby. And it freaks me out.
So imagine my horror at the doozy I wound up with last night:
So I’m innocently riding the L train in Chicago with Kanye West (obviously) when some dude who looks like Lourdes Ciccone’s father takes a silver wine opener (butterfly style, not the jackknife kind) to Kanye’s ear and threatens his life. There’s no explanation as to what this dude is so upset about, Kanye refuses to relent and the Madonna’s baby-daddy look-alike screws that wine opener right into Kanye’s head, through his brain, and kills him dead. Then, he threatens to kill my entire family if I tell anyone, because apparently out of the 500 people on the L train, I’m the only one that sees this. He gets off at the next stop, as do I, because hey, it’s my stop.
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