I had some weird fucking dream. Queen Latifa’s titty was in it, along with the devil and his son, who were both business men that talked to dogs on Friday’s, and because of this, wanted everybody to go to Las Vegas on Friday’s, so they could talk to dogs in peace.
That was written in 2006. I’m revisiting my old secret drunk blog. It is weird reading a lot of the shit in there, but this killed me. See, I never remember my dreams, so good, bad, or indifferent… it is always an event if I remember a dream.
Hell, after reading that small description, after all these years, I can still remember some of the mental images from that odd evening of sleep.