A Flaming Bag of Plutonium
Dream | October 29, 2009
An amphibious motorcycle with a cabin, and I'm skimming over a lake at high speed....
Then I'm at a campsite in my van...and it's like the last day and we're all packed up, parked in some temporary spot near the office, and I meet some people and we're talking. It looks like a normal family but I begin to realize it's George Clooney, a buddy of his and an attractive woman that constitute the group.
Ok, so I have this clear ziploc bag of Selsun Blue. It looks radioactive.
And George is asking, “What've you got there? Looks like plutonium."
And I say, “Yeah it's plutonium. Makes my motorcycle go nuts."
And his buddy is like, “You can't have plutonium man."
So I'm like, “Yeah I should get rid of it. Dunno why I have it around. I should put it on Craigslist. Maybe I can get some good money for it."
“You can't sell it! That shit's illegal," says the dude.
Can't keep it. Can't sell it. Now I'm thinking I got to get rid of it. Bury it in a hole somewhere.
A girl from the campground office comes around and tells me I can't park there 'coz it's a temporary spot. So I start up the van. George and his buddy bundle in and we're off.
We park out at the head of some dirt trail that moseyed off into the countryside. The three of us are soon strolling along next to a barbed-wire fence with a dense orange orchard on the other side. On our side is a broad meadow with a cluster of trees nearby. It's a warm, sunny afternoon.
The topic of our mission comes up and George says we should bury it sooner than later. I pull out the bag of “plutonium" and it has shrunk to dime-bag size, and the liquid is clear.
I say, “Heeeeey! Let's set it on fire." Fishing around in my pocket turns up a lighter, and I spark the bag.
FWOOOOOSH! It explodes in my hand, bursting out flaming liquid globs! Some spurt over the fence and the trunk of a tree catches fire.
“Fuck!" says I, and jump over the fence. I start patting the tree and manage to put out the flames, but a nearby wooden fence post and a stretch of ground are also on fire. I stomp around and pat out the fires there and duck through the fence again. On the other side are some smaller fires which George steps on.
So we sit down to rest on the trail, just the two of us. George's buddy has disappeared since the fire.
And George starts whacking off! His pants are down slightly and he's working his johnson. Uh, and he's also looking at me in appreciative way which makes me slightly uncomfortable. It dawns on me he might be gay. An inkling of this idea had seeped into the dream earlier as I observed he and his buddy interacting. He tells me he is fantasizing about his friend.
Cut to a subdream or surreal vision of George as the proper husband and father, at the dinner table with his family. Everyone is trying hard to be pleasant. His cute daughter is saying something but there is no sound. The wife looks like a shrew with those critical, drilling eyes, and sharp, spiteful mouth. At one point his wife politely covers a yawn. When she draws her hand away her tongue is purple. An evil-looking older woman at the table looks like poor George's mother-in-law.
Then we're back at the country scene. George must've finished up. “Yeah I did the family thing for awhile," he says. “My wife and mother-in-law would gang up on me all the time..."
I interject some bland agreement like, “They'll do that."
“...but life is so much easier with a boyfriend."
After awhile we get up and keep walking on the trail towards the golden afternoon sun and I wake up in that warm glow.