Thread of Dreams

[revbob]

Just remembered that I forgot to relate my dream from last night, which was more funny than weird. There may have been more to it, but this is all that stuck with me when I woke up. I was observing (maybe working on) a film crew for an Avengers movie, which was being directed by Woody Allen. However, he was freaking out because the producers were telling him that he couldn't have an old superhero seduce a young girl. Very rare that my dreams are so directly drawn from real world examples.

My dreams are never so structured.

Yeah, this was pretty atypical as to how my dreams proceed.

But its a coherent narrative.

Perhaps if I recalled more it would have revealed disconnects, but what sticks out is Woody's heart wanting what Woody's heart wanted. And him desperate enough to direct a Marvel movie.

Who did he want to bang?

[Dr. Medulla]

My dreams are never so structured.

Yeah, this was pretty atypical as to how my dreams proceed.

But its a coherent narrative.

Perhaps if I recalled more it would have revealed disconnects, but what sticks out is Woody's heart wanting what Woody's heart wanted. And him desperate enough to direct a Marvel movie.

Who did he want to bang?

Generic teenager, as far as I can remember. The older character was a superhero, the girl was, I guess, a civilian.

[Kory]

Yeah, this was pretty atypical as to how my dreams proceed.

But its a coherent narrative.

Perhaps if I recalled more it would have revealed disconnects, but what sticks out is Woody's heart wanting what Woody's heart wanted. And him desperate enough to direct a Marvel movie.

I always assumed the Newton character from Alan Davis' ClanDestine was based on him. He should do that movie.

I don't know any of that stuff.

I like it a lot, but I also love love love Alan Davis. I'm not sure if I'm objectively assessing it, but it's certainly worth at least one read for the art alone.

[Dr. Medulla]

But its a coherent narrative.

Perhaps if I recalled more it would have revealed disconnects, but what sticks out is Woody's heart wanting what Woody's heart wanted. And him desperate enough to direct a Marvel movie.

I always assumed the Newton character from Alan Davis' ClanDestine was based on him. He should do that movie.

I don't know any of that stuff.

I like it a lot, but I also love love love Alan Davis. I'm not sure if I'm objectively assessing it, but it's certainly worth at least one read for the art alone.

It's weird that I've never ever ever heard of it, not even in passing.

[Kory]

Perhaps if I recalled more it would have revealed disconnects, but what sticks out is Woody's heart wanting what Woody's heart wanted. And him desperate enough to direct a Marvel movie.

I always assumed the Newton character from Alan Davis' ClanDestine was based on him. He should do that movie.

I don't know any of that stuff.

I like it a lot, but I also love love love Alan Davis. I'm not sure if I'm objectively assessing it, but it's certainly worth at least one read for the art alone.

It's weird that I've never ever ever heard of it, not even in passing.

It only has about 15 issues or something like that, and then a 2-part crossover with X-Men. Very minor stuff, but I only found out about it because of this book:

[Dr. Medulla]

I always assumed the Newton character from Alan Davis' ClanDestine was based on him. He should do that movie.

I don't know any of that stuff.

I like it a lot, but I also love love love Alan Davis. I'm not sure if I'm objectively assessing it, but it's certainly worth at least one read for the art alone.

It's weird that I've never ever ever heard of it, not even in passing.

It only has about 15 issues or something like that, and then a 2-part crossover with X-Men. Very minor stuff, but I only found out about it because of this book:

I don't think many guys could pull off wearing those boots.

[Kory]

I don't know any of that stuff.

I like it a lot, but I also love love love Alan Davis. I'm not sure if I'm objectively assessing it, but it's certainly worth at least one read for the art alone.

It's weird that I've never ever ever heard of it, not even in passing.

It only has about 15 issues or something like that, and then a 2-part crossover with X-Men. Very minor stuff, but I only found out about it because of this book:

I don't think many guys could pull off wearing those boots.

Is that a veiled boast?

[Dr. Medulla]

I like it a lot, but I also love love love Alan Davis. I'm not sure if I'm objectively assessing it, but it's certainly worth at least one read for the art alone.

It's weird that I've never ever ever heard of it, not even in passing.

It only has about 15 issues or something like that, and then a 2-part crossover with X-Men. Very minor stuff, but I only found out about it because of this book:

I don't think many guys could pull off wearing those boots.

Is that a veiled boast?

That I'm a guy or I could wear those boots? Moderate boast to the former, no comment to the latter.

[Kimmelweck]

Had a weird one last night – it was the first semi-coherent dream that I’ve been able to remember in several weeks. I was in my twenties, and I was hanging around with an old friend from high school (I think we were just walking around smoking pot) when I was “discovered” by some kind of very rich talent agent, who was convinced I could sing. The talent agent’s name was Ken, and he was an eccentric combination of Buffalo Sabres owner Terry Pegula, John Candy, and one of my old college professors. He was very fat and wore a Hawaiian shirt. I hadn’t been singing, nor can I particularly sing at all, but for some reason he was thrilled to have discovered me, and was convinced that we were going to make a crapload of money from some venture he had cooked up that involved me singing. It was kind of exciting, and though privately I was doubtful that I could pull it off, my friend and I went along with this guy’s plan as a lark. We drove to his place of business in his very expensive car, which was not unlike “The Homer”. When we got there, the outside of the business was a building that sold drinks and snacks from a window that fronted the sidewalk, but inside it was just like a very large and messy office. There were numerous employees there, who were basically just hangers-on. They weren’t really doing anything but milling about, while Ken the agent kind of went around whipping them up, like Monty Brewster – “We’re in the business of making money, so let’s make money!” – that kind of thing. He plopped me down at a cluttered computer desk for some reason, and then left me and my friend alone. I had no idea what the hell I was even supposed to do. My friend messed with the computer briefly, the result being that it spit out a name tag for me with some kind of colorful photographic background on it. Ken the agent returned and I showed him the name tag as proof that I had actually accomplished something. Ken was displeased, as the name tag was not supposed to have a photographic background on it. “Didn’t you even read the instructions?” he asked. Well no, I hadn’t, actually. A bit peeved, Ken scurried off to try to rectify the situation. And then I woke up, never having sung a note.

[Kimmelweck]

double post

[Dr. Medulla]

Had a weird one last night – it was the first semi-coherent dream that I’ve been able to remember in several weeks. I was in my twenties, and I was hanging around with an old friend from high school (I think we were just walking around smoking pot) when I was “discovered” by some kind of very rich talent agent, who was convinced I could sing. The talent agent’s name was Ken, and he was an eccentric combination of Buffalo Sabres owner Terry Pegula, John Candy, and one of my old college professors. He was very fat and wore a Hawaiian shirt. I hadn’t been singing, nor can I particularly sing at all, but for some reason he was thrilled to have discovered me, and was convinced that we were going to make a crapload of money from some venture he had cooked up that involved me singing. It was kind of exciting, and though privately I was doubtful that I could pull it off, my friend and I went along with this guy’s plan as a lark. We drove to his place of business in his very expensive car, which was not unlike “The Homer”. When we got there, the outside of the business was a building that sold drinks and snacks from a window that fronted the sidewalk, but inside it was just like a very large and messy office. There were numerous employees there, who were basically just hangers-on. They weren’t really doing anything but milling about, while Ken the agent kind of went around whipping them up, like Monty Brewster – “We’re in the business of making money, so let’s make money!” – that kind of thing. He plopped me down at a cluttered computer desk for some reason, and then left me and my friend alone. I had no idea what the hell I was even supposed to do. My friend messed with the computer briefly, the result being that it spit out a name tag for me with some kind of colorful photographic background on it. Ken the agent returned and I showed him the name tag as proof that I had actually accomplished something. Ken was displeased, as the name tag was not supposed to have a photographic background on it. “Didn’t you even read the instructions?” he asked. Well no, I hadn’t, actually. A bit peeved, Ken scurried off to try to rectify the situation. And then I woke up, never having sung a note.

If you're willing to perform under the name Big Anus the Rodeo Queen (or The New Big Anus the Rodeo Queen), we might be able to come to an arrangement.
https://clashcity.com/boards/viewtopic. ... 15#p520615

[Kimmelweck]

Had a weird one last night – it was the first semi-coherent dream that I’ve been able to remember in several weeks. I was in my twenties, and I was hanging around with an old friend from high school (I think we were just walking around smoking pot) when I was “discovered” by some kind of very rich talent agent, who was convinced I could sing. The talent agent’s name was Ken, and he was an eccentric combination of Buffalo Sabres owner Terry Pegula, John Candy, and one of my old college professors. He was very fat and wore a Hawaiian shirt. I hadn’t been singing, nor can I particularly sing at all, but for some reason he was thrilled to have discovered me, and was convinced that we were going to make a crapload of money from some venture he had cooked up that involved me singing. It was kind of exciting, and though privately I was doubtful that I could pull it off, my friend and I went along with this guy’s plan as a lark. We drove to his place of business in his very expensive car, which was not unlike “The Homer”. When we got there, the outside of the business was a building that sold drinks and snacks from a window that fronted the sidewalk, but inside it was just like a very large and messy office. There were numerous employees there, who were basically just hangers-on. They weren’t really doing anything but milling about, while Ken the agent kind of went around whipping them up, like Monty Brewster – “We’re in the business of making money, so let’s make money!” – that kind of thing. He plopped me down at a cluttered computer desk for some reason, and then left me and my friend alone. I had no idea what the hell I was even supposed to do. My friend messed with the computer briefly, the result being that it spit out a name tag for me with some kind of colorful photographic background on it. Ken the agent returned and I showed him the name tag as proof that I had actually accomplished something. Ken was displeased, as the name tag was not supposed to have a photographic background on it. “Didn’t you even read the instructions?” he asked. Well no, I hadn’t, actually. A bit peeved, Ken scurried off to try to rectify the situation. And then I woke up, never having sung a note.

If you're willing to perform under the name Big Anus the Rodeo Queen (or The New Big Anus the Rodeo Queen), we might be able to come to an arrangement.
https://clashcity.com/boards/viewtopic. ... 15#p520615

Ha! I remember reading about that one as a lurker some time before I started posting. I had mis-remembered it as Alice the Anal Queen though. Not crazy about the name, but I’ll think about it. Should my name tag have a colorful photographic background, or just plain? I want to get off on the right foot as I think I blew my big chance with Ken.

[Dr. Medulla]

Had a weird one last night – it was the first semi-coherent dream that I’ve been able to remember in several weeks. I was in my twenties, and I was hanging around with an old friend from high school (I think we were just walking around smoking pot) when I was “discovered” by some kind of very rich talent agent, who was convinced I could sing. The talent agent’s name was Ken, and he was an eccentric combination of Buffalo Sabres owner Terry Pegula, John Candy, and one of my old college professors. He was very fat and wore a Hawaiian shirt. I hadn’t been singing, nor can I particularly sing at all, but for some reason he was thrilled to have discovered me, and was convinced that we were going to make a crapload of money from some venture he had cooked up that involved me singing. It was kind of exciting, and though privately I was doubtful that I could pull it off, my friend and I went along with this guy’s plan as a lark. We drove to his place of business in his very expensive car, which was not unlike “The Homer”. When we got there, the outside of the business was a building that sold drinks and snacks from a window that fronted the sidewalk, but inside it was just like a very large and messy office. There were numerous employees there, who were basically just hangers-on. They weren’t really doing anything but milling about, while Ken the agent kind of went around whipping them up, like Monty Brewster – “We’re in the business of making money, so let’s make money!” – that kind of thing. He plopped me down at a cluttered computer desk for some reason, and then left me and my friend alone. I had no idea what the hell I was even supposed to do. My friend messed with the computer briefly, the result being that it spit out a name tag for me with some kind of colorful photographic background on it. Ken the agent returned and I showed him the name tag as proof that I had actually accomplished something. Ken was displeased, as the name tag was not supposed to have a photographic background on it. “Didn’t you even read the instructions?” he asked. Well no, I hadn’t, actually. A bit peeved, Ken scurried off to try to rectify the situation. And then I woke up, never having sung a note.

If you're willing to perform under the name Big Anus the Rodeo Queen (or The New Big Anus the Rodeo Queen), we might be able to come to an arrangement.
https://clashcity.com/boards/viewtopic. ... 15#p520615

Ha! I remember reading about that one as a lurker some time before I started posting. I had mis-remembered it as Alice the Anal Queen though. Not crazy about the name, but I’ll think about it. Should my name tag have a colorful photographic background, or just plain? I want to get off on the right foot as I think I blew my big chance with Ken.

I encourage creative freedom with all my artists, so let your name tag look however you want, Big Anus.

[Kimmelweck]

Had a weird one last night – it was the first semi-coherent dream that I’ve been able to remember in several weeks. I was in my twenties, and I was hanging around with an old friend from high school (I think we were just walking around smoking pot) when I was “discovered” by some kind of very rich talent agent, who was convinced I could sing. The talent agent’s name was Ken, and he was an eccentric combination of Buffalo Sabres owner Terry Pegula, John Candy, and one of my old college professors. He was very fat and wore a Hawaiian shirt. I hadn’t been singing, nor can I particularly sing at all, but for some reason he was thrilled to have discovered me, and was convinced that we were going to make a crapload of money from some venture he had cooked up that involved me singing. It was kind of exciting, and though privately I was doubtful that I could pull it off, my friend and I went along with this guy’s plan as a lark. We drove to his place of business in his very expensive car, which was not unlike “The Homer”. When we got there, the outside of the business was a building that sold drinks and snacks from a window that fronted the sidewalk, but inside it was just like a very large and messy office. There were numerous employees there, who were basically just hangers-on. They weren’t really doing anything but milling about, while Ken the agent kind of went around whipping them up, like Monty Brewster – “We’re in the business of making money, so let’s make money!” – that kind of thing. He plopped me down at a cluttered computer desk for some reason, and then left me and my friend alone. I had no idea what the hell I was even supposed to do. My friend messed with the computer briefly, the result being that it spit out a name tag for me with some kind of colorful photographic background on it. Ken the agent returned and I showed him the name tag as proof that I had actually accomplished something. Ken was displeased, as the name tag was not supposed to have a photographic background on it. “Didn’t you even read the instructions?” he asked. Well no, I hadn’t, actually. A bit peeved, Ken scurried off to try to rectify the situation. And then I woke up, never having sung a note.

If you're willing to perform under the name Big Anus the Rodeo Queen (or The New Big Anus the Rodeo Queen), we might be able to come to an arrangement.
https://clashcity.com/boards/viewtopic. ... 15#p520615

Ha! I remember reading about that one as a lurker some time before I started posting. I had mis-remembered it as Alice the Anal Queen though. Not crazy about the name, but I’ll think about it. Should my name tag have a colorful photographic background, or just plain? I want to get off on the right foot as I think I blew my big chance with Ken.

I encourage creative freedom with all my artists, so let your name tag look however you want, Big Anus.

In that case, how about A-Daddy the Rodeo King? I’ll perform in a cape, of course. Nothing embarrassing though - I’d like to keep it tasteful and family-friendly. I’ll require a live band (including a sweaty sax guy), lots of female groupies, probably some coke (to conquer my stage-fright), and some large bodyguards.

[Kimmelweck]

Damn, double post again.