Following on from the Charlie Sheen dream, it seems like my train of thought deep in my subconscious is continously travelling the realms of fucked-up-ness. The night before it was Charlie Sheen telling me to kill. Last night, it was the source of the Ma-sheen's scandal in the mid 90's.
That's right. Hookers.
There I was, having some strange dream at some strange parties in KL, driving a BMW 3 series (which, for reasons I shall not say, is a nightmare in itself due to my secret history with the evil 2 door bastard) when I find myself making my way to a part of town I am as yet unfamiliar with. The design of the place is like a high-school until I walk over to the lobby and realize I'm in a whorehouse.
Yup. A whorehouse.
I place my order with the maddam and she asks me to wait in the waiting booth, which is really just a small toilet with windows. A blonde prostitute walks past and for some reason I know she's not mine. Then another one. There she is.
Straight, jet black hair, a slight Eurasian look, busty, voloptuous and wearing nothing but a deep blue strapless PVC bra and matching hotpants. She knocks on the window, smiles and beckons me to go upstairs. I exit the toilet, walk up with her, open the door...
...and that's when I wake up.
These dreams are getting weirder and weirder by the day. What's gonna happen tonight, I wonder? Will Jack Nicholson teach me how to convince cheerleaders to give me head whilst weilding a H&K sub machine gun? Where are these fucking dreams coming from?
And why the fuck did my dream have to end just before we got down and dirty?! couldn't I have woken up just before it was time to pay? Then I'd have gotten away with having sex with a hooker for free!
Maybe it's the Gatorade. I'll stay away from the Gatorade.
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