If I Was Watching American Idol, It Might Have Been Paula Abdul

My predilection to bizarre dreams is well known amongst my friends. One involving 12-year-old blonde mulattos and velvet paintings happens to be a repeated source of mocking and ridicule. It definitely does not help my tendency towards the peculiar when I fall asleep with the television turned on; allowing whatever late night/early morning television programming to seep into my subconscious.

Last night's dream revolved around a high school reunion. Judging by the attendees and the Jersey Shore locale, I will assume it was for my high school. However, during the course of the night, I was picked up by one of the other participants, a famous one that really had no reason to be at the reunion, Whitney Houston.

Except for her possible presence in the background television programming, I have no idea why Whitney would be in my dream. I have no particular attraction to her. Despite such statements as "Crack is cheap. I make too much for me to ever smoke crack. Let's get that straight, OK? I don't do crack. I don't do that. Crack is whack." the lady really isn't my type (Now, Halle Berry, that's a frequent dream liaison). Even though in my dream, Whitney did have it going on. She was more in her "I Want To Dance With Somebody" phase than the present "I smoke rock, Joe Rogan" state of being.

So, the basic plot of my dream involved Whitney and I avoiding my classmates as well as Bobbi Brown as we search for a quiet place to get our groove on. I guess a hotel room was out of the question for my subconscious. But before I got to be Whitney's bodyguard, the 5 AM Broncatello Wake Up Call ended my blissful slumber.

When I looked at the television to see what show had spurred all these illusory visions, can you imagine which one was on? Not Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous. Not The E! True Hollywood Story. Not even Charlie Murphy's True Hollywood Stories.

It was COPS

wojr

Labels: Bronc, Hollywood, Sex, Whores

  ¶ 5:23 PM