The Gonzo Journals
January 10th, 2023
Well, I haven’t gotten cancelled yet which means no one of any self-appointed importance read yesterday’s blog. In hindsight, I was cancelled back in 2020 by some stubby trick pseudo horror reader so any cancelling activity today would’ve uncanceled what’s already been cancelled. So, by all means, cancel away! I could use the attention.
I awoke this morning in a melatonin haze. I hate that stuff. It gives the simplest among us strange nightmares so you can imagine what it does to a horror writer. It was a long, strange trip
My wife and I were at Six Flags Over Texas riding the ancient Judge Roy Scream when it derailed at the very end. Luckily, we survived and walked back to the station platform. For some strange reason, my friend Ixit from my hometown who owns the best wing restaurant in the world (Wings To Go, if you’re interested) was the ride operator. He had just dispatched the next train when we arrived to stop him. Together, the three of us managed to save the lives of a dozen people and we journeyed to find a local police officer and report the problem. I’m not quite sure why we wanted to talk to a police officer instead of a maintenance person but just roll with it. It was only a dream.
By the time we found a local police officer, the crowds at the theme park were already up in arms about something. Don’t worry. This is a normal occurrence for a Six Flags Park. Guilty by association, the officer arrested me and the wife and hauled us off to jail. We were awaiting an arraignment hearing and in a holding cell with several oiled up and muscular offenders of various degrees. Think shirtless Terry Crews. Again, this would never happen in real life. This is what poorly researched television has done to my subconscious brain.
Somehow my wife managed to sneak us out a window and outside of the jail. Luckily, Six Flags was just on the other side of the recreation yard fence. We managed to hop that as well with minimal effort and noticed maintenance crews were fixing the ride. Satisfied, we decided to return to the jail for our arraignment hearing. It would’ve been nice to know what our bail amount was, right?
Even though the theme park was on the other side of the rec yard, the front doors to the jail were a different story. Yes, we planned to walk right back through the front doors. In order to get there, we had to walk through a strange cemetery which resembled something out of a swampy Scooby Doo episode. All the mausoleums were painted up with bright, cheery colors as though they belonged lining the streets of San Miguel Del Allende Mexico. After exploring some more, we ended up back in jail. All we had to do was walk in with a large group of people like how Pee Wee Herman got into the Warner Bros. studio in ‘Big Adventure’.
The judge thanked us for our bravery and dropped the charges. I woke up shortly after this but somehow remembered everything! The only real problem I have with this dream is getting arrested in the first place. The local cops would never have been out in the park in riot mode, but rather in the employee canteen putting the moves on barely legal female ride operators and trash collectors. I wish I was making up that last part, but I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Cop is a cop is a cop. It doesn’t matter which province you prowl.
How did this all begin?
My seven-year-old son was enjoying several of his favorite YouTubers as they play these mindless phone games and scream every line of dialog as though they’re being drowned out by an imaginary crowd. They’re not. In fact, they play these games and THEN go back and record their narration audio. The same thing goes for the Minecrafters and Robloxians who spend every waking moment recording videos for their younger audiences.
Why younger? That’s easy.
Almost all of these ‘innocent’ activities contain ‘in game’ purchases and, since many of the parents just downloaded these carbon copy pieces of shit on their phones to keep little junior quiet and out of their Tinder time, they’re clueless that their child is secretly draining their bank accounts one stupid costume at a time. In return, these screaming YouTubers get a cut from the games they pedal, and it all goes around full circle like the Lion King lesson stuck on high volume.
The point of all this is that I got a massive headache and was in bed by 7pm, staring at the ceiling and listening to my cat ‘keek’. Before I knew it, ten o’clock arrived and my wife crawled in bed beside me. Still tossing and turning, I popped some melatonin to quiet my mind. This always seems to happen more when I’m in the middle of a writing project. Then, the dreams came.
In the end, it could’ve been much worse. Last time, I met Hillary and Bill Clinton on a rope bridge during a hike in Arkansas. Before the dream ended, me and Bill ended up in a mall getting 80’s style Glamour Shots together. Was this the Democratic version of Donald Trump’s superhero collector card NFT’s? That’s what I’m running with.
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