So, I’m dreaming last night.
It’s me, and I’m hanging out with The Beatles and Cheech Marin.
I go into a hair salon to get a haircut, for some reason I think I really need a haircut, and the lady refuses to give me one. Just flat out refuses. Won’t serve me.
I’m ready to storm out of there, but Paul gets her to open up about why she’s being crabby, he’s a real smooth talker, and it turns out it’s because I’m wearing a t-shirt that says “Hey Congress – I love and support our troops, it’s YOU that suck, assholes!”
Paul gets her to agree to give me a haircut, but we have to go somewhere else and wait 78.5 minutes. Exactly 78.5 minutes.
Not because she has anything to do, just because she won’t serve me for 78.5 minutes.
No, I don’t know either.
We walk down the block, and we’re hanging out. Just waiting. Killing time.
I’m cutting up, acting the class clown, dancing goofy, flapping my arms around, just trying to get a laugh out of Cheech. It occurs to me I’m having a great time. Just, the best. No worries, nothing to do, nothing but time on my hands chilling out waiting to get a haircut, and joking with my buds Cheech and the Beatles.
I say to Ringo, “Hey dude… Zug Zug, man…” and bust out laughing.
Just, “Oh what a night… late December back in ’63” kind of times.
We wander back into the hair salon and I sit down in the chair for my haircut. I look up in the mirror, and realize…
Then I wake up.
Man….. that’s just messed up.