Warning: All opinions expressed henceforth belong to Matt "Smoot" Bowyer, and do not in any way, shape, or form reflect the opinions of Fortunecity, Left of Nowhere, or probably anyone.

Spell check? HA!

  It's the second straight week in a row that I've updated when I'm supposed to (much throwing of confetti and other party favors left over from my birthday), and the second night in a row I've had this same freakish, creepy, too-much-stuffed-crust-pizza dream. And since I'm such a generous guy, and nothing of any note has happened to me this week, I'm going to share this dream. Aren't you blessed.
 

  *BEGIN CRAZINESS.*
 

  It's two in the morning, and I'm sitting downstairs in my living room, enjoying my latest bout of insomnia. The Daily Show with Jon Stewart is just about over, and I'm getting up to go get another NyQuil when there's a soft rapping at my chamber door. ("Front door" just doesn't have the ring to it.)

  I'm full aware of how odd it is that someone's ringing my doorbell at two in the morning, so I only open the inside door, leaving the thick outer one deadbolted. I then am privy enough to lay eyes on the weirdest sight one can find at two in the morning.

  There's a small five- or six-year-old girl huddling on my porch. She's got really thin blonde hair and these eeriely calm blue eyes, and she's wrapped up in a big stereotypical yellow raincoat and galoshes. If it weren't for those eyes, I would've let her in immediately. But something made me keep that door closed.

  So, being the nice and ethical guy that I am, I do everything short of spritzing her with water to get her off my porch. She finally scurries off, so I close the door and go back inside.

  About half an hour later, I hear some movement outside. Looking through the window, I see that little girl, now wrapped up in a brown monk-like robe, curled up against my living room window. She sees me and scurries into the corner, giving a good impression of a scared, helpless mouse. Or mongoose. They look pretty frazzled when they're scared.

  Then something on the porch catches my eye. A legal-size envelope, a pretty large one, is sitting right at the top of the steps, and it piques my interests, seeing as I regularly don't keep envelopes on my porch. So I step outside, propping the door open with my foot, and open this envelope.

  It contains one thing; a long sheet with eight regular size black and white photographs printed on it, all of my friends and I, two to a row, four rows. But the pictures aren't of us being nice and calm.

  Jennifer, Billy, and I are the first three photographs, me in the first one and on down the line. Evan was right after us, and then Johannes and Sarah, two of my close friends, and Jason and James, my gaming pals.

  And we're all most certainly and undeniably dead.

  Jennifer, Billy, and I all look like we've been mauled by some sort of animal, probably a dog or a wolf (or a horned demon, with my luck). Evan, well, the top half of him anyway, just looks horribly mangled. Johannes and Sarah are both partly hanging out of Jo's car, which itself is smashed brutally. James and Jason are in the the same scene, and give hte impression of being beaten to death by a mob wielding many large and blunt objects.

  I glance up from these, feeling pretty ill at seeing my best friends in various stages of biological decay, and then something twinkles slightly out on my front lawn. I squint out, and three pairs of glowing yellow eyes peer back at me.

  With haste, I return indoors. And lock all the doors after me.

  Finally, the morning rolls back around, and I venture back down from my bed, and look outside.

  There's a nice layer of splattered blood all over my porch, and a pretty familiar-looking little yellow raincoat smeared with blood and plastered against my living room window. And picture is sitting in front of the window, untouched, of course.

  And then I wake up.

  I'm sure there's some crazy symbolism locked up inside that dream, but I'm pretty sure that I don't even want to know what it means.

  Matt Bowyer's Random Questions and Pet Peeves of the Day:

  Pet Peeves:

  1) College: Specifically, the scholarships and the price. Such a pain in the ass.
  2) Government Exams: Specifically, the one I took a few days ago. Blah. It was a frickin' BOOK.
  3) My Left Wrist: I think it's either sprained or broken, I'm not sure. But it pops a lot in places and times it didn't use to before, and I can't support more than four pounds in it.
  4) High School: It's so hard to care anymore.
  5) This Damn Computer Chair: I've fallen out of it three times this week. I'm not sure how.

  Questions:

  1) Why can't I ever think of a good question for this spot?

     Responses: "Because you're stupid and lazy, dumbass." -probably all of you.

  You know, I wish I didn't have to sleep.

  Sleep just takes up so much of your time. I mean, have you ever stopped to consider how much of our lives we spend asleep? The average person sleeps eight hours a day. That's eight, out of only twenty-four. Which means we spend, on average, a third of our lives asleep.

  A whole frickin' third of our lives snoozing. What the hell? That's a complete waste of time, that could be spent researching cures for cancer, or finding homes for the homeless, or in my case, playing Quake III and Heroes III.

  So here's my plan on it. I'm going to condition my body to not require sleep to function anymore. How am I doing this, you ask? (See, I CAN read thoughts.) It's really quite simple. Every night, cut back a little, and use other methods to regain energy. Like meditation. Meditation is definitely something I'm going to pursue, just to be able to rest and clear my thoughts without going to sleep.

  So when all you people are tucked away safely in your beds, dreaming of a nice and wonderful future, I'll be corrupting the youth of today and leaders of tomorrow. Probably through the use of cable television.

  "Some sick supervillan ambushed Captain America and somehow got him pregnant."

  I mean, what the hell kind of idea is that? It's just so wrong, on so many levels, one of the base ones being that men don't have babies.

  But then the discussion rolls on, and Brucha tells us that they are working on a sort of male pregnancy, so men can be inseminated and later give birth to a healthy baby.

  So MEN can give BIRTH. MEN. The ones with ...well, yeah. I'd rather not type the word penis out in bold caps, it'd give people the wrong impression. But seriously, though. Men? What's the point of giving MEN the ability to give birth? I mean, for one, getting a man pregnant would take some doing, and that's some doing I don't want anything to do with.

  And another, how is a man going to give birth? There are two orifices down there. One's just impossible even to imagine. (And those of you that are imagining are either laughing hysterically, grinning evilly, or holding your crotch in sympathetic pain) 

  And the other... well, I mean, damn. Who wants to shoot a baby out of their ass? And more importantly, who the hell is going to stand on the other end and catch it?

  It's a bad football joke. "Blue 42!!...Red 13!!! Set.......HIKE!" *SPLAT*

  And on that out-of-tune note, I leave you.
 

-Matt Bowyer has accomplished the weekly update a second week in a row, has passed all of his exams, and is getting a dreamcatcher big enough to catch a whale to put over his bed and get his next dream so he can beat it with a bat for scaring him. And make IT shoot babies out its ass.

Hey, here's an idea. Email me and tell me what you thought. C'mon, it'll be fun. Really.