Pickles & Dimes

If you don’t want to read about my disgusting dream last night that featured my obsession with forensic science, bacon and my OCD fear of fire, just continue looking at Jason and I “simpsonized”:

I dreamt last night that I came to work at a restaurant and was told that some guy decided to go into the women’s bathroom, overdose on cocaine and then apparently, spontaneously combust, because when I looked, the bathroom was covered with blood and gore and all kinds of unmentionable things.

So then I did what my subconscious thinks I’d do in such a situation: I stood right outside the disgusting bathroom and fried up some bacon. Seriously.

And then I noticed stuff moving. On my bacon. Stuff that turned out to be hundreds of blowflies, who were apparently bored of sharing the gore with the millions of maggots that randomly started squiggling down the bathroom wall.

What did my dream self do? Well, I obviously panicked and tried to brush everything off my bacon, because I still planned on eating it. But after it was obvious I would be unsuccessful, I ran away.

But not before running back to make sure I had turned the stove OFF.