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Night Visions, July 2017

Codes: "IRL" = "in real life". "INV" = "in Night Vision", meaning untrue in real life. 

"Skip" means a sudden transition from one segment to another. "The 1250" references my childhood home, a (too) frequent setting for my visions. Josie is my daughter, and most of my life has been spent with Chicken and Alex as friends. Any other people referenced, past jobs worked at or life experiences are real unless otherwise noted. 



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Night Visions Hall Of Fame



(Dates of awakening listed)

As Sponsored By B.B. Wolf (July 31, 2017)


I'd like to use this space to remind visitors I do not make any of this crap up.


The daughter of my buddy Jon is in a porridge-eating contest; she must sample unmarked bowls of porridge until she's sampled all nine available flavors (which are printed on the inner bottom of the bowls.) She loses, and I angrily fling a shoe against the auditorium wall, even though we had been outdoors just moments before.


I storm away. My 5th-grade teacher, Mr. Kleine, is not pleased with this and storms after me, telling me in no uncertain terms how childish I'm behaving. My response is to behave even more childishly by blowing a raspberry. We end up in some sort of video-game city; he continues to chastise me and I give him the double-bird (well out of his physical reach, of course.)



Chicken Love Conquers All (July 29, 2017)


Tonight, I find myself in the cast of Last Man Standing, a show I've only seen small snippets of IRL. Our Indian neighbors are mad at us and going off in Hindu or whatever language. They leave and Mike (Tim Allen's character) gets a call that the aforementioned neighbor husband "caught" AIDS and must be quarantined for two hours. Then comes my big moment: "...I don't know about you guys, but I'm still willing to eat!" Har. Har.


Next, I'm driving some random people to central San Jose; when I get there they vanish and I'm suddenly tasked with helping my buddy Fleazoe find 3251 Sunside Parkway. After struggles seeing around way too many big rigs, we finally find it—the number is built into a heart-shaped rooster carving atop the building.
Fleazoe then comes over but leaves before I can give him all the stuff I had for him (kid shoes, book, etc.) Since he's unwilling to turn back for them, I build a man out of the items and try to "publish" him.



Sob City. Population: One (July 28, 2017)


Things begin with me a heaving, blubbering mess over memories of the 2015 Golden State Warriors, especially Andrew Bogut's effort. WTF is wrong with me.


Next, after a truncated attempt to watch unwatchable WNBA hoops, NBA great Bill Walton shows up out of nowhere and reminds me of the (fictional) time I challenged him to 1-on-1 hoops in middle school. His son (and current IRL Lakers coach) Luke is nearby; I pepper him with questions about the end of his playing career but he is evasive, almost as if he's under orders not to tell.


In hindsight, this vision was not worth mentioning.



The Truth Is Out There; The Agent's Not Out At All (July 27, 2017)


It seems I'm a member of the San Francisco Giants—can't be much worse that what they've actually got—and I'm tossing foul softballs into the seats as they come. These fans suck, however, and they're trying to heave their gifts right back at me while my back is turned. Fortunately, I get wise quickly.
After the game, as I walk back to the locker room talking over the incident with teammate Pablo Sandoval, it becomes partially evident why these fans weren't interested in any souvenirs—it turns out we're actually in high school.


Next, Agents Mulder and Scully from The X-Files chat until Scully is distracted by a sexy soap actress passing by.



From Now On, Fountains Only (July 26, 2017)


I'm at our local Safeway, sifting through boxes of bottled water in the hopes of finding a case. Unfortunately, all have been compromised in some way, and the search drags on. Soon, some ghetto dude strolls up wondering where his "can of piss" is. Shortly after, I accidentally dip my hand in said can, which was stashed in a water box.


I immediately flee to the john to scrub off. Perhaps traumatized by my experience, I then make an intentional attempt to piss my pants but thankfully fail. (To be TOTALLY clear, this attempt was made INV, not IRL.)



Alanis Would LOVE This Irony (July 24, 2017)


A (fictional) news reporter is in the hospital, and I've decided to visit her despite having no connection whatsoever. This hospital—apparently not concerned with privacy laws—posts names of all patients on a giant wall, and when i do not see hers anywhere, I abandon these plans and decide to hang out with Barry Bonds instead. How great is it to have hanging with Barry Bonds as a backup plan? Unfortunately, my kickit session with Bonds is cut short when the police hassle him for being black.


Next thing i know, I'm in a library, acting as a co-chaperone with some moms and kids. One mom, shortly after expressing reservations about my responsibility level, somehow drops her tyke down the hard stairs. (He seems okay, miraculously.)


Segment Three finds me at Baskin Robbins; friend Racquel has asked me to bring her some. I ask for a scoop of whatever and am given four. This leads to a loud, vulgar argument between the mother-and-son management team; son apparently messed up the order because of his bad knee. Still, the nutty mother stalks around the inside and outside of the shop screaming about it until I finally snap, screaming knee pain relief tips at them both. Somehow, this works. Don't ask me.


Things wrap with the sky alternating between day and night as I drive home, where my aunt and cousins have hung up all my underwear.



Man, That's Some BAD Coke (July 23, 2017)


I'm at a Rays/Athletics game. Some Rays rookie in full protective gear still takes a curveball to his unprotected ankle, and gears up to charge the mound. However, since he took so long to prep, he's easily fended off by the catcher. I tour the ballpark's upper level and happen upon a woman humping a pantyhose-wearing man right on the ground...with a kid nearby. End tour.


I stumble upon Giants broadcasters Mike Krukow and Duane Kuiper working the game from center field, and bring them hot dogs (that unfortunately both fall in sand.) Out of nowhere, Krukow wanders off, forcing Kuiper to broadcast solo. His mouth moves but no sound comes out, as if he's in an invisible booth. During lulls in the action he insists I play "Numbers" with him, which is basically filling in a multiplication table for points.


Lastly, I end up at the 1250 where my ex-IRL roommate "Howie" is coked up; I offer to drive him home. But when we get outside he stumbles away, and my car has TWO flat tires. As I debate my next move, the tires magically re-inflate, and I corral Howie and get him in bed. Naturally, he bounces off the bed and passes out blocking the bedroom exit.



WHY Was I Hired, Exactly? (July 22, 2017)


Major League Baseball names me commissioner due to my "extensive baseball knowledge", even though I'm grossly unqualified for the job. Possibly sensing this, my first duty is fixing a leaky pipe in the league office.


Following this, I find my bosses and try informing them just how unqualified I am for the job, but all they do is compare me to a young Michael Jordan (with a joke i really wish I could remember now!). Armed with this confidence boost, I then try to arrange a meeting but no one listens or cares.



I'm Trying To Work, Meathead! (July 21, 2017)


There I am at CVS, trying to buy a basketball that I already owned and brought into the store. The ball does not scan and I can't buy it. It is left behind. I'm an idiot.


While in line, a customer gets unnecessarily and uncomfortably close while reaching for something. When I call him out for it, he barks back that I'm "in love with myself" or something along those lines. No, sir, I just expect you to stay the  f--- in your own space! The Globe can wait 45 seconds when we all move up.


Things wrap with me in some sitcom set in the 1250. I'm trying to work with my tools uninterrupted but every time I go for more parts, people bug me with stupid questions (including cast members from All In The Family). Finally I get mad and throw everyone out...but it turns out they were just bringing me extra screws, nails, etc. trying to be helpful. This alleged sitcom—what is so funny about me standing there feeling like a yard-high pile of s---?



Next Time...Let's Just Play Cards Or Something (July 20, 2017)


Me and two IRL acquaintances (who will forever remain unnamed), with nothing better to do, experiment with gay sex. Literally three seconds in...I'm done. They go nuts, though. Pun semi-intended.


A local radio station changes format and—showing how utterly lame I am—I'm DESPERATE to catch the change on cassette. But I have the settings wrong somehow, so not only do I miss the whole thing, I wind up accidentally taping over something important. Cue loud, lengthy scream that gets more feminine the longer it goes.



What's The Protocol For Insult Response? (July 18, 2017)


I'm playing with the kids of a family friend when my uncle rounds the corner and calls me a bitch, prompting me to hold him by the throat up against a wall. Neither of us are speaking, and it's more awkward than it is threatening. I'm not even all that mad, attacking him more out of obligation than genuine insult.


We stand there for a little while until my arm tires and I release him. Then we both play some more with the kids as if nothing happened. Welcome to my family.



Anybody Hungry? (July 17, 2017)


I'm some sort of supervillain, cornered by law enforcement and in negotiations. I have no hostages, I have no weapons. What I DO have is the ability to produce chili out of thin air and throw it in the faces of anyone who gets too close. (It doesn't seem to burn, but who wants chili in the eyes?) 

The situation is never resolved.



Maybe This Career Isn't For Me (July 15, 2017)


I'm some sort of counselor for the emotionally damaged; arriving to work, I park on a side road and walk up to my building—through a high quantity of comely college girls who are just roaming around in the street for no obvious reason. Oh well, I ain't complaining.


In our room, some patients and I are playing indoor baseball. A mousey woman is at-bat; she seems terrified to even swing at my pitches until I FORCE some confidence down her throat (figuratively). She whacks the next pitch hard into the "outfield"...but the patient on first base is sitting down eating a sandwich and fails to run. As strongly as I built up the batter, I tear down the runner for being stupid, among other merciless insults. Game over.


In the end, joke's on me, because when I get outside not only is my car gone—so is the entire street it was on.



You Gonna Kill 'Em Again, Bud? (July 14, 2017)


I'm using my Uncle Bubba's tools. He comments "You've been doing that a lot." Me: "Do you want me to stop? " He then suggests I'm untrustworthy, which sets me off. I charge at my 6'7" uncle, who to his credit, doesn't simply pound my skull in. Rather, he extends his long arms and simply holds me at bay, all the while smiling and singing a tune about Alabama.


Next, I'm in an office meeting with some high-ranking military idiot. A military plane crashes outside and we run outside—as do dozens of others including the A-Team, with Face aiming his assault rifle at the wreckage for some reason.


When we arrive, we encounter loads of spring-loaded ropes that start snapping and send anyone flying who's touching them. There is also  the plane's "frame", which is just rope ladders to nowhere. As you might expect, those dumb enough to climb the ladders are thrown hard to the ground.


Closing weirdness: at the library, my buddy Paul enters the men's room, commits some prank, and runs away. 10 seconds later a long-ponytailed dude is in hot pursuit of him. I'm going to assume urine is involved.


Lastly, my buds and I are playing at "Wrigley Field", which is actually some high school field whose dirt is submerged under literally a foot of rainwater. The game starts but is soon cancelled. You know, because it's hard to run in a foot of water and balls won't travel too far. At least I get a cheek peck from soap actress Rebecca Budig before leaving.



Sorry, Spike. I Must Defy You (July 13, 2017)


There I am in an Angels shirt and red Moccasin-type shoes—no socks—riding a bus for special people. I'm seated at an angle, leaned back, with my feet on the back of the seat across from me. That passenger decides to copy me, but changes his mind when he leans back and his head goes perilously close to my crotch.


We are delayed because multiple wheelchair passengers need to be loaded and tied down, forcing me to change seats. As I do, I see that we somehow have traffic in both directions backed up somehow, and I'm just waiting for another driver to snap. FINALLY we get moving again...only to stop seconds later when a passenger in the back apparently hints at harming himself and is immediately counseled by a staffer. (Why the bus has to be stopped for this, I don't know.)


My patience has run out, and I decide to not be around when the backed-up traffic runs out of patience as well (or when this kid stabs himself). So I exit the bus early, although I nearly forget my bright pink bag and everything in it. (Perhaps I should have.)



See Why He Wasn't Invited? (July 11, 2017)


I'm at a spacious outdoor restaurant with Will Smith. Will learns Daphne Maxwell-Reid (his Fresh Prince Of Bel-Air mom) is there as well, and decides to secretly photo her for reasons he won't reveal. I'm his backup set of eyes, shadowing him, not entirely by choice. And I make damn sure not to get in his line of vision—it's implied to be a bad idea.


We finally find Daphne, as well as the whole surviving FPOBA gang. Sitting down with them, Tatyana Ali (Ashley) has us clasp hands in an effort to send energy to the IRL-deceased James Avery (Uncle Phil). I don't think Will gets his photo, however.


Things end with buddy Paul and I entering the 1250 backyard. Some teen punk sits atop our stairway arch and spits into Paul's hair as he passes. We stop, yank him down, and teach him a frightening lesson that leaves him crying. Sorry, but in the long run, these punks are being done a favor.



Maybe My Pants Had No Pockets (July 10, 2017)


My grandma decides to put inserts in all my shoes, leaving me with one pair. I wear it to our nearby Raley's store and dump soap actress Amelia Heinle, sliding all the way from her office to the exit as if on skates. So far, these shoes rock.


Walking next door, however, some random chick shouts that "the back of yo' feet is out dem shoes!" which is true, but intentional—"Don't you think I knew that?" I mutter to myself. Next to me is a blonde who thought I was addressing her. We end up in a convertible wth her bare legs/feet up on the dash...blocking my vision. "As beautiful as they are, can you move your legs so I can see?" They get plenty of kisses on the way down. Why can't ALL strangers be so welcoming?


Next, I'm a NYC cop; my partner and I enter a clothing store off-duty and a female cop thinks I stole. She leads me to the back and feels up my parts, only stopping when a teen records it on his phone. (Before you call me lucky, know this cop evokes memories of Lt. Dalto from NYPD Blue. It wasn't fun. Plus she broke the Walkman I had in my crotch. Which was MINE.)


Following that experience, I'm an assistant to therapist Zach Braff, whose patient is...that same NYPD partner (who's forgotten me). Braff is supposed to be monitoring my old partner's heart, but the cables aren't even connected properly. I discreetly alert Braff to his incompetence, then exit.


Things end with a Braves batboy running around with antlers on his helmet.



They Didn't Even Erect A Fence?! (July 5, 2017)


I sit around with some loser talking about former Pittsburgh Pirates. When I get to Bobby Bonilla, he claims to know enough and demands I stop. I oblige.


Next, on my old high school campus, I lament the placement of three new hoop courts—near a cliff, each actual hoop (not court, hoop) about five feet apart. I reach the office and an administrator helps me put on Josie's jacket. I reward (or punish, depending on your view) the lady with a smooch.



Assault With A Silly Weapon (July 3, 2017)


I'm Barry Bonds in downtown Vallejo, and my movements are being broadcast on an unseen radio. After walking through a parking structure, I accidentally hit a ball off some kid's RCC in the street, then proceed down an alley where I lose my ability to walk. (How ironic for the all-time walk leader in MLB history.)


Frisbees begin flying off the roof down toward me. At first I think they're by accident but they keep coming even as I struggle down the alley in a half-crawl and reach my apartment. There, some slacker meets me in the doorway and warns me the frisbees will STILL keep coming—so I threaten him with a rifle. 

Outside the door, the punk becomes ME and Bonds becomes my cousin; I knock on his door and apologize and we have a nice loving chat about his broken door lock.



It's Official: No More Chaperoning (July 2, 2017)


I'm at some park singing all parts of the Earth Wind & Fire song "September" for my mom's entertainment. I get up and notice a man chasing an errant ball almost get flattened by a bus wheelchair ramp. He looks at me like it's my fault.


Skip to Josie's class, which is preparing for a field trip that I'm apparently chaperoning. A classmate tells me of a sandwich he found blood in but ate anyway. I'm disturbed. Then when all the kids line up outside, one oblivious girl's poofy hair practically suffocates me as I try to pass behind her.


The class heads to the bus and I struggle to keep up (even though they're walking). Eventually I lose sight of them and wind up searching at a playground feet away from the 1250. It's quite a sight, me trying to recognize any of these children while simultaneously trying to avoid looking directly at my childhood home.



Does That Mean The FBI Uses Clue? (July 1, 2017)


I'm a bartender. When I put my decorative porcelain pig up for display, a fat customer thinks it's a shot at her and is hurt.


From there, I head to the "surgery room" where young doctors are using the board game Operation to help them become better surgeons supposedly.


Next, in the St. Louis Cardinals dugout, manager Mike Matheny has a weird oscillating seat so he can face any direction, but it defaults straight-up like a seesaw. He uses it to face right field sometimes and looks, well, stupid.


Lastly, a soap character's place gets ravaged by a tornado. Her birds somehow get seared into their cage, badly freaking me out.

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