Ok, not really last night, but Sunday night. "About the night before last" is a lousy post title.

So I had this dream the other night. Having a dream isn't particularly unusual. Researcher types tell us we dream nearly every time we sleep. What's unusual for me is that I remembered the dream, or at least part of it.

There was some kind of zombie apocalypse. Yes, I know, my zombie obsession is probably very unhealthy. I could be obsessed with far worse things you know. At least I'm not a gun nut. Anyway, end of the world and all that.

At least several months had passed since the fall of society. I'm guessing on that bit, but it was at least long enough for me and several dozen other people to abandon cities for something like a hippie commune in Pennsylvania. We didn't have any walls or weapons, so any time herds of zombie were spotted we'd hide until they passed. Yes, the zombies were traveling in herds. I don't know why.

After a time, we noticed all the zombies were moving in the same direction. Intrigued, several of us decided to follow them. After a few days travel we came upon a larger, somewhat less agrarian community that had survived the social collapse more or less intact. This town even had a supply of gasoline, which they used to fuel an usually large number of beat up station wagons.

The centerpiece of this community's event calendar (both before and after the apocalypse) was a feast, a great bacchanalia of fried fish and beer. It had somehow been decided that zombie killin' would be a key part of their revised festival and to this end they'd developed a way to attract large numbers of the undead, which they were keeping in pens.

For reasons unknown, my companions and I decided we had to stop them. I don't remember what it was specifically we were trying to stop, or why, but it seemed gravely important that we undermine their proceedings. Along with one other, I was chosen to infiltrate their village and do… I don't know, something. My co-saboteur was a young man who bore a striking resemblance to Justin Long.

This is where the dream gets pretty hazy. This must be around the time I kept hitting the snooze button and going back to sleep every few minutes for an hour or so. Really the only thing I remember is that Justin Long was being held prisoner and I had to distract the guard, a drunken scruffian who looked just like Richard Lineback in Natural Born Killers, while he escaped. Distracting him was easy enough when my tools were dick jokes and more beer.

And unfortunately, that's all there is to the dream. Being a zombie story, we can assume the tale ends badly. Zombie stories always end badly. These foolish townspeople were probably devoured en masse by the zombies they intended to use for sport.

We can also extract maybe a little bit of meaning from this dream.

Justin Long, hippie communes, growing stuff = good.

Dumb rednecks, Richard Lineback, station wagons like my mom used to drive = bad.

secret message

Got a little doodad in the mail yesterday. The fine folks at Philip Morris sent me a little black carton about the size of a paperback book festooned with a few Marlboro logos.

I've received packages like this before. Usually it's a packet of coupons, but sometimes there's also a Marlboro themed object of some sort. I've received things like lighters, cigarette cases, a "personal litter device," et al.

Yesterday's item was a cube of pool cue chalk. WTF? I don't recall ever filling out some survey saying "Yes, I really like billiards and often find myself needing more blue chalk cubes."