I had the strangest dream last night. the Intern and I were hanging out. We were walking up a street that looked like a mix of the touristy strip in Mackinaw City but with Detroit landmarks as all the buildings. For some reason, even though she’s from Detroit, I was showing her the sites, telling her “interesting” stories about the landmarks (I say “interesting” because what I think are interesting tidbits of trivia usually are just a bore.) Anyway, we’re walking down the street and this small group of Latino teenagers begins saying all manner of vulgar things to her and as I start telling them they’d better stop or shit’s going to go down, one of them slaps her across the face. As she starts crying I begin to chase them and catch up to two of them at a house across the street that looks like it was a saloon pulled from the set of Gunsmoke. Out on the back porch, I tackle the kid who slapped the Intern and begin to tie him up when the other jumps out of some kind of swamp that ran alongside the building. I saw him pull a gun, and so I pulled mine (I was amazed that I actually had a gun) and I shot him. From there, I continue to tie up the kid I had tackled. By now, the Intern had come back and as I finished tying the kid up, she rolled out a huge 100 gallon drum of gasoline with a long wick sticking out of it. It was very Wile E. Coyote, just without the big ACME stamp on the side. She then proceeded to set it next to the kid. “They were going to tear this building down anyway, we may as well help them with it,” she said. By now, the kid is freaking out. He’s crying, praying in Spanish, asking for his mom, etc. It was quite a scene. I know this is going to disappoint you, but I woke up before we blew up the kid. The last thing I remember is him sweating like a stuck pig at a roast, pleading for his life in that south Texas, Latino accent.

I have my own ideas, but what the hell do you think this means? Send me an email.