I Hate Your Dreams

By reading this blog post, you will hereby witness me subject to the lowest of the low in blog posts. I will now post about how I can't think of anything to post about. Really, I'm just post a nice little paradox example. It's funny how it all works out.
Anyways, I really do like updating this thing, and I mean that. It's nice to sit here and just start typing whatever comes into my mind at the time of my keystrokes because --A. It's permanent, yet revisable B. I can type fast enough to keep track of my thoughts-- I guess if you'd like to go more in-depth with stupid blog posts, you could say that typing whatever comes into your mind when you're bored is worse than this. WAIT, I just thought of one that could potentially be worse (depending on how interesting your brain is). Read on. Okay.
Dreams: A "pet peeve" of mine --funny, because I hate those two words together-- is when people feel that they most go on and on about what happened in their own dreams. The reason that dreams seem so cool is that you, the dreamer, literally visualized what was going on in your head (obviously). Apologies for the reoccurring dashes and parenthesis. I just decided that this blog post is going to be about stupid blog posts. Done; established. Back to dreams:
"Max, you won't believe the dream I had last night. YOU WERE IN IT. I swear. Well, we are on this gigantic inflatable pirate ship in what seemed like Toronto, Canada and you were trying your damndest to get me to try out the new jet ski! The problem was, I couldn't do it! I was too afraid that the dogs my parents had recently bought to do their yard work would call me really mean Shakespearean names that would make me really sad! They always were clever, but had a corrupt way of thinking. Damn dogs. SO, what you ended up doing was wrapping me in this really warm plastic so that I could barely move or even see out of it, and then you vaguely tap-danced right there on the spot! I don't know exactly what vague tap-dancing is, but it TOTALLY made sense to me in the dream. You must understand. After the dance, a zipper was unfastened like a button to reveal that you were actually the cleaning lady and I was at home the whole time and I had just fallen asleep while doing my psychology homework in which I had doodled all over. I don't remember anything else."

Stop it.