Like The Simpsons written by someone really, really Wrong.
I woke up this morning thinking I hadn't dreamed anything interesting. And then gradually the details began to filter back into my head and I realised that, while perhaps not interesting, my dream had been very silly indeed.
I was a cartoon small boy. The fat kid with asthma, in fact. And it was games class. The horror. There was one kid in particular (we were all cartoons, except the teacher) who would beat me up every games class.
We were going to play Disco Volleyball. (Don't ask, because I never got to find out and I'm very glad about it.) The games room was new, underground, huge, stone, vaulted, filled with enormous bronze statues of griffins and devils. The teacher, a strange vaguely insectlike woman, was new, and had had it built for her.
Teacher : Get out your Disco Volleyball textbooks, please.
We did. I discreetly stood on the armchair next to me, because I knew it would (for a few seconds longer) keep me away from the kid who always beat me up.
The kid in question looked at his textbook and said in his loud, stupid voice, "Manoeuvre One : The Deck Everyone In The Class Manoeuvre!" And began to do just that, smashing everyone but me to pieces by jumping on them, while singing the Happy Tree Friends theme tune.
I looked at the teacher. She was smiling. Then I heard a disembodied voice say "Don't worry, child. He will be punished." Answered by another saying, "Oh, yes. He will be punished."
The 'camera' of my dream pulled back to show two robed figures with wings viewing the proceedings in a glowing cloud thing.
They walked around the corner and appeared at the end of the games room, which was scattered with cartoon remains, and looked at the boy responsible, who was chained to the wall, whimpering. They nodded to one another and then wheeled out a huge air hockey table, which converted to a rack with a few flicked switches. One looked at the other and laughed. "I was dubious when she ordered this made, but I can see how it could have its uses."
Then I woke up.
I was a cartoon small boy. The fat kid with asthma, in fact. And it was games class. The horror. There was one kid in particular (we were all cartoons, except the teacher) who would beat me up every games class.
We were going to play Disco Volleyball. (Don't ask, because I never got to find out and I'm very glad about it.) The games room was new, underground, huge, stone, vaulted, filled with enormous bronze statues of griffins and devils. The teacher, a strange vaguely insectlike woman, was new, and had had it built for her.
Teacher : Get out your Disco Volleyball textbooks, please.
We did. I discreetly stood on the armchair next to me, because I knew it would (for a few seconds longer) keep me away from the kid who always beat me up.
The kid in question looked at his textbook and said in his loud, stupid voice, "Manoeuvre One : The Deck Everyone In The Class Manoeuvre!" And began to do just that, smashing everyone but me to pieces by jumping on them, while singing the Happy Tree Friends theme tune.
I looked at the teacher. She was smiling. Then I heard a disembodied voice say "Don't worry, child. He will be punished." Answered by another saying, "Oh, yes. He will be punished."
The 'camera' of my dream pulled back to show two robed figures with wings viewing the proceedings in a glowing cloud thing.
They walked around the corner and appeared at the end of the games room, which was scattered with cartoon remains, and looked at the boy responsible, who was chained to the wall, whimpering. They nodded to one another and then wheeled out a huge air hockey table, which converted to a rack with a few flicked switches. One looked at the other and laughed. "I was dubious when she ordered this made, but I can see how it could have its uses."
Then I woke up.