The 43rd Dream

THE 43rd DREAM

I was ding in my Batmobile and heading for the bank, when I suddenly realised something stunk. I stopped the car and rolled my electronic window down, when a stumble-bum walked up to me and said with a frown:
“I hear you dislike motherhood,” he said, with a sigh. “you shoot your high-school teachers and forbid your birds to fly. You better get out of here before I beat you down —”
I said, “What would you do if Jesse came to town? ”
But just then a cross-eyed cop came up and said, “Who do you think you are? You look like John Wilkes Booth to me, and you’d best get out of that car”
A mob began to gather in twists and turns and loops, and without another word began to beat me with Hula-Hoops. I ran around the comer, and into a nearby bar, the bartender was Jack the Ripper, and he had several stickball scars,
I said, “I need a drink, I’m feeling rather sick”.
He poured it but wanted to know just where was my hockey stick. I said, “I did not have one and why in neck should I” when he threw a bottle of scotch at me, — his aim wasn’t very good.
I ran into the back room where the boys were playing cards, the dealer was a blind man, fat as a tub of lard. I stole all his money but he hit me with his cane, I left h’m some pencils and ran down the kitchen drain.
It was very dark and didn’t smell so good, I took my first right and came up in Lisbon High, like a friendly rat said I could. I combed my hir and then bugged out for му nost favorite class, it was capit¬alistic Basket—Weaving, it always was a gas.
The proctor was Barbra Streisand, the teacher Captain Hook; I told him I was the editor of a Strunk & White Cookbook.
Just then the bell rang and we all threw our bowling-balls, the teacher nit me on the head and gave me detention hall.
“I’m goin’ outta my head!” This girl began to scream. Her stockings were red and her makeup sky-blue green.
“Don’t tell me your problems,” I told her, rushing by, when I ran into a man in uniform – I think it was captain Bligh.
“We’re going to swing you from a yardarm,” he said kinda grim, “We wanted Pohtious Pilate, but you look enough like him,”
I said “Please, Mr. Bligh, give me Just another chance -”
When along came this chick – Brigette Bardot from France.
But just about than I woke up, it was just going through my mind, I wouldn’t knock another dream, but not quite that same kind.

Steve King

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Volume 3, Number 4. January 29, 1966

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