Now that I'm off the weed, for medical reasons, I'm dreaming more (or   
   remembering more). So get this one, from last night:   
      
   My wife and I go to a Dan show. It appears to be a Hilton ballroom or   
   something...very small. There's maybe 75 seats. They play a short show   
   (don't remember any songs) and then start a question-and-answer   
   session, walking around the audience like Donahue used to.   
      
   The sound tech can't get it together, though, and Don and Walt walk   
   out. Everyone is pissed. The Mrs. and walk out of the building and   
   start towards the car when I decide to go back in and complain to   
   someone. I go back in. I try to use the bathroom but there are too   
   many bugs (you know, it's a dream).   
      
   Next thing I know, I'm up in a room with Don and Walt. They are being   
   very nice to me. Walt's on the phone, apparently trying to get laid.   
   Then Bob Dylan shows up.   
      
   Still with me? He sits next to me on the couch and we start talking,   
   apparently about computers, because he says to me, "You know that   
   thing on the computer, with the wire, that moves around? They should   
   call that a RAT!". As he says this, I notice he has a glass eye, a la   
   Sammy Davis Jr.  Very freaky.   
      
   About this time, I realize that the wife is sitting in the car waiting   
   for me. I ask to use the phone to call her. Walt is very accomodating,   
   handing me the phone, which is connected to a backpack he's wearing. I   
   accidently call my drug dealer.   
      
   That's it. Glad I got a chance to write it down, and if you read it   
   all, all I can say is, sorry about that.   
      
   Noam Sane <-------------------- needs a bong   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)