After watching a number of TV shows about extraterrestrials (ETs), I had this vivid dream about ETs invading Iowa.
Apparently, I had somehow driven out on some highway that was not clearly marked, maybe Highway 20 which the National Weather Service always mentions as a sort of boundary line between a howling, disastrous tornadimohurricannibalistic storm and utter tranquility a few miles north of us.
I got out of the car and noticed up in the sky a gigantimonguous craft shaped like a triquetra. It was eerily silent as it passed just inches above my head and it glowed multiple colors like the NBC peacock.
Suddenly, 3 beings who resembled the 3 stooges (except their heads were tiny) floated out of the craft and took me hostage. They kept arguing amongst themselves about how they were going to exsanguinate me and then fuse me with a soybean plant they had previously mutilated. Apparently, they had tipped a few cows in the process and slipped in the pasture, falling into an area full of cow pies.
I told them they smelled bad and suggested they try Mando, the deodorant that is nothing like the scented stuff which, if you apply it, is exactly like turning up your car radio when the engine rattles—hey, it just masks the problem.
I guess that hurt their feelings and they told me they were going to stick some kind of implant in my nose so they could track me because they could hear my nose whistle and find me anywhere. I told them I’m allergic to ET implants and I would just sneeze it out. I had them there.
Then they tried to communicate with me telepathically but I knew how to counter that trick. I just thought really hard about good barbecued ribs, which made them hungry. They asked me where they could find a decent rib joint and I told them how to get to Jimmy Jack’s Rib Shack in Iowa City.
So we head on over there and I help them order. They weren’t sure what to drink, so I suggested water because I saw this trick in the movie, Signs. It didn’t work as I expected and they just acted like they were drunk.
Then, of all things, they wanted to go to Area 51, and we just zipped over there. On the way, they picked up Bob Lazar who drew pictures of them. He asked me why they had barbecue sauce all over their faces and I just told him they had bad manners.
Finally, I woke up and I swear I’m going to limit how much kale I eat next time.
Go Retire Psychiatrist 