Last night I got three hours of sleep. It was broken into 1-hour segments, interrupted by really bizarre dreams. I can’t remember what the first two were, but I remember feeling somewhat disturbed while trying to get back to sleep. The third dream, however, stuck because when I woke up from that one, my brain was all, “Fuck this, I’m not going back to sleep again.” So I got out of bed and had sufficient time to sit and stare at a bright computer screen in a dark room wondering if it really is time to lay off the sauce.
I was in some basement hanging out with Andy Grammer (because obviously) and he had a pet platypus that he treated like a dog (because—wait—what?). I don’t remember if it had a name, but it was about the size of a lab and it decided it wanted to sniff my face. It stood up on its hind quarters (can a platypus even do that?) and tried to poke me in the face with its bill. Taking into account that I am really effing short, this thing was almost as tall as I am.
Meanwhile, Mr. Grammer (distracted by his collecting of stuffed musical instruments from an arcade crane machine) was all, “Oh he’s just sniffing you out. He won’t bite.”
And I’m all, “This thing is fucking huge! And it’s not a dog! Also, I’m not worried about him biting me, I’m worried about the venomous claw on his back foot!”
The platypus nudged me in the chin with his bill and his owner just gave me a blinky-blinky blank stare.
And my next thought was, “Pretty face, nothing upstairs.”
When I woke up from that…I just conceded defeat and got out of bed.
Because how can you compete with Andy Grammer and a pet platypus?
And it might be a good idea to stop sniffing glue before bed, because there is really no other explanation for shit like this.
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