Life! Death! Cupcakes!

I've been holding off making this post for almost a week now. I've wanted to hide it from the world, I've been tense and nervous. I can't relax. But now I have no choice but to face up to the facts: for the past week I have been psychotic killer in my dreams. Every night once I go to bed, I'm transported to a world where suddenly I'm murdering everything around me with impunity. Does this reflect badly on my sub-conscious desires? Absolutely. Do I feel ashamed? No.

Can I dig it? Absolutely.

It all started on Thursday. I found myself in a luxurious hotel room with white leather sofas and white shag carpet. I was in a sharp-looking business suit and my hair was slicked back. I think I was some kind of stock-broker. I was sitting on one of the sofas, oblivious to the fact that I was dreaming. Suddenly, who else but Pinkie Pie appears. She's happily bouncing around the room, probably singing, I don't remember.

As some of you know, Pinkie Pie is often reinterpreted by Bronies to be a psycho killer mainly for the way she murders Rainbow Dash and bakes her into a cupcake in the fan fiction "Cupcakes". With that in mind, it would make sense that Pinkie would appear. But I've never read Cupcakes, more on that later.

As she's running around my hotel room a large knife materializes in my hand. I storm out of the room, with the little pink pony following me. I see some anonymous malefactor down the hall and immediately stab them. I stab everyone I see for the rest of the dream in an unrelenting stab-fest. I remember there were Team Fortress characters there, I stabbed them all to death.

What's strange is I seemed to slay everyone the same way: I would hide behind a corner and watch my victim's reflection in the tile walls all over the dream-hotel as they crept past me. Once they were near me I jumped in front of them and landed a single jab at their chests. Why none of my victims saw me in the tile walls, I have no idea. All I do know is that Pinkie Pie was the only one sparred on my killing spree.

When I woke up I immediately started writing a post for my blog, but as I wrote it I started to think that maybe the people reading this don't want to hear any more about ponies.

Skip ahead to Friday night, I listen to Electric Six before bed, as has become my custom. Once I'm asleep, I'm in Las Vegas. Unlike real Las Vegas, this one is a sprawling hanging garden of bizarre abstract forms and enormous geometric constructions. There's no "buildings" in the traditional sense, just these giant frames holding up colonies of creeping ivy-like plants. In a few places where the frames are starting to break apart from disrepair, people are having tail-gate parties. The smell of barbecue fills the air. As I go further into the "city" I see less people.

Soon, I'm the only one around, these sections of the city have been completely abandoned. There's no sound, just the blistering desert heat as I wander around these Dali-esque ruins. Suddenly, thousands of despondent children appear, moaning and complaining. The dream ends and I find myself totally apathetic to their fate. But I do want to recreate the parts of the city that I still remember in a map, that would be cash.

Finally, last night. I'm grocery shopping with someone. I have no idea who they are but I'm carrying all the groceries. There were three boxes and a single roast chicken, I remember because it was very hot and I had to constantly shift it around in my arms so I didn't get burnt.

As we walked to the car a bunch of kids on tiny motorcycles circled around us.

"Hey, did you just come out of gay-mart?" They said mockingly, over and over. They kept laughing and threatening us, suddenly one of them pulls out a gun.

I probably didn't recognize it as such at the time, but now I'm convinced it was an NAA Mini Revolver.

"I'm sick of this, you're gonna die!" I yell at the one with the gun. He shoots me and I drop my groceries. I inspect the wound to find that the bullet is absolutely tiny, like a tic-tac. I charge at him, head down and reach my hands around his throat. He drops the gun as I make a fist to punch him in his stupid-looking flabby face. The dream ends before I can beat him to death.

In retrospect, I've come to only one conclusion: Pinkie Pie is an avatar of death that visits people in their dreams to convince them to do evil deeds. Also, punk-kids seem to get away with everything.