Thursday, October 20, 2005

Nell Carter... a zombie?

I think if you're going to have a nightmare, as I did last night, it should be a full out nightmare and not just a bizarro-creation from the deepest regions of your subconscious. Mine... the bizarro-creation.

I was traveling through New York (or some German expressionistic version of NYC) on a schooltrip (odd, since I'm not in school and haven't been on a "schooltrip" in nearly 15 years). Suddenly, and without warning, I was standing on top of a car fighting off zombies in a sad attempt to save my classmates. Suddenly, a greyed out and crackily skinned Nell Carter (God rest her talented soul) comes out of nowhere and attacks me.

Now, you may ask, "Why would Nell Carter attack you?"

Well, George Romero has taught us all that zombies need to eat the brains of living humans in order to survive but as I learned from my dream last night... some zombies are coming to you for help. When, in my dream, I fought of the zombified creature that had once been Nell Carter she yelled at me and asked me "What the hell are you doing?" Now consider for a moment the shock that has befallen me by first being attacked by zombies, then realizing that one of them is none other than Nell Carter, THEN realizing that Zombie-Nell is intelligent and inquisitive. This was a conundrum.

In the dream, I put down whatever blunt object I had in my hand (beam, shovel, who knows) and just looked at this Zombie-Nell laying against a brick wall looking at me while she rubbed her head. "I come looking for help and you're gonna knock me down?" (Ever the diva. Love it.)

Turns out Zombie-Nell wasn't much of a zombie. She had (from what I remember) covered herself in oatmeal or some other clumping goo and only pretended to be a zombie so that she could escape. I would have thought that zombie's could smell the difference between humans and the undead but maybe their sinuses have dried up and decayed and thus Ms. Carter's theory for escape would be plausible. She had only been trying to climb on top of the car with me because her oatmeal (
or some other clumping goo) had begun melting off her face in the hot Manhattan sun.

Somewhere around this point in the story, I either woke up or "changed channels" and moved on to something else. I suppose my brain decided that Zombie-but-not-Zombie-Nell-Carter was enough of a creative stretch for one evening and now it was time to rest.

Thank you Nell Carter for filling my sleep with interest. I like to believe that you are in the big Broadway house in the sky, singing some Ain't Misbehavin' to house filled to capacity. (OMG... I'm so gay.)

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