Damn It Feels Good To Be a Taylor

February 8, 2011

I’m on the American football field, for some reason. Probably something to do with my watching of the Superbowl, but more likely because Greg Jennings put the team on his back, doe (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1P0yfq2wDvU). As it gets dark outside, it becomes less clear what I’m actually doing on the pitch. I’m not even sure if there’s a ball involved. Just general running around on a pitch…

I walk off the field, and enter a cabin, which looks more like a house on the inside. My brother is there, and suddenly SO IS A SNAKE! A big fucking snake. My brother shits his little pants, whereas I (for some reason!) attempt to wrestle the snake! I grab it near the head quite successfully, as it squirms around trying to bend its neck backwards. As my hand begins to slip, its head spins round and it is then centimetres away from biting the living fuck out of my hand. I wake up in a sweat. Intense.

As I fall back to sleep, I re-enter the same scenario (yeah, that’s right, awesome dreaming ability), but the cabin is now snake-free, and is also now full of truly random people. Among the crowd is none other than Bobby Baccala, auf the Sopranos! Weirdly, he is holding one of those sticks they use to poke a football pitch and improve drainage. He says out loud “I gotta get back to work” (I imagine this is his pitch-poking duties..). Standing next to him is Rachel from Undeclared. What.the.fuck. Even more brilliant is the fact that I think she is his wife, as she then says “Yep, and I gotta get back into the kitchen”. She then exits the cabin-house, at which point one of the randoms nearby says under the skin of his teeth, “someone lock her in there”. I have never dream-laughed so hard. Classic.

The last thing I remember before waking, is my excitement over the news that Wiz Khalifa would be coming to Cardiff. TAYLOR GANG.

 

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