A way too elaborate party dream
Have you ever been to a birthday party that was just a little too elaborate for its own good?
It started out simple enough, with a trip out to a fried chicken place for dinner. I think there was a little bit of drama when we got milkshakes, but it's fuzzy now. There was a little bit of trouble on our way out to the parking lot afterwards. We had to try to get my mom into a van and it was taking a long time, especially in the very cold weather. When we arrived back at home--a larger, fancier, version of my own home, with a slightly skewed orientation but similar features and neighborhood layout--we sat down to just enjoy the time.
We were interrupted by a deafening roar. Just outside the window, a jet is reconfiguring itself for a vertical takeoff. Bits and pieces rotating into place, wings and flaps twisting and articulating, and engines revving up so that the plane rose surprisingly gracefully into the air, then flew off.
"His uncle is a fighter pilot," one of the other guests said. I couldn't tell if they'd taken the birthday boy on a flight, or if the act of taking off was treat enough, like a thunderbirds flyover at the all star game.
What happened next is a bit of a blur to me. I remember it was something else that was a bit elaborate—something that even caused some damage to the house—but unfortunately it was such a heckuva party that I don't remember the details.
Especially with what came next. The VTOL jet suddenly came down with a roar even louder than before. After it touched down, it began cooling off and powering down. The various flaps and things used for vertical landing were still up, and this included, somehow, the entire top surface of the airplane. You could see the engine, and I impressed other party guests by pointing an infrared thermometer at the assembly.
The highest temperature I could find was...12,000 degrees?!?! Holy.
The plane started to move again as the top of the jet hinged down from the front of the plane.
It came down with a crash on the roof! Apparently his uncle had miscalculated where the plane was, and that part of the plane was overlapping with the house.
The metal walls of the building bent like a tin can and I spilled out onto the nearby street.
A group of other partygoers were staring at the infinitely grey and foreboding sky.
"Is there something more?" I asked, "Hasn't this party been enough?"
"Zombie paratroopers," they replied, and sure enough, small mushrooms poured through the clouds above our location.
When the zombie paratroopers landed, we were so amused...at first. I was taking pictures and everyone was oohing and ahhing as they got near. I'm not sure exactly when we realized something was wrong. For me, it was when they grabbed my camera. Hey! It's a nice camera. It's not like they HAD to be really into it, but they were. We ran off to barricade ourselves and prepare for this zombie attack.
I don't know when we figured out the rules, but we realized that since they weren't real zombies, they couldn't turn us. As long as we tapped them before they got us, it doesn't count. We ran around tapping zombies all over. They got pretty dejected once they realized their attacks were having no effect.
I knew I would never feel safe with active zombie paratroopers out there, so I weaved my way through the crowds, tapping every unfamiliar face I could set my eyes on. What I didn't notice was that everyone had stopped playing.
I turn back from the farthest reaches of the neighborhood and suddenly everyone is standing around having some sort of 1930s-themed gangster party with cocktails and hors d'oeuvres. Not that I notice—I'm still trying to keep the entire population of zombie paratroopers (who have conveniently brought 1930s gangster outfits to blend into the crowd) under control. As I bob and weave, tagging unfamiliar people, I start singing "Be a Man," you know, from Mulan. But I get to the part that everyone lip syncs—You know the part, where it goes really fast—and I can't remember what to say.
I made a comment about this to Doc Rainbow, who smiled.
I continue down to the end of the road, where people are sitting in diner booths, and manage to tag all of them. But when one manages to grab me and hold me down, I don't know what I'll do, so I wake up.
That birthday party was a bit much, man. Just stick to a single theme, and don't invite the zombie paratroopers next time.
baratheonpilled
andulkaphoto
yousharknotpass
kaledo-art
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
vaporwave