Cornucopia of Wrong

I have been keeping an irregular dream journal for a couple of weeks, and these are the best passages, unaltered from their original, half-awake composition.

For some reason, I end up wrestling with an old man to remove his socks. In the course of wrestling, he steals $10 from my wallet. We laugh about this, I tell him I "respect the hell out of him" and he gives me three wet cheek-kisses with his old mouth.

I am at somebody's house, staying as a guest. In the night, I wake up to find Binkley [the cat I had while growing up] nestling into my arms (I'm sitting up). Binkley presses himself hard against my chest and nuzzles his face right under my chin. I'm looking down at his face, all black with the little white chin, and I realize that it's actually the face of a Juggalo who has snuck into my room. We fly apart and both begin freestyle rapping.

Superman, parking lot at night. Get into car, man in car. Get out, fight man + 2 others. Hit 1st man w/ piece of wood in face, nail in wood gouges eye, blood everywhere. They do not relent for a while. Long standoff, few punches. They leave, people walking by watching.

Earlier, some manatees.

I'm playing SNES with an 8th grader, the game is a Mortal Kombat-style fighter, and all of the characters are racist Mexican stereotypes. I'm playing as a Mexican mother with too many children.

Watching a movie about a guy who joins an S&M "cult" who meet at the beach, where they all wear bondage gear and robes and hoods/masks, and are each given a snake to care for. But they're too preoccupied with S&M to pay attention to the snakes, which get into the water and precipitate shark attacks.

In Scripps Ranch, I became aware that there was a potential terrorist attack looming. It was late afternoon and raining lightly. I was on Red Cedar, by Miramar Ranch, scooting along in my "neighborhood watch" wooden rolling desk chair, making sure the gates to the soccer field were all locked.