Why Menlo Park? I've never even been to Menlo Park.

To:janet@myamazingBFF.com
Subject: Only dragons or dolphins would have made this cooler


I fell asleep on the couch and at some point the VP debate came on the tv and leeched horribly into this wacky fucking dream I just had that I have to tell you about immediately.

We were hanging out with Barack Obama watching the debate. Because that's how we roll. It was like some Wimbledon looking shit, and we were in fancy 19th century dress on a huge balcony that was covered in Astroturf. Japanese waitresses were butlering sushi. We tried to eat the sushi, but it was huge and crumbly and impossible to eat. Barack was pissed about it, but in a cool Presidential way that was all tight-lipped smiles and passive aggressiveness. Like you knew someone was getting water-boarded later but let's not talk about it.

A crowd of English football hooligans paraded past our badass dais, and somehow one threw a gun at me. Not like YO (or OI, in this case) D, TAKE THIS GUN, but like I'M REALLY DRUNK AND I HAVE THIS GUN BUT WHOOPS BUTTERFINGERS OMG HAHA  NOW YOU HAVE IT. Secret Service dudes freaked the fuck out and took the gun, but felt like maybe we should actually be armed in case the English football hooligans turned violent, so they gave us missiles. At least, dream logic dictated they were missiles, but they were actually more like nuclear war heads a la Dr Strangelove. They were huge, there were no way we could hold them, and frankly a terrible method of defense because they would not only annihilate an English football hooligan, but the entirety of whatever city we were in, so I mean, it was kind of overkill. And we kept dropping them or lobbing them at passerby so all in all not the best plan, Secret Service.

At some point Barack had to leave and do President things, and the debate was wrapping up, so we changed into street clothes and decided that we should pick up Neil Patrick Harris and Paul Ryan and go to breakfast in New Jersey. So we're in this diner, ordering eggs while arguing feverishly about Medicare with Paul Ryan, who is being a dick because Paul Ryan is a total dick and we are apparently really passionate about Medicare. NPH was strangely silent on the subject. The food shows up and all of the plates are monstrous and covered in partially thawed frozen fruit and no one knows why.

Then Paul Ryan and NPH have gone (for some light BDSM in the bathroom?), and we notice that we know the dudes at the table across from us. At this table, also eating partially thawed frozen fruit, is William, Trevor and Roach from the park. And we are like, whoa, what are you guys doing A) together, B) at this diner in New Jersey where NPH and Paul Ryan are having sex in the bathroom? And they're like, oh, we're making a movie in Menlo Park, can you come help us finish some scenes? And you're like, no, I don't want to be in your shitty movie, you're not even college students and you're going to want to see my boobs and that is not cool. I looked at you and was all sage-like, and said "Janet, we are friends with Barack Obama. People are going to want to see your boobs. It's what life is now." You were about to be full of righteous anger and flip the table, but the table was bolted to the floor and we decided this was a really good metaphor for something but fucked if we knew what is was.

Seriously. Best dream ever.