Monday, 5 January 2015

Last Night I Dreamed...

...that I had to extract acclaimed SF author Charles Stross from the centre of a prison riot. He wasn't a prisoner and neither was I. I guess he'd been doing a reading there or something. For some reason the powers that be had decided I was the most qualified for the task. I guess they knew what they were doing, but support- any kind of support- would have been appreciated.

So there's me punching, shiving and shouting my way past dangerous men with nothing to lose and Stross doesn't seem to be phased at all, he just walks behind me with his hands in his pockets and smiling benevolently. 

He keeps asking me "Do you like me books? Which ones your favourite?"

I'm more concerned by the Molotov cocktails and bottles of piss being thrown down around us from the upper floor of the wing.

Eventually I relent and say "I don't fuckin' know, Chuck. Saturn's Children I guess. That was good. Happy now?"

"All you had to say," he replies and, with a cheery whistle, Stross goes completely Ninja on the prisoners. He beats seven bales of shit out of them he does- at one point using one of the smaller prisoners as a weapon- and I sheepishly follow his trail of destruction. I'm certain we got out.

I'm not sure if this dream had any significant meaning. Probably 'don't fuck with Charles Stross'.

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