The answer is no.

Zombies dream of many other extraordinary things.

And by extraordinary, I mean fucking retarded.

Like this.

The suburban sprawl was dimly lit and quiet, the only sound, the noise of my footsteps on hard gray pavement. I walk alone past the un-illuminated shapes of houses, cars, twisted trees, and hedges.

Then I see it up ahead, distant but very clear.

Someone is home.

I traverse the space quickly, purposely, moth-like, towards the warm inviting glow of the window panes. As I get closer, I can hear the sounds of activity, of life. Objects are being moved around. People are talking. The front door now stands before me, the last barrier to what is inside. I reach for the doorknob. It is unlocked and turns freely.

I'm in.

I walk through into the living room, there is nothing either special or not special about it. Almost everything is white, or some shade of there of. The smell of cinnamon is strong in the air, perhaps from a scented candle.

Or maybe magic.

And then I see her. She's a woman I recognize in an instant. A face very familiar to me, one I've seen countless times. Whose house have I stumbled into? Who am I dreaming about?

Is it the oh so lovely, and sweet like Honey, Jessica Alba perhaps?



Or maybe the super terrific, love of my life Katie Holmes?



Fuck no Kokomo.

The woman in my dream is shit sucking Lisa Whelchel aka Blair from "The Facts Of Life".



Vomit! Gag!

Give me a fucking break!

For some reason, this didn't disturb my dream self at all, unlike the very real worries it is now causing my awake and conscious mind.

But back to the dream.

I look at her, and she looks at me. There is a moment of silence and then she smiles. It's the same toothpaste commercial quality smile I remember from the TV show and I compliment her on it, as I am a sucker for a great smile. She smiles even more. Then from out of another room, come two twin girls. They look about 9, and are really cute and pretty. Blair tells me it is their birthday and invites me to come into the kitchen and join them in eating some cake.

I accept the invitation, which is strange, because in real life I never eat cake. I'm just not that fond of the stuff. But apparently, my dream self wants it.

Or maybe I just want to tap Blair's dream twat, and am using cake to make it happen. There is really no way to know what is motivating me at this point.

I follow the two girls and Blair through the door and into a kitchen fit for a fucking king or queen. It has one of those super long rich people tables, high ceilings and chandeliers, and enough cake to feed all of Argentina and some of Peru. There are cakes everywhere. Big ones. Small ones. Square Ones. Round Ones. Every color of the rainbow. It's the damnedest thing I've ever seen.

If I die and go to cake heaven, I'm pretty sure this is what it will look like.

A tuxedo clad butler is suddenly standing amongst us and produces four golden forks. We each take one, and then Blair asks the girls if they are ready to begin. They each nod their heads with vigor, golden locks bouncing like soft yellow clouds. She then asks me if I'm ready, and I just say "Sure." Because it seems like the thing to say, and besides, it was cool when Bill Murray said it in "Ed Wood".

Then we begin to eat.

And mother fucker but those three females can eat.

There is no pretense or illusion of civility here. They are face first in the cakes, drooling, grunting, chewing, as if they have all suddenly become rabid dogs, or sharks in a bloody patch of sea. Their faces quickly are covered in icing and cake crumbs, along with their fancy designer clothing. Suddenly, I find that I am doing the same thing. It's like the cake has a voice and it's singing a siren song to me. I want more and more of it.

Sweet sweet cake!

And then it's over. No transition. No explanation. I'm suddenly back outside the house and now the lights are off. It looks like no one is home. I stand quietly in the yard for a little while, still with the taste of cake in my mouth and still on my mind.

I'm brought out of this by two headlights which penetrate the dark distance ahead and grow larger by the second. It is a taxi cab, big, bright, and yellow like the ones always seen on TV. It pulls over and I walk to it and get in. The driver is someone I recognize also. A most hated face from the past.

Is it Hitler you might ask?



Saddam maybe?



Or maybe even that man in drag, Sandra "Ballsucker" Bullock????!!!



Nope, it is none other than my high school English teacher. A hellish cunt of a woman if there ever was one. I haven't thought of her in years, but here she is, wearing a funky taxi cab driver's hat and smiling. She looks at me for a second and says, "Where to?"

The sun is now beginning to rise, throwing pink and orange rays of fresh new light, over the horizon. I think to myself for a minute, and then reply, "That-a-way." and point east towards the brand new day.

And off we go.

The End.

Then I wake up, and am so mad I want to punch myself in the face. Because this is a really stupid dream. Way stupider than normal. I have no idea what it means, except that maybe I'm a fucktard.

Ok. We all know there's no maybe about that. But if anyone out there is a dream expert, what do you think?

Here is what I think.

ARGH!