A dream. I'm in a house. The Frenchies are moving in. I'm under a stairwell, heading for the secret passageway. I can here the Frenchie troops approaching. Suddenly i cant move my arms. I cant breathe. I can't move period. I cant even talk. I am completely and utterly paralyzed. What am I to do. With almost superhuman effort, I manage to get off a grunt, a groan, a squeak. But to no avail. I see the Frenchies coming right at me. I can here them... "Yo Alex. You smell that ****? b**** is smokin' again. That **** ****s with my head." As my roommate goes to tell off our next door neighbor, I reflect on the scaryness of that split second, caught between dream and real-life; caught in the temporal folds that seperate reality from fiction, where I couldnt not move for the life of me. Good night, all.
The French? Who is scared of the French? They surrender to everyone they fight. "Cheese eating surrender monkeys" are what a very wise man once called them. Get over it man!
