Sounds like something from the "Personals" column. My wife had a wierd dream last night. She dreamt that there was a T-Rex running around our neighborhood, and that when it passed by our house, it leaned down and grabbed one of our cars in its mouth.
Me: Which one?
Her: The one that's for sale.
Me: Oh good. We could collect insurance.
Then, out of nowhere, our mostly dumb, certainly weird dog comes flying through the air and lands on T-Rex's neck, and chews his head off. My wife said we went over and looked at it. A severed dinosaur head that was still gripping our car in its jaws, and one crazy dog covered in dino-blood.
You have to realize that this is the same dog that runs around our backyard chasing flies, bees and hornets. She actually caught a fly in her mouth tonight in our house. Then trotted over and spit it out in front of us. The fly, slightly dazed (Bzzz....bzz...bzz..zzzz?) wandered around on the floor for a couple of seconds while psycho-mutt stares down the length of her nose, watching it. When at last the fly seems like it can move normally, her big sloppy tongue comes out and coats the fly again with dog drool (Bzzz...BZZZZZZZZZZ!! zzzzzBBzzzz...zzzbbb!?!). At this point, I grab a nearby piece of paper and coax the staggering fly onto it, after which I go out the front door and flip the paper over. The fly, ecstatic to be free, fell to the ground like a lead ballon. A spit-covered lead ballon, that is.
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