No, this is not going to be a post telling you it's okay to run amok, and no, you won't be able to to work today and kill every single thing that walks or flies or crawls upon the Earth and tell them that this guy on the internet told you you could. Not gonna go there, get your permission from Homestar Runner or Something Awful or somewhere else, just not here.
Where was I?
I am the Irrelephant, coo-coo-ka-chu.
My dream last night--profoundly strange in a very simple way. I was riding on a schoolbus, buying a chai from the cashier at the back, and my sister was there knitting, and her daughter was with her, reading, tho my child was nowhere to be seen. We were headed toward my home, and I could see the air base in the distance, and they were doing some sort of test launch of what could have been the airplane that Rube Goldberg flew around in--there was a 737 aircraft in front, which was pulling a tractor-trailer rig that had on it's trailer this hugemongous aircraft that had riding on it's back a small airplane. The bad thing is that my mind explained it all to me--
The tractor trailer was there to help the big aircraft up to speed, because the runway was too short for it.
The 737 was there to help pull the tractor trailer rig faster, because it could not get up enough speed to get the big airplane up to speed. (Why they didn't just use RATO or JATO units is beyond me.)
The big airplane was serving the role of a sabot, where it used all it's fuel and effort to lift the little plane high enough that it's engines could burn without being inefficient, and apparently because it was not made for low altitude flight.
The little plane was...hell, my mind never told me.
Anyway, I'm riding along watching this procession, and it starts to take off (the big plane, that is.) I start struggling for a camera, realising how stupid I am--I am witnessing a top secret launch, even tho it's broad daylight and anyone within fifty miles could see the runway and it's gaggle of vehicles. I finally come to my senses and whip out my camera phone (James Kirk eat your heart out) and start trying to snap clear pictures, which is surprisingly difficult, because the 737, the sabot aircraft AND the orbital craft are ALL flying around the skies right outside the window in different directions, and moving so bloody fast that I cannot frame one long enough for the camera in my little phone to click the image, so I get a whole series of half-framed sky and pieces of wing or tail pictures.
Disgusted, I sit down across the aisle from my sister, and she tells me she just bought an "internet camera phone" for $799, and I go completely gaga, because my dream portrays this thing as something like a Nikon 9 megapixel pro model the size of a grain of rice or somesuch, and I wake up with a cat staring intently at me.
What they must think of me. The cats that is, not Nikon or the Air Force.