Aaron Schmidt, Enghien les Bains, 2002 Aaron Schmidt, New York, 1998 Aaron Schmidt, Paris, 2002 Aaron Schmidt, Atlanta, 2001 Aaron Schmidt, Atlanta, 2001 Aaron Schmidt, Epinay sur Seine, 2003 Aaron Schmidt, Enghien les Bains, 2002 Aaron Schmidt, Sancerre, 2002

Thoughts and Dreams of Aaron Schmidt

This is the online journal of Aaron Schmidt where he records his thoughts (when they seem relevant) and his dreams (when he can remember them).

12 April 2003 Hussein in the Brain

Weird dream last night.

My face was artificially altered to resemble Saddam Hussein and I was sent to infiltrate the American base to free the real Hussein. Seems that disguising myself as Saddam would be the worst possible choice for the job but in the end things worked out okay.

So off I go... no trace of the ruthless dictator but I do run into my mother, who although scared at first, somehow notices that this Saddam is actually her son only disguised as Saddam and so (being a mother) immediately wonders what the hell I am doing and begins to chastise me, saying that all this is "silly". Of course, I don't want to have my mom involved so I flee the military installation through the sewers. Dream or not, the sewers are always your best escape route.

I return to the Iraqi compound where I find Mr. Hussein and his sons. New plan: I will guide Saddam and company to freedom disguised as a normal tourist, i.e. myself. But unfortunately the doctor who performed the original operation was killed by Saddam for burning his toast at breakfast. This really pisses me off and I get into a huge argument with Saddam questioning how he could be so fuckin' stupid?! Remember I still have Saddam's face on so really it's two Saddams arguing together the only differences being that his English isn't quite as good as mine and he has a bit more of a pot belly than me.

Now being a dictator, Mr. Hussein isn't quite used to having to argue, so he immediately loses control and jumps aboard a nearby farming tractor. His sons yell words of encouragement as he revs the engine and proceeds to advance upon my position.

It's then that I remember that one of the side effects of my operation was the ability to breath acid. I start to huff and puff and cough and sputter but no acid comes out. I then start to scream. But this is no scream of terror, more like I am trying to maintain an extremely high note that my voice is incapable of. The sound is dreadful and everyone stops, more or less in bewilderment as to what I am doing. (I'm sure it was quite the scene to see Saddam Hussein screaming like that in front of all his family and military staff.)

I don't remember too much after that but I do know that things went back to a friendly atmosphere and I think we started playing poker.

Weird eh?

aSa

24 March 2003 CD typo alert

I looked the portly cadet straight in the eyes, wondering if he had been raised in a potty cradle.

"This TLC dope tray is ruined!!" I screamed. He looked confused and a little nervous. I'm going to have to file a CD typo alert and notify Dr. Lace Potty.

"Please don't, sir", he whimpered, "I'll just go and get the old petty car..." He ran off. To convince him otherwise was to pry cold teat. Damn, I thought, where the hell is my pterodactyl??

23 March 2003 Belly burst free

I had a dream last night about some French woman in Japan. She had recently moved there and had been hired by some corporate Japanese company that was trying to teach her proper Japanese respect.

There was a boardroom scene and an elevator scene, etc. Each time she was insolent and had to be taught respect by the corporate, fat bastards.

I was not personally involved in the dream, but my belly was swollen to twice its normal size. Not like a pregnant belly but more like a festering, war-wound belly where the juices could burst free at any moment.

I woke up and thought there was poison in my stomach but soon realized it was all in my head.

See if you can animate a herd (group? troop?) of penguins clapping as the bird loch drowns in the water. The next scene is the bird loch's son planning revenge against the penguins. I'm glad you called it "bird loch" I would hate to type "pterodactyl" every time.

www.birdloch.com would be a cool site name except for the ambiguous spelling with "lock".
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