No one who speaks German could be an evil man.

When he kicked in the door to my Berlin apartment I didn't notice then. When he wrenched my laptop from my hands and shouted at me angrily in German it still didn't click, and although I dont speak German I realised he was here to steal my property and his words were threats. I chased him down the spiral staircase and out into the street where he boarded his method of escape, a Segway. I leapt into my Vauxhall Nova and pursued him down the street. The nova struggled to keep up with his two-wheeled, self-balancing transportation machine, the engine spluttering and shuddering violently. As we tore down the road I couldn't help but notice his tattoos and hairy visage were very familiar. I realised I still had the nova in first gear and as I cracked it into second I pulled alongside him and pulled a fishtail maneuver that I had seen on shit American reality cop shows dozens of times. The segway flipped down and to the side, hard, and the German thief scuffed the concrete fast, shoulder first, and rolled many times in only a second.
I now stood over him and most of his body was bruised and scratched. He still cradled my laptop which I took from him as I kicked him in the ribs. He shouted to people in the street saying, I guess, that I was robbing him. A mob gathered and I tried to explain I was taking back which was mine but being unable to speak the dialect I panicked and ran.
You know how that effect in slasher movies where no matter how fast the victim runs the slow paced attacker is always two paces behind? this is what started happening between me running and the hairy tattooed German criminal. He was gaining on me despite his severe injuries. I ran across a football pitch I recognised from my youth. It was an asphalt pitch and this caused me to lose momentum and as I turned to see how close he was I tripped and fell. He was now standing over me. He reached down and grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and suddenly the continuity of the real world kicked in.


A moment of stunned silence.

"Morrow, why are you German and stealing my laptop?" He looked as bewildered as me to the immediate shift in the fabric of what the fuck was going on.


"I dont know but I think I need to get to a hospital." he replied.


"ok I'll take you but you're not going to stab me or anything are you?"


"Anderson, see in about thirty seconds let's never ever talk of this again."


The alarm went off and it was Monday morning and I had to go to work. Yes, Monday, Crump's favourite day.

Tom Hanks

Lewis was sat to my left on the couch in my living room. On the couch adjacent to our left was my mother who was sat next to Tom Hanks. We were talking and laughing how Tom had discovered he had Scottish relatives which it transpired was us. Tom sat up straight and said across to me "wanna see something cool?"
"I sure do" I replied, absolutely buzzing that I was related to Tom Hanks and that he wanted to show me something.
He reached into the breast pocket on his suit and brought out from it a single green pea which he held between his thumb and forefinger for all to see. He then flicked the pea with the finger holding it in my direction. The pea landed on my inside thigh and rolled up towards my groin where it dropped into my fly which I hadn't noticed until now was open. I was amazed. "Do it again!" I shouted with joy as I fished my phone from my pocket so as to film him doing it again. "Sorry Chris, that was a one off."
"No way Tom, nobody'll believe me".

Ever since a hefty binge over the festive period my dreams have been rather strange

I was in the Simpson's house, in their living room, I was still real and they were still animated. Bart was talking to Homer, about what I cant recall, an instead of his zig zag trademark hair cut he had a strange almost morrisey like quiff. This was the last straw "What the fuck has happened to this show!?" I exploded. "You guys made me cry with laughter and now you make me want to cry with shame." I choked back tears as i croaked out the words. Marge looked at me ashamed but understandingly.
My alarm went off and as I awoke I felt both sad yet vindicated. I hit the snooze button.

I was now in some kind of virtual reality scenario where facebook meets the sims from a FPS point of view. Much how I imagine Second Life must be. I was in a cafeteria and all my friends from my final year in high school were there having an organised breakfast. I knew inside that I hadnt been invited and it made me feel pretty pissed off. I realised I could control the environment to a very low scale, enough for me to conjur a baseball bat in my right hand. I systematically worked my way round the tables absolutely plowing the bat into the plates of each of my former class mates. They reeled in horror and shouted at me to stop but they had no control over the program as I did. My old friend, John Colreavy, came running up to me begging for sanity. Behind my scrambled egg splattered manic smile a wave of 'what the fuck are you doing?' washed over me and I took stock of the carnage I had reaped. This kind of behaviour may have explained why I wasn't invited in the first place.
Once again the alarm kicked off and I headed to the shower chuckling to myself.

Hoody was just in my work saying he he had night terrors last night where he lay paralysed as i stood over him with a manic grin. After he left I wished I had asked him if I had bacon in my hair.