Weird Dream

I dreamt last night that I was Ringo Starr, and I was jumping up and down yelling and screaming at George Martin, “You will pay for the goddamn shitte thatte we need and you will buy it WHEN WE NEED ITTE, GODDAMMITTE!” And then I snapped a drumstick in two over my knee–it took three slams to finish itte offe–and then flung the pieces at him and stormed out of the room.

I must be repressing rage about the sequester about to hit NIH and thereby dickepunche my non-competing renewals and totally kill the competing award I have pending after council review. (And yes, I am aware that George Martin was the Beatles’ producer, not their manager; it was a motherfucken dream.)


  1. eeke says

    Write to your congressperson. I don’t know if it will do any good, but it’s something. I wrote to mine, even though he’s a republican dicke and doesn’t care what his constituents think anyway.

  2. Grumble says

    Republican dickes are exactly the ones who need to hear from their constituents how badly this sequester is going to hurt. There’s no point in writing to Dem congresspeople – they are not the ones holding up a resolution to this sequester bullshitte.

    By the way, what is dickepunche? Pee?

  3. eeke says

    Grumble – I even called the motherfucker. I never call politicians, but it seems warranted this time. I would urge everyone to do the same, even if your representative is a democrat. Democratic representatives are known to be spineless and easily swayed, so I think it’s worth a call.

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