May 12, 2006

SUGAR SUGAR

I had too many saffron-treats at the tiny party last night and wound up having this dream:

Phil Collins and I are in a gynasium, we know each other socially but are not really pals. Phil is wearing a wrestlers leotard, but is a severe amputee, and the bottom half of his body is prostetic. He and I are both working on stories for This American Life, and he comes over to me, and asks me to say something into the microphone so he can test the levels. I know my friend Jane is going to be the one transcribing Phil's tape, so when he turns on the recorder, I start making all these over the top sex noises and say "Oh, yes, Fuck Me Phil Collins!" --I crack up and fall on the floor laughing. Phil, in turn, cries.

Posted by Jessica at May 12, 2006 06:49 PM | TrackBack