F A N T A S I E S

Leo

Well-known member
I slept from around 9am yesterday morning 'til 5:30 this morning.

that's wild, do you feel like you flew to Australia or something? didn't you get hungry? or have to pee?

I used to pull occasional all nighters, get home at 6:30 am. would crash out into a deep sleep but was usually brief, awake at 10:00 am.
 

Leo

Well-known member
I get restless in bed after about eight hours, usually sleep six and a half or seven. it's an age thing, used to be able to sleep 10 hours no problem as a yoot.
 

Leo

Well-known member
much harder to get up in the winter when it's still dark in the morning and chilly outside the bed covers. in the summer, when the sun is shining early, I don't want to waste the day and tend to get up earlier.
 

martin

----
I know a bloke who has a fantasy about 'puppy girls'. I think the idea's that he comes home from work and she crawls up to him on all fours - in a bikini, collar and furry ears - and goes "Rff! Rff! Welcome home, master!" Then he feeds her Frosties in a dog bowl. Then she puts her head down and whimpers, while he shouts BAD DOG! 'cos she pissed on the carpet earlier. Then he slips her his greasy bone.

My repressed fantasy is robbing a bank, '80s style. Motorbike helmet and bomber jacket...waving a sawn-off in some cunt's face...customers kissing the floor and sobbing "PLEASE DON'T HURT ME...I'VE GOT KIDS"...orange smoke bombs, ear-piercing alarms...speeding off in a van, clutching Adidas bags stuffed with notes...running down joggers in Smiths T-shirts on zebra crossings...smoking 100 fags, dying my hair blonde and jumping an overnight ferry to Esbjerg...reckon it'd be a laugh :)
 
Robbing a bank has it all: guns, masks, an audience. A high level of danger and a high level of cunning required. Brains over brawn but some brawn. You have to respect it.
 
My mum has been held at gun point a couple of times. She said she wasn’t afraid because she knew they wouldn’t harm her. One time when she was young working in a police station, armed IRA men raided it for documents and said “what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this”
 

Mr. Tea

Shub-Niggurath, Please
Staff member
Martin's fantasy (the bank robber one, I mean) is still pretty good if you leave out every part except the bit about running down joggers in Smiths T-shirts.
 
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WashYourHands

Well-known member
To meet ancestors. How fucked off will they be with a few things? That reads a bit catholicy.

All these people who got you here. The micro margins of chance. The love affairs, the divorces that didn’t happen, the wars lived through. Do I have a smidgeon of English blood and if so can it be exorcised (jokes)? Their personal experiences. The advice they’d give. Not time travel and not who do you think you are sort of plot, more going out for a pint with them, or a quiet chat on a park bench feeding the ducks. What were they fascinated by? All ultimately unknowable, but it’s a fantasy triggered by a cousin’s research that revealed a gem or 2. Still leaves out 99.99% of it all.
 
Had some boy who saved the world ones during the pandemic. I get every strain of the virus and become super immune. They do all these studies on me and find they can vaccinate and cure everyone sick by learning from my blood. Maybe I die during the study and am an eternal hero etc
 
Obviously the nurse taking my blood test is very attractive and when she’s running it through the analysis machine her jaw drops at the power and sheer number of my antibodies
 

catalog

Well-known member
Can you imagine how Maradona must have felt when he went for a blood test and the nurse was so convinced he was the second coming, she took some of the blood and placed it inside the crypt of San Gennaro in the cathedral of Naples, and the priests accepted it and people came to pray to it and ask for blessings.

Would definitely have made you feel like you could throw a bit of nosebag up.

 

Corpsey

call me big papa
corpsey showing up in the studio in the final recording days of a big album. everybody goes quiet, corpsey listens, doesn't move a muscle to the beat. song ends, few seconds of quiet. he utters a dissapproving but cryptic aphorism, assistants anxiously jot it down in notebooks. producer show a slight smile of awe under the dissappointment, that son of a bitch has done it again, all right folks, you heard him, back to the drawing board!
Fuck yeah
 
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