To be continued ? Yes, part 2.

The fourth dream installment.

Oh, I had another dream, number four. I was at a beachside bar, looking at some pictures of you I had printed from my ultimate Lady Gaga book. Then you showed up with a boyfriend and a bodyguard sitting next to my table. I thought how jealous I was, frowning, pretending not to see you at all. You noticed me strange. I started to rehearse what I would resolutely say to you, I was going to put up a hell of a show, quite a scene. Then you began teasing me, kissing harder your boyfriend, it was so obscene. I felt bad and briefly made eye-contact with you. You showed me a middle finger. I faked a f..k-you-too smile and was about to leave devastated like at a funeral party, broken-hearted. Suddenly you threw your "Hollywood plastic" boyfriend to the floor and reached me to kiss me on my nose. I got dizzy and accidentally grabbed your inner thigh as you were wearing a red miniskirt when the bodyguard intervened and punched me really hard. I went to ground. I felt heaven was falling. You screamed "Don´t kill him! You´re so stoopid, stop it, don´t even think about it!" as the bodyguard pulled out a gun to shoot me. My nose was bleeding and I managed resigned "Without you, Gaga, I´m a dead man walking anyway..." You rushed to help me, wiping my blood, whispering to me "See, you crazy sonofabitch, you almost get killed because of me!" I nodded in awe, trying just to breathe "What?". Where I woke up next to my sleeping dark-skinned beauty snoring a bit.

The fifth dream, I´m becoming addicted to dreaming like crazy, is a funny mess. I´m riding my new rather pathetic-looking Premiere bicycle, having a transcendental rock visual on the winding road. Focusing on the easy-to-avoid stupid obstacle, I even accelerate, kinda laughing at everything while thinking of Lady Gaga skillfully dodging “all my bullets of love at first TV sight and listen”. With a hysterical sense of victory or vendetta, I chuckle. “Dodge this!” I don´t know how, but I crash the omen piece of rock and fly headlong through the air, screaming like when you get raped before I hit the environment-friendly/unfriendly pavement. The bike follows me up, like an inseparable sequel, and down. I´m fallen flat, with the broken bike on top of me, moaning like a free bitch in heat. “#, man! This is a little bit too much!?” I complain, staring at the poignant sky, fookin´pissed off, hurting as hell. Then some twisted ugly Lady Gaga appears, exactly as in the opening scene of her “Telephone”, smoking glasses, vampire lipstick, and everything. “Need any help, bitch?” She bangs me. “I can´t believe it and simply give up. You gotta be #ting me, Lady Gaga?” I´m still crowned with the bike wreckage, checking up on my – eh - brotherhood. With disdain, or hate, you smile mischievously. “You know what, sir, I love the way you keep falling for me. Can you treat me to another trick, cuz I´m kinda bored of this sorry scene?! It must have hurt, though.” Finally on my four, I make a statement, stammering, fumbling towards ecstasy. “Gaga, you, you´re really good. You Gaga, I mean, what the #, lady!?” I wake up agitated next to my wife, wondering why I always end up in bed with that dark-skinned beauty, a voluptuous woman, instead of this snowwhite firewoman, a dead skinny supersonic supersexy gal, almost forgetting I´m married. “Holy #, unholy shame on me!”

Because of the real dreams of Lady Gaga, I´m accused of being an Illuminati. I´ve never even thought of it to become one, lol. What do you think ?

What do you think ?

Nothing about this...move along please...nothing to see...