Stupid dream.

I had a dream about the mess in Boulder last night. It was exactly the way it was seven years ago: I was a bright-eyed young Adventurer, the ink not even dry on my degree, and I was giving my first-year thesis presentation to a PACKED auditorium. Like in real life, I was giving a revised theory of the Olstermann Hypothesis (for those of you not of the Life, the theory that instead of our bodies being supported by "skeletons" that become Calcs on death, our muscles and organs etc are in fact supported and protected by a BONE-LIKE structure of hyper-condensed meat). Since this was a dream I'd come up with some startling new conclusion that made sense at the time, but I can't recall for the life of me what it was.

Anyway, everything is going along just as it should. It's like when I take the dirtbike over a hill and soar through the air, time just seems to slow down and my moment of glory will last forever. Or whatever.

And then, just as I start in on my synthesis of Aquinas and Olstermann, it starts.

TOE BONE CONNECTED TO THE -- FOOT BONE
FOOT BONE CONNECTED TO THE -- SHIN BONE
SHIN BONE CONNECTED TO THE -- KNEE BONE

Soft at first, and I think someone's pranking me. Maybe it's Matthews or Thompson... but no. It gets LOUDER. I realize it's coming from EVERYWHERE, a chorus of people standing up from their seats, singing in unison.

Young people, my age or not much older. Everyone is just dead silent, watching as these jerkoffs march out to the center aisle and proceed to dance toward the stage. There's about two-dozen of them in all. Are they CRAZY? Who would be ballsy enough to make a mockery of the National Adventurers' Conference?

KNEE BONE CONNECTED TO THE -- THIGH BONE
THIGH BONE CONNECTED TO THE -- HIP BONE
HIP BONE CONNECTED TO THE -- BACK BONE

They march right up onto the stage and start ripping off their clothes. (It's not what you think, trust me.) Underneath their regular clothes they've got some kind of black Lycra or Spandex painted with Calc-pieces, as if they were a PART of their OWN BODIES. It's disgusting. Even remembering it makes me feel like I'm gonna spew a bit. Hell, I'm surprised I didn't upchuck right there on the stage back in 2001. I know there are even some Calc hunters raised Protestant that would've lost their lunch at this grotesque... well, whatever it was. The jerks keep singing:

DEM BONES DEM BONES DEM DRYYYYY BONES
NOW THERE'S THE WORKING OF THE LORD

And as I'm standing there, dumbfounded, one of them steps forward and GRABS my MIC like I wasn't just giving a presentation. He starts rambling on and on about civil rights and the decomposition of flesh and some crap like that. I realize what this is. A God-damned DEMONSTRATION. Here, of all places, and DURING MY THESIS.

Even now I can still see him, burned into my mind like he was seven years ago. Short, shorter than most. Thinning brown hair. Stubble. Wire-rimmed glasses. Southern accent. Southern accent? Ha! A damned DRAWL is what it is.

Calaveras, he says his name is. Calaveras.

And in the dream, just like on the stage seven years ago, I can't hold it in anymore. I take a running jump at him, make contact with his lower chest, and we both go flying off into the aisle. I'm punching the everloving crap out of this guy, showing him what's what, and I know if I had The Bat with me then Calaveras wouldn't be the thorn in my side he is today.

But this was a dream so of course Calaveras basically folded in my hands like wet construction paper. Then I got hungry and went looking for a sandwich, but a bridge was in the way so I jumped over it. Don't remember any more.

Yeah, it got stupid there at the end but for a good while it was pretty vivid. I wish I could remember what sort of discovery I'd made in my dream, maybe it was something that would get Calaveras off my case once and for all.

"Skeletons"

Okay, I've got to address this issue.  The Calc-Sympathizers are claiming that Calcs are really just human remains, or "skeletons," that have been re-animated by greater forces.  While on one hand, this makes some degree of sense and explains why they look so much like us.  On the other, it in no way explains why the Calcs are such magnificent assholes.

Sure, I've known assholes.  I've been one from time to time.  And I'm pretty sure that son of a bitch Calaveras is a Secret Calc.  But constantly hoarding gold for no good reason?  Hanging around in dungeons where nobody in their right mind would go?  Those just aren't the kind of things dead humans would do.  And people wear CLOTHES, not just furred boots.

No, the Calcs are a totally different race.  They do their own, terrible, thing and they answer to the call of the Bone Bitch (I've never understood that name, but that's what the other Adventurers call it.  [I understand the "Bitch" part]).

I don't know, these guys just don't understand the clanky sons of bitches like I do.