Zack: Looks like the teacher told the class to paint their dreams again.
Steve: My mom grew a mustache and then a pickle with eyes tried to bite me in front of the bay window in the den.
Zack: You tried to run, but no matter how fast you thought you were going you could never leave the Viking helmet.
Steve: No, that's not what happened. I dreamed the pickle spit poison on my lap and then my mom kissed me and said she wanted to marry me and then I woke up and my dog was licking my face.
Zack: That's from the cover?
Steve: What? No, that was my dream last night. I thought we were still looking at the crashed airplane one.
Important information on the most populous animal on earth and perhaps the universe.
You may have thought that a long dead author who was basically terrified of black people would be bad at the dozens. And you'd be right.
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