I had a strange dream last night* wherein Jay Leno was trying to get me to buy his used Games Workshop model sprues for an exorbitant amount of cash. We were walking around a parking lot, picking up tennis rackets and softballs and haggling over the price of some as-yet unseen Necromunda merchandise. Once I had two tennis rackets and a few softballs held in between the rackets, we walked over to Jay Leno's car and he opened the trunk. I tossed in the rackets and balls, and he pulled out a box of plastic sprues from which most of the actual models had already been removed. I asked him why he wanted nearly full retail for all of the sprues when there wasn't even enough to make more than one or two figures with them. He replied that I could make all sorts of cool casualties with these sprues. This was enough for me to collect the two or three sprues that had the most model parts on them and then said I would send him a check for thirty or forty dollars.
I walked past Jay Leno's car, and onto a baseball diamond where some kids from the hotel I suddenly owned were playing baseball on a field near a swamp filled with writhing masses of serpents. I walked over to the edge of the field and looked at the swamp, and everywhere I should have seen water, it was just swirling, sliding, slithering snakes. I never saw a head or a tail, so it was a little odd, but this didn't really bother me in the dream.
The coach asked me to show the team how to hit a ball so it would almost always result in a home run. I put down my chunks of plastic sprue, and picked up a yellow aluminum baseball bat and a dirty, dusty baseball from the field. There were perhaps hundreds of baseballs lying in the outfield, and all of them looked like they had been there all season. I hit the first one dead on, but it only wen as far as where the center fielder would stand because the ball split along the seams when I hit it.
The coach, who was a disembodied voice from the bullpens which were full of staring, unmoving children in baseball uniforms, yelled that I would have to pay for every ball that I broke that way. I picked up another ball, and said I was going to "test something." I tossed the ball straight up so I could hit it in a high arc. The core sailed out of sight while the leather shells would flop to the ground when I hit the ball. The coach then yelled at me, and I responded with "put it on my tab." This went on for a while until I told the coach that his gear was bad and he should be a better coach, and I would send him a check.
And then I walked back toward Jay Leno who was still standing by his car's trunk and still talking about reasons I should buy all of his plastic trash and I woke up.
* This part of the sentence could have been left out as unnecessary. Who has normal dreams?
