Osama Bin Laden, Kurt Cobain, Elvis and myself were hanging out in a Hash Bar in Amsterdam.
No, it’s not a joke. It’s a dream I had. I think it was a dream. Stop interrupting.
Anyway, we were sitting at a table together, not necessarily talking about anything in particular – weather, the economy, fashion trends, and the coffee, which was surprisingly bad considering what it cost.
I couldn’t find my spoon, the one I had been stirring my coffee with, and at first I thought that Kurt had taken it. He was kind of a dick, which is not what I expected at all, and *he* had a spoon. I’m trying to pay attention to what Osama is saying, since he seems very intelligent (which is also not what I expected, and should have been a tip-off that this was a dream) and he seemed to be very knowledgeable about current fashions, despite the fact that he wore a bedsheet.
Right, the spoon. So anyway, the coffee was so bad that I gave up on the thought that stirring it might actually help. Then I thought that the coffee might have been so very bad that it actually dissolved the spoon, which would explain the taste. Then I thought that a spoon dissolved in the coffee might have *improved* the taste, and I should be thankful that it did not taste worse. My Inner Philosopher perked up and noted that if I could view all potentially bad events this way, my outlook on life would improve dramatically. I told my Inner Philosopher that he was right – the glass was not half full, it was completely full – of expensive coffee that tasted like dogshit mixed with Windex and dissolved silverware. That shut him right up.
Suddenly it dawned on me that the three people I was seated with had something in common: No one knew for sure whether they were really dead or not. (Except me of course, because I was talking with them.) I started to worry that I might end up with the same condition, like I might ‘catch’ their indeterminate existence status through osmosis or some mutant media-virus. I thought of my parents, wondering if they should hold on to my out of print CD collection because I would be *Pissed* if they sold it on E-bay and I wasn’t really dead. I thought of my friends, rushing off to verify reports that I was sighted hitch-hiking through Oregon, or making out with Paris Hilton backstage at a Black Eyed Peas concert. The whole thing made me sad.
I suddenly wished I had a coffee, and then realized that I did
“Sure thing,” Elvis said, “Go right ahead man.”