Of Paradise and Pilogs

[Patriot]

This section of the forum has been quiet for far too long. So rather than complaining about how no one is contributing I figured I would contribute something of my own.

For a little background information, the reader needs to understand this is an attempt to describe a dream I had (the vast majority of my dreams play out like action movies). Understanding this will help you to get beyond the strange gaps and odd transitions that may occur. I tend to write these dreams down for my wife's entertainment more than anything, so the writing may be a little rough. Also, by the time I get to a point where I can write what I remember the entire episode is fading. Often as I write aspects will come back to remembrance, but I never know if I am adding them from memory or imagination.

What is a Pilog, you may ask. Well listen to my story and you may gain some insight.

This story begins in paradise. Not the garden of Eden or Heaven, just some nondescript paradise. It wasn't even really paradise to me, it was paradise because the people there thought it was. Funny, paradise seemed to consist of a moderate-sized room with too few chairs for the number of people inside. Paradise also housed one pig. I was flipping channels on a rather small TV with terrible reception (since there happens to be little to do in paradise) and there was some conversations going on. I couldn't describe most of the people, but there was one young boy who was perhaps around 12 years old. He was laying down on a couch or cot (never can be too sure). He didn't do much at the time, I just remember him. He gets a little more into the story a little later on. There was also a dog. Actually, the pig was a dog. Or the dog was the pig. There appeared to be some shape-shifting going on. And finally, there was a lion. A what? Yes, a lion was lounging about in paradise. In fact, the lion was the pig and the dog. He appeared to be one shape at a time, thankfully. I call him the Pilog. That is my own name for him that I crafted after I awoke.

Now that I have described paradise to you allow me to get to the meat of the story. Well, it turns out that paradise had a problem. The was one fellow in paradise who was unabashedly evil. How evil? Well, I am getting to that. This fellow that happened to be so incredibly evil was, in fact, the Pilog. Yes, that no good, loafing around, evil pig-lion-dog. But this is paradise and evil cannot be allowed to stay. We must have a champion who fights for good and can vanquish the beast! That is where my assistant pastor comes in. He will stand for righteousness. For his weapon. . .a plunger. That's right! The assistant pastor is heading off the plunge the evil pilog back to the pit from whence it came. Good thing that, somehow, the lazy people of paradise had managed to get the Pilog into a shipping crate where it lay waiting. I missed most of the action, unfortunately. Instead I was in the bathroom (yes, paradise has a bathroom) when the assistant pastor came back. His shirt was missing and the plunger was nowhere in sight. He didn't say a word to me. He was panting and turned away. I could make out every bone in his spinal column through his skin. The evil Pilog had drained our champion to skin and bones and swallowed the righteous plunger. This beast was beyond any of us. We had to leave paradise and we had to do it now!

Good thing the 12-year-old had a beat-up old pickup truck that has a windshield and a door (right side) and not much else. There was no door, and no sidewalls on the left side at all. But we all piled in anyhow as paradise had little to offer by way of transportation or chauffeurs. Off we went down a very bumpy road into a town that was most decidedly not paradise. Everything was grey and dingy. Buildings were crumbling. There were open fire pits with people huddled around them for warmth. As we traversed this bleak landscape one rather large bump sent our pint-sized driver and another refugee from paradise tumbling into the dusty road. Being in the passenger seat, I quickly grabbed the wheel and brought the vehicle under control. For whatever reason, we traveled a good mile or two down the curvy road before I decided it might be a good idea to stop and wait for our waylaid comrades. Perhaps we were just running in such fear from the plunger-eating Pilog that our decision making was not the best. We waited for what seemed like an hour before we saw the two of them come trotting into view. I've never seen someone so relieved. The 12-year-old was all smiles as he thanked us profusely for waiting for them. Then we set off again. I'm pretty sure I was snatched back into the real world at this point by my alarm as the strangeness that followed was disconnected and somewhat hazy (as I tried to force myself to wake up). I just remember some guys wearing jetpacks zipping around preparing for war with the Pilog.

The moral of the story:
Beware the evil, plunger-eating Pilog
or
Dreams make no sense (except to God)