Stand-Up

Day 325 (41) – King of Pop Dreams

I fell asleep listening to Michael Jackson’s “Number Ones” last night, and I think it affected my dreams.

The dream started at the Break of Dawn.  I had apparently just woken up because I was staring at the Man in the Mirror.  I was dressed in Black or White, I can’t remember, and wearing Billie['s] Jean[s].  Which is weird because I don’t know any Billie’s, but I was feeling like a Smooth Criminal since I apparently got away with stealing his jeans.

I then leave my house and am walking down the street when I hear someone say, “You Are Not Alone.”  I turn around and there was this homeless lady, who they called “Dirty Diana.”  She repeated herself, “You Are Not Alone.” And I’m thinking, “Well obviously, you’re standing right there.”  Then she said it again, “You Are Not Alone.”  Now I’m not to be rude, so I thought, “I’ll give her One Last Chance to explain herself.”  But again, she just said, “You Are Not Alone.”  By this time I was getting irritated so I told her to just Beat It.

So I keep on walking, when I get to a park.  As I’m walking around admiring the beautiful Earth[,] Song[s] just keep popping up in my head.  But they aren’t Michael Jackson songs, but rather Janet Jackson songs.  And that’s when, out of nowhere, Janet Jackson shows up.  It felt like I was in a Thriller movie because she just started to Scream.

She runs up to me and proclaims, “Where have you Ben?”  Naturally, I’m confused.  She continues on, “You know I Just Can’t Stop Loving You,” which is weird because I didn’t know she ever started.  She keeps going, “You give me Butterflies by The Way You Make Me Feel.  You Rock My World.”  And I’m still somewhat stunned, because after all, it’s Janet Jackson.  So I reply back, “I like to Rock With You too.”

Then I discovered what Dirty Diana meant, because Chris Hansen stepped out from behind some bushes, screaming, “You just Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough.”  And that’s when I turn to see that it wasn’t Janet Jackson professing those things, but Michael Jackson.  And I’m not just an average Joe, but an undercover cop posing as a 12 year old boy.

Needless to say, I won’t be listening to any more Michael Jackson before going to bed, or R Kelly for that matter.  Nope, from here on out it’s the Pussycat Dolls.