Bond Cars, Part One

[featherynscale]

Last night I had a dream that I had purchased a car at a military surplus auction, a nice, unassuming little grey number. It was much posher than I'd ever really look at, but I got an excellent price on it. I had been driving it for a few days/weeks, when I noticed that there were a couple of switches on the dash that didn't seem to go to anything. I made a joke about them being for the oil slick and the smokescreen, all Spy Hunter and everything, but I kind of just ignored them and went on with my business. Then, one day, I was driving down Holmes, and I noticed a strange bulge in the door panel. I poked at it a bit, and it popped out into my hand. I looked at the thing in my hand (nevermind that I'm driving) and I see that it is undeniably a bomb. With a big red LED timer counting down, like in the movies. I'm somehow able to reset the clock. I set it to the maximum available time, 30 minutes. I think, "Surely, that will be long enough to figure out how to deal with this bomb."

Then it comes to me. If I throw it in a body of water, it will short out. (I saw Spiderman 2, and I know that any explosive device, even unto a nuclear reactor, will short out if you put it in water.) So the nearest water is in a swimming pool, at what in the real world is the Red Bridge YMCA, but in my dream was the Martin Luther King, Jr. Recreation Center. It's right on the way home, too, so that's convenient. I drive by, roll down the window, and pitch the bomb into the pool. It sinks to the bottom, and as it does, I can see the red light of the LED display, still counting down.

So then, I'm like "Oh, shit. I've just pitched a live bomb into a pool, where there are likely to be kids. Now what?" So I went home, to ask the Crime Prevention guy. Of course, home is now an underground fortification, filled with friends, family and minions, so it's a little difficult to find triadruid. It requires a ride in a mine cart, followed by descent via a big scary elevator. Then, I've got to get rid of the minions that have lined up to ask him questions about how to make the beds, and where to dig the new tunnels, and that kind of thing.

Eventually, I manage to get rid of them, and talk to him about the bomb. He's like "Call the cops, duh." And I'm like "Hell, no, I'm not calling the cops - I'll go to jail." We're still arguing about this when I wake up.

Comments

[triadruid.livejournal.com]

Wait, *I* had minions??

Of all the people in the house...

Nevermind, FBI.

[featherynscale.livejournal.com]

I'm not sure that they were your minions, per se. Apparently the household was involved in some sort of Paper Street Soap Company kind of activity. It is unclear which of us was Tyler.