Mel Gibson and Pit Bulls: A Cautionary Tale

WARNING: Don’t watch Lethal Weapon/Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban right before bed time.

How I imagine I look when I sleep.
How I imagine I look when I sleep.

Last night I had a dream that I met Mel Gibson.

Not that bad, you might say, and I’d be inclined to agree with you. At first it was fine, but as time went on, things got a little… weird. Much like his career.

We were just hanging out, him saying nothing racist/homophobic/sexist (hey, a girl can dream), me hugging him and fangirling way harder than I would have expected. (I lost my voice. In my sleep.)

Anyway, we were hugging, chatting, having a grand old time, when Mel started to get an odd look in his eye. His laughter grew kind of hysterical and suddenly he produced (from what I hope was his pocket) a dirty syringe.

And he stabbed me with it.

What the fuck?

Yeah, OK, Mel Gibson had just given me (at best) hepatitis, and not even in a fun way. No need to panic. I’d only been stabbed with a dirty needle. That wasn’t even the worst of it.

Stumbling back after the stabbing, I fell to the ground, Mel tumbling after me. Everything would have been fine, or as fine as it could be (he fucking STABBED me), if he hadn’t then gone in for a bite. A BITE.

I admit it. My instincts took over. I lashed out with my foot and I… I kicked him in the face. Woops. Needless to say, he wasn’t too happy about that. In fact, he was downright testy.

His mouth began to bleed, and he snarled, growled, snapped at me. His handlers appeared out of nowhere and held him down. I tried to apologise, but the handlers (two lovely women) told me I had nothing to apologise for – and that I needed to RUN.

Why, you ask? Well, that’s easy… Because Mel was morphing into a pit bull. And not a happy one either. Apparently Mel Gibson was an unregistered Animagus. Who knew? So I ran. I ran right into a mansion where I met Gus from Psych and hid with him.

What happened next, you ask? Did I manage to escape? Did Gus have a Mel-Gibson-the-Pit-Bull-induced panic attack? Had I actually contracted hepatitis from the dirty needle?

Well, what actually happened was this: in classic dreaming style, I woke up.

How I actually look when I sleep. Hello, sexy lady. I like that receding hairline you've got there.
How I actually look when I sleep. Hello, sexy lady. I like that receding hairline you’ve got there.

Anyway, the moral of the tale is… Uh…

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