The Kids in my Dreams

The Kids in the Hall are there, and they are sitting in plastic beach chair-type things in the super shallow end of the pool. They're lined up and they are looking so over it, but in the way that lets you know they are actually hamming it up. Scott Thompson, especially. In fact, he says something lascivious in his super flamiest voice, lifts his leg and reaches around to grab a big chunk of his rear, spreading his right cheek ever so sleazily.

Club ass

I am with a group — feels like family — and we're on foot, trying to find our way back to some place. We have a guide or a narrator of some sort, someone who speaks up to let us know when we have stumbled upon a large grassy patch where folks from long ago used to fire up various types of pottery. Some of the ancient pieces can be seen jutting out of the grass, worn with age. I pick up one piece that is sort of like a fancy candy dish with many tiers, and it's charred and full of small holes.

My nephews find old metal cabinets embedded in the ground and get them open, to discover less damaged pieces. We gather up the pottery and aim to take it somewhere. Not sure where.

I see someone walking toward me, the setting sun at his back and making him into a silhouette. I can make out his facial hair and instantly recognize it as an old friend I've had a fling with a couple of times but who never really liked me beyond those brief drunken encounters in his bed. He comes up to me and gives me a slow and deliberate hug, putting his hands on my ass and saying, "You have such a great club ass."

Completely unaware of this as a saying (Google tells me it's not really a saying), I ask him what the heck that is supposed to mean. He tells me it means my ass is great to rub up against. OK then.