Post Cornfield Humanity Cull

So, I awoke post mope from last night after a fantastically vivid dream.
I was in a gambling town of a tumbledown old wild western (do you capitalise this?) construction; buildings scattered everywhere and I was there for a gambling spree, quite why I have no idea although someone did ask if I gambled the other day and I decided not, as occasionally paying idiot tax doesn't really count as far as I'm concerned. Anyway, partway through exploring the place I found a used army sales store where I started to try and decide which cut-price camo outfit to buy, for some reason I was going to buy a full Multicam loadout, which I've never considered before.
But then my friend who I was with said they had someone who could buy it for me cheap (although I can't remember the name of their friend) this friend of theirs immediately dialed me by video phone and turned out to be a giant sausage.
At this point everyone in the world transformed into a mini-llama (less that a foot high, so cuuuute!) and I started chasing after my friend who was running away from something, we broke into a warehouse whereupon a horde of black clad ninja mini-llamas attacked us; my friend escaped through a window and I had to fight the ninja mini-llamas off.
When I finally got outside my friend had vanished, they left something behind but I can't remember what it was.

In other news still single, my ceiling is full of aspestos and I broke a tooth on my homemade toffee, bah.

Finally, for those skimming past, here's something for you to click on and contribute to the science of the world:

[Poll #1142409]

(no subject)

Painting the emotions out in a rainbow of colours they dwindle slowly,
sparkling stars that cling to the eyes as they slip through flicking lashes.
Caught on the tip of the tongue that flicker at a memories call.
Singing out to those who listen, passing through brick and stone heedless of barrier.
Not a moment caught in the twist, not a shoulder flick, but the heart beat sends them onwards.
It doesn't seem that time has seen them, the ticking clock can't rest a single click before they vanish.
Like wisps into the midnight mist.
Enveloped in the whorls of cloud dusting the ground in frost that crunches.
Feet leave marks in grass awaiting the morning dew.
The eye of the moon winking behind clouds as silence greets the final steps.
Then only darkness holds domain.