Peanut, peanut butter

So I mentioned to K that I wanted to get a jar of peanut butter when we get groceries tonight (yeah, I know, just try to keep up with us, we’re so exciting). Then my mind started going: was there ever actually a brand of peanut butter called Superman Peanut Butter or was I on drugs?

As it turns out, it wasn’t just the heroin talking, it really did exist. It was probably only available in the States, as all bright and shiny things were back then. Still, I probably wanted it. Why? Because of the label, of course. Oh, Kal-El, when did you become such whore? Oh right, it was the 80’s. We were all whores then. Or so the Oliver Stone movies tell me.

I’d never really pegged Superman for being a shameless corporate shill. But maybe times were different then and he needed the money for propery taxes owed on the Fortress of Solitude. Maybe that explains why these days he’s whoring credit cards with Jerry Seinfeld.

Sorry that story has no real point. I’ll probably buy Kraft or something. We bought some organic peanut butter but we found that it tasted like, how do I put this? What’s the word? Shit.

Last night I finally got my brakes fixed after the discs were making a chuckchuckchuckchuck noise everytime I stopped. Sitting in the waiting room, I had a Tony Sopranoesque panic attack (without the passing out part), expecting some monster bill. It was actually quite cheap but they did tell me my tires were pretty much done. So that’ll cost a bit, when I get around to getting new ones (probably just get winter tires in November and use those until I trade in the car next Spring).

It was probably the panic attack that caused me to have the following dream:

In a post-nuclear (or post-something) world, the trendiest place to live in Montreal is a newly rebuilt Plateau that was designed by Dr. Seuss. It has tall, multi-coloured apartment towers that bend and droop, and people drop extended planks between buildings to visit each other. I, of course, cannot afford to live there so I purchase an old house that comes with a tenant. He informs me there are aliens about and hardly anyone lives in my new neighbourhood anymore as a result. He feels humanity’s time is coming to an end.

My first night in the house I have trouble sleeping because, as expected, the aliens are swarming the house and pounding on the walls. I catch a glimpse of one and it sort of looks like The Swamp Thing. The pounding stops and they disperse. I later get a phone call on one of the 1970’s style telephones with the actual ringing bells. I reach for the receiver and notice that it’s 3:30am. The voice on the other end says:

“Do you know what the meaning of life is? It’s knowing we can replace you anytime we want.”

At first I thought it was my boss calling to tell me I’ve been fired. The I realised it was the aliens. They were not going to destroy the world. They were just going to make us leave by harassing us off the planet.

Superman Peanut Butter. Jesus…

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