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I had a dream last night in which a lonely and needy Jake Busey held me prisoner out in the desert somewhere. He took my rifle away when my attention was diverted for a moment, so I regretted not shooting him when I had the chance. Meanwhile, a weird old B-movie named "Nevada Test Pilot" was being made in the background, involving a large styrofoam model of an F-86 Sabre jet crashing into the ground, followed by a giant turtle that was sprayed with gasoline and set afire.
I have no explanation for anoy of this.
I have no explanation for anoy of this.