I dreamed I got some zombie dust on me, and was therefore going to turn into a zombie. So I sat down by the edge of a forest, stared into the trees, and waited to be shot by a person I’d asked. It was rather lifelike, waiting, and wondering if I’d feel the impact in my head or not. Trying to maintain some good thoughts for the final moment. After a few more moments, with no shot having rung out yet, I was getting irritated and I put up my hand to tell him to hold on because I wanted to ask him what the fuck was taking him so long, and to complain that I’d lost the moment. Apparently the delay was because some people thought there was still a chance a cure could be found that would prevent me from turning into a zombie. But that was doubtful. Just to make the dream especially Freudian, the zombie dust had gotten into my pants, so my penis was the first bit that was going to turn gray and die. What is zombie dust, you may be wondering? Evidently it is skin flakes from a zombie — we’d killed a zombie and he’d crumbled, but I’d gotten the dust on me.
Probably inspired by all those radio commercials for Gold Bond powder that are on the radio.