The Aboriginals believed that if you ever dream about getting attacked by a kangaroo then your reputation is in great peril. I thought about that before deciding to tell this story; but since I lost my reputation after making out with this girl named Porkchop in the eleventh grade, I think this one can be safely told.
Origins of Kangaroo Dreams
Awhile back, Rebecca and I were feeling rather adventurous so we decided to go to Saskatoon Restaurant for some wild and exotic game. Saskatoon is an amazing culinary emprise where any manner of fowl or beast is afforded an equal opportunity to make an appearance on your dinner plate.
Saskatoon in Greenville, SC
On this night, Rebecca had a hankering for grilled ostrich and I decided to roll the dice and just order the kangaroo. For those of you that have never sampled marsupial meat, it has a very distinct flavor. I guess if I had to describe it, I would say it tastes like an entire combination of my least favorite things. Frankly, I’d compare it to beef liver, black licorice, and the sweat-soaked end of a salty boomerang. What’s that? You’ve never tasted the sweaty end of a boomerang? Well greenhorn, it’s quite obvious then that you’ve never hunted rabid wombats in the Tasmanian region of the Aussie bush.
Anyway, I didn’t want to offend the chef so I forced a smile and managed to choke it all down with a sweet potato and a couple bottles of beer. To tell you the truth, I surprisingly felt pretty good after my meal … sort of felt all hoppy inside.
Well, I probably shouldn’t have went to sleep directly after eating because I had the craziest of dreams. This wasn’t one of those dreams that you have in grade school; the one where you make it all the way down the school halls before discovering you’re not wearing any pants. This wasn’t one of those dreams where you’re dressing in the gym locker room, only to discover you put your underwear on backwards and you’re really not dreaming after all. No, this was worse than all of that. This was one of those dreams that can really scare the Bejesus out of a person without even knowing who Bejesus is!
In my dream I was at the legendary Circus Circus in lucky Las Vegas, Nevada. Right away, I sort of knew I was dreaming because things weren’t at all like they were supposed to be. I wasn’t cursing at the slots, cheating my hand at poker, or doing any of those super fun things that people suffering from gambling addiction would normally do. Instead, I was standing in a corner of a boxing ring on the upper floor of the casino with jeering spectators surrounded me on every side. The air was thick with stale smoke and everyone seemed to be staring, even laughing at me.
I know must have looked bat-poop crazy and the apprehension I felt at that moment was all but driving me insane. I was sporting these ridiculous silk shorts, wearing an over-sized pair of red boxing gloves, and had a mouth guard jammed between my teeth. The bell sounded and my head began to swim. I couldn’t see my opponent when he first entered the ring but the crowd heralded him in with a deafening roar. The spotlight completely blinding me and I remember this overwhelming feeling of being way to low to the floor. At that moment, everyone and everything just seemed so much taller than me.
Now I don’t claim to know who would win in a real fight between a midget and a kangaroo; but in my dream that jumping joey really bestowed upon me one bonanza-sized beat down. Don’t let ‘em fool you, those things have a ferocious left hook! I wasn’t in the ring but ninety seconds when that rascal TKO’d me back to the real world! I went toe to toe with a kangaroo and didn’t make it a single round!
About a week later, Rebecca and I drove past Saskatoon’s Restaurant indiscriminately searching for a bite to eat. She asked me if I would ever consider taking my chances again with another kangaroo. The mere thought of it made my jaw ache. I went home that night and settled on a simple can of chicken-noodle soup.