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I had a nightmare last night, Mr. Weisman, and it was about you. In it, you died, and in one of the suckiest ways, too. You fell backwards off a bunk-bed ladder and cracked your skull. It was so horrible! I saw it in slow-motion over and over again; you falling down, your mouth gaping open in a scream, then, "BOOM, CRACK," and I think there was blood coming out of your mouth when you were lying on the floor...you looked so pitiful and helpless. You weren't even that high up (about 2 or 3 feet off the ground)! I wasn't there, but somehow I saw that event (you know how weird dreams can be). I remember seeing somewhere in a comment room and on the news that you had died, and then I was flashed with the image of your horrific death. I felt so bad! I was thinking about how you weren't going to be able to answer the question I asked you yesterday, or any question for that matter. It broke my heart to think that, if a "Gargoyles" movie was going to come out, you wouldn't be there to see it or critique it; and how you'd never be able to work on another show if you were given leave to. I mean, you fall 2 or 3 measly feet off a ladder and die! What a horrible way to end your life! It must have been one of those dreams where you couldn't tell whether it was a dream or not, because I woke up thinking you were dead and how badly it sucked. I was thinking, "Wait a minute IS he dead?"...And trying to remember if someone had said you were or not. Then finally, I got over my disorientation and remembered you were NOT. Please don't think I'm crazy or anything. I'm not sure what brought this on. Probably partly because of the injury that caused Dale Earnhardt's death(a fractured skull), and that somehow incorporated itself into my dream. I really don't know why you were in it. Mr. Weisman, Dear, Sweetie, even though I don't know you personally and vice versa: would you do me a favor and PLEASE, please, BE CAREFUL around LADDERS(especially bunk-bed ladders) or ANYTHING else. Maybe you should wear a helmet or something when you climb one (yeah…I know what you're thinking, but still). If you die should from something stupid I will be VERY unhappy with you for not heeding my advice. So BE CAREFUL, please, don't make me into a psychic.
I am immune to bunkbed death, so never fear.
As kids, my sister and I -- and later, when she got older and got her own room -- my brother and I shared a bunkbed. Being the oldest, I had the top bunk.
Once, late at night, my dad heard a loud thump. He came into our room and found me sleeping on the floor. I had fallen out of the top bunk without waking. He picked me up and put me back in bed. I never woke up.
The next morning, he came into our room and found me asleep on the floor AGAIN! I had fallen again, again without waking up.
[Of course, on one level, this may explain a lot.]
So anyway, have no fear. And as for the rest of you. Don't get any ideas.
Still, I'm keeping track of ideas for future contests once this 2198 contest is over.
Write Greg Weisman's obituary sounds like morbid fun.