mr. sandman must have been on angel dust

In Iraq, presumably on vacation. I'm with some people from work, I think, and I comment how much Iraq looks like California. I can see palm trees. We're in a fast food restaurant/deli kind of place and I'm ordering food. Many of the people there are American, though the girl behind the counter appears to be a native of the country who speaks perfect english. It turns out that my card is no good--came up declined--and she hands it back to me all torn up.

I wonder why, but I'm not too upset, and the manager, I think, let me have the food anyway. Outside, an overweight, ugly blonde woman in a large blue T-shirt, black sweat shorts and sandals is calling the people walking around--many of whom Iraqi dressed in typical American clothes--heathens and other harsh slurs. I yell at her that if she doesn't like the country, she should leave.

Now I'm in a room, still in Iraq, with my sister and her boyfriend. My sister has a pet Cheetah; it's a lithe, but scruffy little thing and its behavior is sort of erratic. I play with the cheetah for a bit. The room has one big single window that almost goes ceiling to floor and it's rather large. After playing catch with the cheetah, I get a call from my cousin--he tells me he's at the frontlines and ready to be deployed for battle. I notice the palm trees and the sunny sky outside.

Then, the room is filled with people--work associates and friends and family from back east, so I think. I realize all these people haven't met before, so I attempt to introduce them. Everyone is seated on things akin to highschool gym bleachers which line the walls. As I walk around, I realize that I don't know everyone, and I'm fumbling over names and mistaking identities. People are quickly losing interest, and I get occasionally interrupted. The last interruption came when I see that they're giving gifts to an old woman--someone's grandmother--for her birthday. I have to stop with the introductions and I'm seemingly impatient. "This shouldn't take too long," one of my girl friends from New York whispers in my ear.

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[This is kinda graphic--you might not want to read this part. I'm going to be tasteful as possible]

I'm watching a movie at some outdoor picnic. I think it's about Vietnam. There's one scene in a village and a young woman is in a shack. I must have seen the movie before, because I know that she's smuggling explosives.

They cut to a previous scene that features the young woman inserting hand grenades into her vagina, but the act is pixelated, so our view of it is obscured. In the next scene, there's a closeup of a single grenade pin falling on a ratty wooden floor.

I tell the person sitting next to me:

"Did you see that they blurred that out? It's like the difference between 'Skin-emax' and porn [for those who might not know, 'Skin-emax' is slang for cable network Cinemax's late night movie selection, which usually involves softcore pornography; it can be applied to any softcore pornography of low quality]. Showing penetration makes it pornography. If the movie came on later, we probably would have seen it."