EUGENE, Ore. — Local metalhead and part-time barista Oscar “Grouch” Palmer woke from a horrible nightmare in which his treasured denim vest had somehow grown terrifying, constricting sleeves, nearby sources confirmed.
“I woke up sweatier than I’ve ever been before,” said Palmer. “Which is really saying something. I was at [local bar and venue] John Henry’s, except that it wasn’t really John Henry’s, you know? And I could feel something binding me, something dark and disturbing that was keeping me from raising my arms unnecessarily high near people and showing off my pit hair. Then I looked down, and these shit-hideous tubes of cloth had somehow grown all over my arms, like some kind of fucking David Cronenberg body horror. My beautiful vest. My vest!”
“Hesher” Fletcher Morton, Palmer’s close friend, roommate, and bandmate in three non-gigging groups, spoke as a representative for every inhabitant of the house, which totals seven.
“I’ve never seen Grouch so shaken up,” said Morton, bringing the teary Palmer a lukewarm PBR for his nerves. “Not even that time he had a bad dream in which he washed and conditioned his hair and said that it felt light and bouncy. But sleeves, man, that’s fucked up. The only thing worse would be, like, if all of my patches and clothespins came off and then crawled over my face and choked me and, just as I died, whispered ‘Taylor Swift rules.’”
Dream therapist Bryant Wallace offered to make an appointment with Palmer to discuss his terrifying vest dream, pending confirmation of his parents’ insurance.
“It is not unusual for the people and things one loves most to resurface in terrifying and, frankly, impossible combinations in a nightmare,” said Wallace. “Because a metalhead like Mr. Palmer would no more have sleeves on his totemic vest than a punk would have a career-track job or a Charli XCX fan would shut up on Twitter. It must inherently be a source of anxiety for him. In many ways, ‘dream sleeves’ are his mind’s way of processing his fears that someday he may lose the freedom to have his bare, unwashed arms stinking up a concert venue and be forced to be a contributing member of society.”
As of press time, Palmer was moaning in his sleep as he dreamed he was in a mosh pit where everyone was apologizing to each other.
Photo by Bone Jawnson.