Those wacky dreams

I had some weird, violent dreams last night. I remember one that may actually have been two, but I recall it as a single dream. I thought I'd write it down before I forget about it.

DW and I are at home, in our current house, at 5 a.m. For some reason, we haven't gone to bed yet. DW looks out the front window, and sees a large van parked in the driveway, with its lights on. I open the door from the laundry room into the garage, which is empty--and clean! (ahem. Note to Randy--clean the dang garage) The garage door is open, and a 50-ish man and woman get out of the van and approach me. They ask if they can bring their family into the house and stay for a while. I say absolutely not, but they ignore me and bring themselves and their kids inside.

They must have stalked us before or something, because DW told me that she had been instructed to dial "211" for assistance should these people ever bother us again. I dialed "211" and reported the weird van people. Now we're in a different house--a mansion with marble floors and posh, Louis-XV-style furniture (my tastes IRL run more towards the Bauhaus, Frank Lloyd Wright, and modern Scandinavian, but this is a dream and doesn't need to make sense). I look across the sunken area of the room, which is surrounded by columns, a la Caesar's Palace (tacky, tacky, tacky!), and I see DW holding a tray of large sugar cookies studded with M&Ms for the husband of the van couple. Suddenly, I'm enraged, and I put down the phone and run at the guy. DW grabs the wife, and she and I pummel, kick, and stomp the couple into two nearly-dead bloody pulps. I recall saying something about never wanting to hear from evangelicals like them ever again. The two are still breathing, but DW and I put them into glad bags and drag them around the McMansion next door and down the hill towards the garbage cans.

This is where a second dream may have begun, but I think it's really just part two. Down by the garbage cans, another man is standing, holding a gun on me. I think it's the old guy from part one, but it looks like Claire's boyfriend from the first season of Six Feet Under. He is raging against me, and is just about to shoot me, when a shot rings out. The other guy is hit in the forehead. I turn, and I see my IRL next-door neighbor, standing on the balcony of the McMansion next door, cradling a rifle like he's Chuck Conners (the Rifleman from 60s TV). The guy standing near me is even more enraged, and he and I start firing away at each other. My neighbor also starts firing at the other guy. The other guy is shot full of holes, and I am uninjured. Still, he hasn't gone down. I recall shooting him in the head again. He turns the gone towards his own abdomen and pulls the trigger. I recall him thinking that he wanted to splatter his guts all over me. Next thing I remember, I am very calmly describing the incident to an old friend of mine.

Weird, very weird.