When Fear Wears a Mask

So I made the absolutely brilliant decision one night to try Delta-9 gummies to sleep.

Yes. I know. I’m a medical professional. Relax.

What followed was the most cinematic, high-budget, emotionally intense dream of my life. It felt like years passed inside it. Not a normal dream. A full alternate existence.

In this dream, one of my colleagues pulls me aside and says, “We’ve got to get to work. We’ve got to handle things for Mr. Biggs.”

No idea who Mr. Biggs is. But apparently he runs everything.

So we start doing all these tasks for him. High-stakes stuff. The vibe is very clear: do not screw this up. Over time I learn Mr. Biggs is ruthless. The kind of guy where if he tells you to lie, cheat, steal, kill, whatever, you just do it. Because if you don’t, he takes you out.

Classic dream logic.

Eventually I get brought into this massive room. He’s sitting in one of those giant emperor/Godfather chairs with his back turned. Dramatic pause. The chair slowly spins around.

And it’s the dumbest, cross-eyed, googly cartoon character cat you’ve ever seen. Not Pixar. Not DreamWorks. I’m talking off-brand Saturday morning nonsense.

But dammit… he was Mr. Biggs.

Now, this is where Instagram culture expects me to pause, look thoughtfully into my heart and soul, and extract some profound life lesson about fear, ego, or imaginary authority.

Trust me. I tried.

I wanted to turn this into something meaningful about how we create villains in our minds or how power is an illusion or some shit like that.

But fuck…that feels artificial.

Sometimes a dream is just a chemically enhanced fever movie starring a cross-eyed cartoon cat mob boss named Mr. Biggs.

So maybe this post is just that. A laugh.

Definitely do not try to replicate this by trying Delta gummies. That would be a terrible medical decision. Learn from my stupidity.

I guess if there’s one takeaway, it’s this:

Someday in your life, you may meet a Mr. Biggs.

And all I can say is…don’t fuck with Mr. Biggs.