George and Brad come flying back by me, running like their asses are afire, so now I'm running, too! They're my ride, for Christ's sake. They burst through the door, me half a dozen steps behind them. I hear Hayden behind me yelling some question.

The car isn't there!

George doesn't miss a beat. He jumps into the front seat of some old beater of a Ford pickup and Brad jumps into the back. I'm about to jump in myself when I'm yanked from behind! Damn it! Probably Hayden, which, under normal circumstance would be a dream but, having no idea what George and Brad just did, I'm not about to be left behind as the fall guy.

It's my goddamned shirt! I fumble with it, trying not to rip it. There goes the truck.

"Clooney, you sonofabitch!" I yell. Brad is laughing his ass off, trying to stand and keep his balance. From behind I hear what sounds like an army approaching. Meanwhile Hayden is yelling "Dan, what is it? What's going on? Wait, was that George Clooney?"

Just to add injury to insult, Pretty Boy Pitt hurls a rock, grazing my ear. The little bastard!

That was last year. Brad being on a short leash these days, it was just George and I. (I joke Brad. We all know you're doing great work down in New Orleans. Text us when Angie says you can come out and play again, huh?)

So George and I spent nearly two days hangin' out, running up and down the West Coast. It was a blast! I'm getting used to this kind of crazy fun lifestyle.

What's odd though is no mention of George being here in Portland in the past two days. You'd think, I t being Gorgeous George, hanging with a guy who too-closely resembles Quasimodo's ugly brother-in-law, you'd think at least the Oregonian would have had a blurb. Maybe Fox News - they're always desperate for crap to fill up airtime.

So, what the hell?

First, for the second time in as many years, I'll swear on a stack of TV Guides that I am not gay on George Clooney! Yet, for two years running now, around this time (give or take a few weeks), I've had an extremely vivid dream with George Clooney (with/without members of the 21st Rat Pack). I wrote about this last year, and here I am again.