brother minister takes things into his own hands

beer bust at joe's, late night hanuted house & tomato eating with duane & flo, 3am quesadilla

I'm doing a wedding in this gigantic, extremely wealthy home. Much like the Dinges' house when we were kids, cream colored everything and lots of light in the split level. The whole process is a hassle, though, and things are sort of poorly planned or something, people aren't paying attention, things are going, wrong, etc.

Afterwards, people are getting very drunk, especially it seems, one of the bridesmaids [who is a mix of Rachel that I met last night who works for D&F and DiDi from Josh's store]. She has taken or torn off the skirt from her dress and merely wrapped a sash of a wide ribbon around her waist, which obscures her bajango but leaves her butthole exposed (and strangely pert and visible). She's bustling around the place, hootin' & hollerin'. There's some whispering about who got to be maid of honor and who didn't.

I go for some time by myself, and where else would I spend a quiet moment but at the top of a sky-scraping wooden utility pole that seems to overlook my neighborhood. I find myself up there, but I feel I am not as at ease as I would normally be, as of course this is my usual unwinding spot [a considerable contrast to any and every other dream I've had about being somewhere high up]. I realize that the utility workers have studded my relaxation pole with spikes so they can climb it more quickly, but for me it just makes it harder to properly hold on. I think back on how I would usually throw my legs over one cross beam at the top and basket myself quite comfortably, but no more, I guess. I suddenly have a friend who is hanging out in the swaying top branches of adjacent tree. This makes me feel dizzy and I want down. (I think there is also a blimp coasting by.) I climb down, scraping myself up the whole way.

Back at the reception, things have deteriorated and now the party has been crashed by thugs. They're really redneck teenagers, but I think we're calling them "punks," kind of Dirty Harry style. The drunken bridesmaid, myself, and a few of the guys decide that we have to take care of this problem. I will lead the way, they'll back me up. I go upstairs and find one of the crashers. Pretty hot guy, trim but muscled & wearing a tight gray t-shirt, baseball cap, jeans, a little bit of beard. Lickety split I get him in some sort of hold and I hyperextend his arm at the elbow. I expect it to break, but instead it bends, sickeningly. His forearm becomes gaunt and it's like slowly bending a very thick and stiff piece of rubber. His wrist where I'm gripping him squeezes down to a mere shred of skin, the hand balloons, and is left dangling like a popped-out eyeball. I know that I am causing this guy unbelievable pain and I like it, even if his ruined arm is making me feel sick. Another of his friends, a big guy in a hawaiian shirt, comes charging up. I drop mister flexo and punch the guy straight in the face. I somehow put my hand behind his head and sock him several more times in the mouth. In typical dream fashion, my punches are not terribly effective, but I'm applying myself and definitely doing some damage.