In a short span of time, I have had several dreams about listening to Jazz Butcher records (always vinyl). In the first, I discovered, with great delight, that I had a box of Jazz Butcher cereal in a cupboard at my mother's house. I ate a bowl of it while I listened to Southern Mark Smith.
In the second, I found a Jazz Butcher record including a cover of Sympathy for the Devil. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Next, I dreamt that I was listening to another Butcher record featuring a song all about Sticky Language Goo. I thought this was absolutely brilliant, and I jealously wished that I had written this song myself.
Lastly, I was taking a psychology class in which the Butcher was the professor. I realized that I hadn't been very paying very close attention to the class, and that I would do very poorly on the final exam. The test asked us to describe the five stages of grief. I wrote something about denial, and then got up and left thinking that I didn't really need to be in this class anyway. After the test was over, I came back. I was relieved to find that he didn't seem to mind that I had blown off his class. He smiled at me flirtatiously.