Actually, it wasn't Ernest that was blathering, rather, it was Alan Watts. Ernest was just his unwitting mouthpiece. I had put on some lectures to fall asleep to last night, and the result was that my dream characters had a lot of pithy things to say on the nature of reality, enlightenment and so on.
I don't recall a story or even a framework. There was a warehouse, and Ernest Serrano, the '80s cult prophet of Carl's Jr. was there, wearing a trench-coat and acting as a night watchman. I wasn't authorized to be there, and when he saw me, he locked onto me, as a pre-programmed video game opponent would upon being activated by proximity.
"Blabbity, blah, blibble, rather, I say, enlightenment, such and such, as it were, etc," he droned, engaging me with a sub-perceptual babble of witty Englishisms.
I picked up on the phenomenon right away, realizing that he was simply a puppet of some external audio program, and exited the dream.
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.