My high-school friend Ed, who joined the Navy, was being picked up by them by helicopter. He was up in the trees, hiding, and they hovered there, waiting for him to give up. Our friend Roy was down in the river below, water whipping around him in the storm of the copter's rotor wash.
I went to a big lumber camp full of motorcycles. Ed turned up dead, gunshot wound. Investigators were asking questions around the camp; they believed it was a UFO abduction case, and there was indeed some odd collateral evidence-- burned bodies, surgical alterations, etc.
But then the big 'cycle race started and the investigation took a backseat. Me, Roy, and two girls I didn't know took off in our cycle; our chief rivals were a couple of other girls I knew named Carrie and Krista. We crashed into them as soon as we saw them, creating a huge multi-bike pileup which killed dozens of people.
But before the carnage could end, a new devastation took over-- a giant house-sized crawler, spider-like, tank-like, attacked the camp with flamethrowers, burning the forest, the camp, the people, the bikes-- burning everything.
Later, there were dreams about four warlords dueling for control of the four compass directions. They cast spells by drinking sodas. They eventually had to join forces to battle some sort of outside threat.
And then a dream about a military raid on the Playboy mansion. We had brought 300 women as a tribute gift to Hef. I was at the low end of the command structure, in charge of rounding up all the bunnies and playmates and confining them to several grass structures along a beach. When the order came to execute all the prisoners, I was sickened, but we put torches to the huts anyway.