Picture this.  

It’s a few years from now, Nashville has run out of gas again, but this time it’s worse.  This time we officially have reached a “Mad Max” state and there’s a huge colony of us living in a deserted downtown area.  Sort of like the second Matrix, but without the weird rave scene.

Pete Wilson is in charge and sends out a request for someone to go down the the basement level of a warehouse across town and kill our once pet, now a threat, tiger-dog.  This tiger-dog is half golden retriever, half tiger, and according to Pete, a threat to our already fading society.  Pete corners me and asks me to be the one to take the white fifteen-passenger van down into the lower level of the warehouse and “take care of” the tiger-dog.  I reluctantly agree.

I find myself driving down into the basement level of this abandoned building and parking the van in an open space and start to look for this tiger-dog creature.  All of the sudden a massive tiger shaped dog thing jumps at me and starts rubbing it’s face on my head the way cats do.  Only this one has massive teeth rubbing right next to my face.  This is the tiger-dog I am here to kill, but for some reason he’s being really nice.  All of the sudden from nowhere a white, pitt bull-tiger come running out of the dark and slams into the side of the van.  The golden retriever-tiger and I jump into the van and speed away.  

Back on the street level I drive the van into the part of the city where our colony is living and everyone is scared because I have this tiger-dog with me and according to Pete, he’s still a threat.  Pete walks up and tells me that I was supposed to take care of the tiger-dog and I tell him there’s another one down there.  A white one that is more pitt bull looking.  

“I know” Pete says, “That one was mine.  I put him down there because he had a broken arm.”

Then I wake up to my alarm.  What the crap?