The bullet, bus and bull.

Last night's dream was a bit of a mixture.
Discovered I had been shot by a small calibre bullet in my left pelvis. My white shirt was covered in blood and I asked my long dead mother for a clean one. But she hadn't done the washing.
My dead dad examined the casing of the shell that wounded me (how did he get it?).
It was much larger than I thought.
I then stood, in my dirty shirt, watching a small van facing up to a large bus.
The van playfully nudged the bus.
The now infuriated bus then charged the small van.
The van promptly changed into a bull which jumped through the windscreen of the bus, killing the driver.
Makes perfect sense.