Last night I resolved to create a bloggable dream. Idiosyncratic sleep interruption is where it’s at, so I rigged up an elaborate contraption in the bedroom that would have made Rube Goldberg proud. It had a timer, and there were wires and pulleys and gears and levers all over the place.
At 1:00 AM, it pulled back the covers and smeared Vicks VapoRub on my genitals.
At 2:00 AM, it dumped a can of tuna on my forehead and then it let the cats into the bedroom wearing little pirate costumes.
At 3:00 AM, it let loose the robotic French waiter who recommended the pheasant à la Reine.
At 4:00 AM, it played a CD of studio sound effects, including, but not limited to, a steam locomotive, audience applause, a dentist’s drill and incestuous anteaters performing oral sex.
At 5:00 AM, it pantomimed Anne Hathaway, stuck in an elevator, trying to order Chinese take-out from a Spanish midget (don’t ask).
At 6:00 AM, it turned on the electrodes attached to the gerbil (look, I said don’t ask).
Okay. So what did I get for all my trouble?
Absolute squat!!! I had a lousy, fucking, crap-ass dream that I was shaving my face at a bathroom sink with an old-fashioned safety razor! And I always use kerosene and a propane torch!
WHAT A RIP-OFF, MAN!!1!!!!1!!!!!!!!!!
(Lucky I didn’t say anything about the dirty knife.)