A Sweet Dream

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Sunday, July 26. 2009

Today I awoke from the strangest dream. Should teach me to take afternoon naps while a slasher movie is playing on TV in the other room. This dream might even qualify as the strangest.

There have been really pleasant dreams, ones others might consider strange since they involved being involved with some hot Playboy model less than half my age, like Scarlett Eastland.

Well, that one was strange because we weren’t doing anything amorous, even though, if you look at her photo … well, you get my drift. But this was a dream, not a day-dreaming fantasy and if your dreams of “romance” with someone sexy are anything like mine, they seldom take a course of activity one would consider … err … preferred — in another word: prurient.

As I recall that dream, Scarlett and I were sitting on the bluffs over-looking Black’s Beach, in light summer attire talking. She wasn’t even wearing a bikini, but a diaphanous, peasant top affair with denim shorts. It was a pleasant dream, but it could have been a hell of a lot more pleasurable. But, sitting with Scarlett, that ain’t half bad!

Back to the dream of this afternoon.

I had been writing and in the other room a really bad slasher movie was playing. John had it on while he played Spider Solitaire. Girls and boys screaming and getting terribly hacked to death, you get the drift. So I was writing. After a while I got drowsy and lat down on the bed. Two hours later I was awake, scratching my head while a girl screamed from the other room. I’m kinda ugly, scarily so sometimes, but that was too much.

The dream was stuck in my thoughts and it took all my cognition, as I had to figure out whether it had truly happened or not.

It started with me eating some sort of churros dessert, but it was filled with cream and no matter how much of it I ate, there always seemed to be more and it didn’t really taste good. I never eat churros, but this is San Diego and they are sold everywhere, but I’ve never seen any filled with cream.

And then I followed some other lefty types into a Rush Limbaugh speech. Can’t say where this speech was taking place, but it resembled the old Riverside Theater in Milwaukee. It was sparsely attended and that seemed significant to me. We, the lefties, sat in the back.

Rush started speaking and he appeared smaller than I imagined. Then he grabbed his microphone, pop singer style, and began walking around the small audience while he spoke. When he got to our row Rush was eating that same cream-filled churro dessert I had earlier. According to my dream, Rush Limbaugh eats like a pig. He was stuffing that churro thing into his mouth as he spoke, cream smathered all over he face. Just what an avowed lefty would imagine.

When he got right in front of me he started gasping. I thought it was because of my Obama button or the Greenpeace sticker, but he was choking on the churro. When he collapsed I asked if there was a doctor in the house or anyone who knew CPR. No one moved, so I got down on my knees, cleared his airway and began the CPR, even though I’ve never been certified. While doing so I yelled that someone should call 9-1-1.

After a few minutes Limbaugh’s heart began beating again, albeit quite fast, but at that moment security showed up followed by paramedics. As I was melting back into the crowd one of the security people asked my name and political affiliation. I gave them both, stating I voted for Obama even though the president seems a little too conservative for my views.
 It should be noted, my dream spared me the unholiest of horrors: I didn’t have to lock lips with Rush, at least not that I recall.

This gets funnier. I was living in an apartment that I called home while going to college in Milwaukee. Different roommates, but the same apartment, the one I shared with Link, Hank and Tom. I don’t even know the people in my dream, but they are all much younger than me, college age. I hope I was schtuping one of the coeds.

Anyway, a newspaper reporter comes by to interview the man who resuscitated Rush Limbaugh. He can’t believe an ultra left wing radical such as myself would have saved Limbaugh’s life so he questions my political and social beliefs, all the while these unknown roommates were assuring the reporter I was far more liberal than any of them or even their parents!

And then I woke up. The interview was so real I had to ask myself where had Rush been speaking and when did I go see him? The screaming girls from the other room brought me back to reality and it was apparent this was nothing but a strange dream. Had I locked lips with the fat man it would have been a nightmare — in the middle of the day — but as stated earlier I was spared that horror.

You aren’t of course because right about now you’re picturing first me give Rush mouth-to-mouth, and now yourself. Disgusting, isn’t it? Unless of course you’re liking it, in which case, eewwww! Now I’m disgusted!

Posted by Tim Forkes in Life at 12:01 | Comments (0) | Trackbacks (0)

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