Although no one is entirely sure why we dream, The Institute For The Study Of Dreams, located in Lexington, Kentucky, clams to be 80% sure it has nothing to do with the hair style we choose. This conclusion has been challenged by The Academy Of Hair Extensions, in nearby Richmond, and my sister Edna who is adamant that she never had nightmares until getting cornrows.
I have personally been keeping a dream journal since before I started keeping one and I have found that re-reading my past posts allows me a greater insight into myself. For instance, before I started keeping a journal I had no idea I drempt about camel vaginas so much. I almost never think about these in my waking hours, yet somehow my dreams are peppered with them. Or how about Abe Vigoda? Why the hell does he keep popping up? Your guess is as good as mine.
Anyway, for those of you who are thinking about keeping a journal of your own but don't quite know how to begin, I have pulled a few random entries from my own journal and placed them below for you to peruse. With any luck they will inspire you to waste as much time as I have writing down the garbage in your head.
Tuesday, September 28th
-Strange dream last night. A french motorcycle gang was accosting me on a street corner outside the Louver. They beat me with baguettes and forced me to eat whipped pastries and thick sauces until my mustache lost its curl. I wanted to fight back so bad, but I was afraid of ruining my beret, so instead I performed the final act of Giuseppe Verdi's, Rigoletto, and while their eyes were filled with tears, I made my escape.
Upon wakening I was saddened to find I didn't really own that beret. I was also covered in urine. Typical Tuesday.
Saturday, October 11th
-Last night I was an Olympic athlete participating in a new sport that combines ski jumping and skeet shooting. I remember soaring through the air on my skis, as bullets from all directions whizzed past my head. And then all of a sudden, I was standing on the podium, an oversized chocolate coin hanging from a lanyard around my neck. I had won whatever it was I had not lost. Cheering masses tossed long stem roses and fresh salami at me as I blew kisses and performed the occasional moonwalk.
When I awoke I felt incredibly happy and completely fulfilled.....until I realized I was covered in urine. Typical Saturday.
Monday, November 14th
-I was performing on a German game show call, "Stump the Nazi." My objective was to ask a series of questions to a Nazi and wait for his response. For every correct response he gave, one thousand dollars was donated to the Simon Wiesenthal Center, in Los Angeles, California. For every incorrect response, I got to bonk him over the head with a sock containing an oversized replica of Sammy Davis Jr.'s glass eye.
The first question was;
Which is more fun? 1) Water skiing in Miami Beach.
2) Zip-lining in Costa Rica.
3) Pushing a gypsy into traffic.
The Nazi answered incorrectly (surprise, surprise) so I began pounding on his head with the sock until it ripped open and the glass eye flew across the stage, striking an audience member in the throat. This sparked a riot among the audience. People began hitting one another over the head with chairs, or kicking each other in the neck with pointy shoes. I dove for cover behind a giant, inflatable Hitler, just barely avoiding a flaming arrow to the groin. The riot felt like it lasted for hours, only ending when everybody but myself was dead.
When I woke up I felt exhausted from all the excitement of the dream. Oh, and wet from all the piss.
Thursday, July 23rd
-I was in some lousy bar downtown trying to pick up a stunning girl with long legs and a fresh head wound. When I asked if I could buy her a drink she pointed to the full glass of vodka and soy sauce in front of her, indicating that she already had one. With the smooth refinement of Cary Grant, I put my index finger in my nose and moved it around in a circular motion, scraping the sides as I went. I then quickly dipped my contaminated finger into her drink, stirring it vigorously to ensure all particles had been removed. As her anger began to swell I proceeded to point out that she would now be needing a fresh drink to replace the one I had ruined, and that I would be honored to buy such a vision as her that drink.
I woke from the dream at the precise moment she hit me in the face with the bar stool. No urine today, but a great deal of shit.
Sunday, November 6th
-In my dream I was sun tanning on a lawn chair next to a kidney shaped swimming pool. Circling the clear blue sky above me was a gas powered, 1/4 scale, 1938, Curtiss P-40 Warhawk, RC airplane. Seated at its miniature cockpit was a white rabbit, wearing tiny goggles over his bulging eyes and a tight leather flying cap. I could feel his hatred for me, but had no idea what I had done to provoke it.
He turned his aircraft in my direction and let loose with a hail of tiny bullets that pricked and stung my flesh but left no lasting marks. Again and again he would dive bombed me in his little plane while I covered my eyes and weathered the onslaught.
It wasn't until he shot the strawberry Margarita from my hand, that I decided I had had enough. I leapt from my chair with a bellow of fury and charged toward the attacking plane. His bullets hurt, I can still feel them, but I pushed forward anyway, and with one great swipe I knocked the plane from the air and sent it crashing into the pool.
The rabbit flailed around in the water as his aircraft sunk to the bottom. He begged for my help in a frightened, gargling voice. This rabbit was my enemy who had just tried to kill me but I couldn't let him drown, it was just too cruel.
I used a pool skimmer to scoop the rabbit from the water and dump him on a near by patch of grass. As soon as he was free from the net he pulled a gun from his waist belt and shot me multiple times in the chest. As I lay dying, he slapped his foot in laughter and called me a fool for saving his life.
I woke up feeling stupid for trusting that rabbit, and wet from all my piss.