Sleep... It Keeps You Regular

Every now and then, there are those sweet dreams we cherish for decades after we wake. Perhaps it's about a perfectly peeled, cartoon style banana we harness in our hands and devour with strawberry lips. Perhaps it's about a stapler adorned in gold, attaching a winning lottery ticket to the mammoth check that was just issued to you. Maybe it's about having a little too much coffee and taking a taser gun to your annoying neighbor's nipples. Whatever it is, we all have those luscious, delectable dreams we savor forever after.

On the flip side, we also have nightmares. They may stem from a culturally induced sleep disorder involving nighttime breathing. Maybe your parents painted an ugly face on a helium balloon, and said they would "summon the floating head of death" to appear outside by attaching the balloon to a string and floating it from a first-floor window below your second floor bedroom. Maybe it's about someone giving you a bad haircut. Whatever it is, we all also have those devilish images that frighten the bejesus out of us when we're sleeping.

Lastly, there's that "other" category. You know those dreams and memories that fly through your psyche from left field at the speed of undecipherable meaning? Yes, we've all had occurrences where we wake up going, "Huh? Where the hell did THAT come from?!" My dream fits into this third category. It grew from the fertile bed of insanity and blossomed into the greenhouse of my mind.

I walk into a pumpkin orange lecture hall. There are wood desks in semi-circular auditorium style seating on multi-levels of grey carpet. In the front of the 200 plus instruction suite, is a large green chalk board that slides up and down with a long, table like podium in front. Perched atop are various academic paraphernalia like books of philosophy jokes, Renoir paintings, lasers, and strings of rock candy.

I take my seat in the front row at the right edge of the room and take out my notebooks, preparing for the lecture. The professor enters, adjusts his brown glasses and begins. At that moment, I have a most unholy urge to poo. It's an inhuman feeling, really. I look around out of explosive fear, and notice the doors have locked and I can't leave the room, then I look down...

In a rather auspicious manner, my padded chair had morphed into a porcelain temple, ready to accept my offering of internal prayer synchronized through throttling movements. My pants found their way down my legs and lay there, smiling at me, from my ankles. Salvation at hand, I look up and notice that I'm still in the lecture hall surrounded by my classmates and they can smell me. A most unusual feeling encumbers my chest. *Plop* *Ker-Plunk* *Splash* The avalanche starts.

The room gasps; some of the filled desks chuckle at my predicament. *glop* Another bomb drops. I switch focus to the professor who's face looks like he had just sucked on four lemons and had motor oil shot into his eyes. Apparently, he doesn't like what's happening. Dropping my head into my hands out of embarrassment, I remind myself that this isn't the end of the world, and I look back and say, "I'm sorry, guys, but I do have to wipe now." I lean to the side, grabbing the newly materialized toilet paper on my left, fold it and dip into dingle berry jungle. Everyone groans out of partial disgust and delight that it's almost over.

Standing up for more leverage, I gain an ounce of confidence and turn around exposed, and say, "Look, just because you're jealous that you don't even have the balls to poo in front of your dog in your own home doesn't mean that you have any right to belittle me because the doors are locked and my chair is a stool collector. Besides... it's convenient." I finish, pull my pants up, flush, and tell the professor to continue his lecture. At this point, he grabs a Febreeze air freshener and continues talking.

Waking up, I look around to see what's a mess, and thankfully, nothing is, so I hit the snooze button for another 15 minutes of a different dream.