Dear Mr. Motzko,
I’ll spare you the details, but I’ve been having a really bad recurring nightmare involving the M&M guys and a shake weight. What do I do?
Sincerely,
Scared and Sleepless in Deerfield
Gentle Reader,
That loud pounding sound in my ears is A) the rapture B) an aneurysm or C) the large shirtless man slowly beating the drum that calls the drones back to work at The Flipside. Try as we might, there is no rest for the wicked and the machinery of this rag is oiled with blood of the proletariat. Normally, I’d disallow your query as it was not posed in the required “Noun-verb-direct object-obscene gerund” format but I’ve got a lot of bad karma to dispel. It was a busy summer.
It is said, by those who say, that the great German chemist Kekule dreamt of the mythical serpent Ouroboros devouring its own tail. Upon awaking he was enlightened as to the structure of benzene. He was also enlightened as to the need to fix the gas leak in his bedroom. Dreams, according to Gregg Allman, are things I’ll never see, this despite having installed a fifty foot dreamcatcher on the top of my bunker. So far, all I’m collecting are dead birds
To accurately interpret your dream, I’d advise you seek out the help of the good people at Freud, Jung, Adler & Perls. I would not seek their advice about other legal matters, as evidenced by my failed discrimination lawsuit against my former employer, those white-toothed dandies in 98 Degrees. Apparently, you can be too old, fat, bald, slow, uncoordinated and offensive for the cover of Tiger Beat. After much beard sroking, even they would find your dream indecipherable as the handwriting of a kindergartener on a double espresso bender. That said, they advise that should you be plagued not by locusts, not by torrents of blood, but plagued by other quizzical dreamscapes, you should consider the following:
Dreams of Being Naked: Fear of rising clothing costs due to inflation. Curse you Mossimo Gianulli! Curse you, George D. Munsingwear! Back to buying my boss threads at Walgreens.
Dreams of Flying: A secret desire to be wedged in stowaway class on the tarmac at Atlanta-Hartsfield for twelve hours, subsisting only on a high calorie paste made from cocktail peanuts, lint and tears.
Dreams of Teeth Falling Out: Scurvy anxiety. Apparently, you are a pirate.
