Guest Mock: Dreams Don’t Mean a Damn Thing

Today’s Guest Mock is provided by Chuck in Belpre, and it’s a fine thing indeed. If you’d like to submit some cruel, cruel mockery, please send it along to mockable[at]gmail.com, and there’s a very good chance we’ll publish it.  You know, unless it’s completely batshit and frightens us, or whatever.  Thanks folks, and have a great holiday! -Jeff

I’ve never been one to analyze my dreams.  I just don’t believe they mean anything.  If you browse your local bookstore or library you will find that reams have been written on the analysis of dreams.  Researchers will tell you that dreams are a way of our minds coping with stress, working out the day’s problems or dealing with little frustrations.

But it’s all New Age bullshit as far as I am concerned, like crystals, Scientology, liberals or vegetarianism.

Doctors will also tell you that what you eat before you go to sleep will not affect your dreams.  I think we all know that there is nothing like a couple spicy burritos, a chili meal or a large extra-pepperoni-extra cheese pizza to trigger your own personal Sundance Film Festival.  Several ounces of sodium-laced nitrates and nitrites have to seriously screw with your brain chemistry, right?

Like most people I don’t remember my dreams.  When I wake up they are gone like a flushed guppy.  I can only remember the general tone.  My dreams seem to fall into a few major categories or genres if you will.

I have my Pixar meets Seinfeld type dream.  Those are just kind of fun and goofy and I sometimes actually wake up giggling.

Further up the weirdness scale are the ones where Law and Order teams up with Stephen King and they can be grim and sinister.  I’m often running in place in these.

Along the same lines are the Animal Planet-When Animals Attack dreams.  I don’t often have those but they can be eye openers.

But the kings of all cerebral cinematics have to be the Quentin Tarantino/Clive Barker collaborations.  These are seriously twisted nightmares.  These are the dreams that I wake up from sitting straight up in bed hoovering all the oxygen from the room and my heart hammering like a dozen undocumented workers laying down a new roof.

On any given night you can mix and match the above players to form any kind of dream.  They can be funny, sad, beautiful and horrifying all at the same time.

And from time to time it is quite apparent that Larry Flynt has been called in to punch-up the script a bit.  I don’t have to tell you how these dreams end.  Let’s just say that tissues and/or moist towelletes are involved and leave it at that.

But, to me, they don’t mean shit.

So, what do you think?  Are you of the opinion that dreams are important and should be picked apart like leftover turkey…searching for that hidden meaning?

Now if you will excuse me I have to run to the dollar store.  My nightlight burned out last night.