 I’ve mentioned before that I’m trying to stop smoking.
I’m trying. I really am. I used to keep an ashtray under my pillow
for when I wake up in the middle of the night for a smoke break. I
don’t do that anymore.
But it turns out that discipline is not readily available to me. I
was able to give up meat, but smoking, drinking vodka and assaulting
postal workers are habits too seductive for me to completely give up.
I’ve found myself with no other options and have turned to
pharmaceuticals to help me. I have begun taking a prescription that
claims to help in smoking cessation. Unfortunately the side effects
make the user want to drink vodka and assault postal workers.
One of the other unfortunate side effects is that it makes my dreams not only incredibly weird, but also very vivid.
I dreamt that I was on a weekend vacation and wound up having sex with a pornstar. And not just any random pornstar, but one with which I am familiar and fond of her body of work.
I awoke from the dream with a smile (I won’t lie) but was then wracked with guilt that I had broken my marriage vows. So vivid was the dream that it took a few minutes for me to realize that it hadn’t actually happened.
Against my better judgment, I decided to tell my wife about the dream.
I normally avoid telling her about dreams that I’ve had because she loves to return the favor. When she describes her dreams to me it is invariably a rambling narrative that seems to go nowhere.
Her: So I had this dream where you and I were at a Chuck E. Cheese’s and you jumped up on stage and started jamming with the animatronic animal band and then Erik Estrada rode up on a motorcycle and gave you a ticket and then your hands turned into spatulas and you started singing a bunch of Beatles songs and tiny pink elephants started crawling out of your ass.
Me: Huh. Ain’t that something?
Her: Yeah but what does it mean?
Me: I just don’t know, Honey.
To my amazement, when I told her about the porn star dream she got mad at me.
Her: So you just had sex with her?
Me: (carefully) In the dream that I had…yes.
Her: I can’t believe you’d do that.
Me: But you believe that my hands could turn into spatulas?
Her: Did you tell her you were married?
Me: Well in the completely fictional realm that this event that transpired completely in my head occurred…it never came up.
Her: I just can’t believe you’d do that to me.
Last night we were sleeping in bed and she had her arms around me when suddenly I sat bolt upright and let out a yelp.
Her: Are you okay? That must have been a bad one. You haven’t done that in years.
Me: (panting and trembling) It was pretty bad.
Her: You wanna tell me about it?
Me: Well you and I were in a grocery store and I was about to tell you something important…
Her: Yeah?
Me: When out of nowhere a big frog started running right at me.
Her: A frog?
Me: You don’t understand. This frog was huge, three feet long maybe. And fast.
Her: But it was a frog?
Me: And it was snarling. I fell on the ground because I was so scared.
Her: scared…of a frog.
Me: Will you stop saying that?
Her: Well then what happened?
Me: It started snarling and trying to get its mouth on my ears. Are you laughing?
Her: No. I swear. Well maybe the frog thought you had some Super Golden Crisp cereal?
Me: That was a bear.
Her: You said it was a frog.
Me: It was a frog in my dream. It was a bear that liked Super Golden Crisp.
Her: Are you sure? Which cereal was the frog trying to get?
Me: Dig ‘Em Smacks.
Her: That was a cute frog. I don’t see why anybody would be scared of him.
Me: It wasn’t that frog it was a really scary frog that wanted to eat my ears.
Her: I’m sorry, Honey. Too bad it wasn’t a really fast, three-foot porn star that was trying to eat your ears.
Me: Yeah. I’m going to start smoking again. Have you seen my pillow ashtray?
Her: Don’t forget to punch the mailman.
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Quirkee Voices 
