DREAMS!

One of the greatest inventions known to man is the sleep to wake cycle; especially the sleeping part. Okay it’s really a marvel of evolution that the gods provide as a mechanism of rest from the pencil pushing, butt kissing, shoe licking, desperate groveling mode that most of us call work. Nowhere can we find a complete culmination of laziness more than when flopping on the mattress long before it is time to do so.

The folks who stand out the most however, are the ones who are on their way out of the door after work claiming “the only thing I’m doin’ when I get home is getting in the bed.” It is never my bed it is always the bed, as if there is some club-med oasis secluded in their very own home.

Who can blame us? Where else can we close our eyes and live a completely different life? We are forever young in our dreams. We can touch forbidden things, and perform feats without consequence. All of it is tailored by our own desires. When sleeping, our mind goes where it wants to and there is an assumption that we are not to blame. A spouse can have a fling in a dream, and there’s not much a partner can do about it.

It is a fair bet that most of us have affairs in our own beds while our spouse lies right next to us. A typical explanation is “after all it was only a dream.” If you ever try this method, then beware. Dreams can also cause black eyes, brusies, and a weekend sleeping on the couch.

This special alternative universe of the subconscious is valuable. We are spoken to from the great beyond, receive premonitions or are given tonight’s winning lottery numbers. The one who tries to pass off the winning numbers to us inevitably wears broken glasses because they are never correct. In this mysterious mode we are capable of solving the worlds problems, delivering consequential answers to questions of the age, and seeing our favorite sexy neighbor naked after all these years.

Of course there are those out of control experiences where we dream about falling, losing control of the steering wheel or the bluebird of happiness pooping on our head.

Another problem with the unconscious state of mind is that we often wake and after a period of time don’t remember some of the juicier visions. In the morning it is fresh and easy to describe just how somebody’s butt wiggled as we watched them falling off their bicycle into a thorn bush. By the time the day is over though we’ll forget about every detail; except the throny rump twitching like a pair of hams . Even with the loss of dream details there are some things that we consistently commit to our brain permanently. It’s like storing secrets under our mattress. Thank goodness no one else goes there to find them.

Sometimes that recall refuge is seen on our faces as we daydream in front of our work computers. It looks like we’re concentrating on the bosses important excel spreadsheet when, in fact, we’re looking in our brain at a completely different spread altogether.

It’s even tougher to summon up the good dream material once senility sets in. Ask an elderly person about their dreams and they’ll likely tell you something convoluted. Usually it is about their pacifier, or a story about how they spent a long winter at Mount Vernon. There are only short moments of lucidity for the elderly, but in those times the ultimate memory is from their dreams regarding that special someone’s keester; even if it belongs to Martha Washington.

SIZE MATTERS!

Aside from the regular cackling heard during “girl’s night out” regarding this column’s title, the axiom’s validity can now be heard on the, lips of disgruntled grocery store patrons everywhere. Let’s clarify what we’re shopping for here. Similar to a women’s fantasy, there needs to be some “bulk” in the supermarket products we buy, or our price-per-pound will seem like lopsided chicanery has grasped our food supply.

For instance, check out the half gallon of Edy’s ice cream, and you might find that it suffered the spell of a head-shrinking witchdoctor. It looks as cylindrical in its usual creamy good packaging, but in reality the company has shrunk that sucker enough to fool the hasty 5-items-or-less-aisle customer. On top of that the price has risen a bit. Now we get less ice-cream at a higher cost. Cows might find it uncomfortable having to retain more milk in their smooshy parts, but those of us with astronomical cholesterol levels whose blood consistency is that of a chunky monkey ooze quality are offended. Did they think that women wouldn’t notice the size of their package? Think again. Ladies are avarice shoppers. They know what it takes to satisfy, and the latest slight of hand could have some ol’ favorites in the dog house.

The dollar doesn’t have the power it once did. If I have to hear about “stretching it” any more I’ll scream. Let’s forget about that, and discuss making the dollar go farther.

Quantity over quality has exploded upon the economic scene, and the reduction of the former is an attempt to fool you as long as they keep the latter in check. If they would just put a picture of a clown on all of the affected packages most folks would be even more distracted and oblivious. After all, manufacturers keep treating consumers like children. Of course the Mrs. would never buy a clown-faced product. She’d likely be sent shrieking from the store trembling in a neurotic state of quivering confusion. Everybody knows that clowns are actually not cheerful kid playmates, but rather knife wielding homicidal maniacs who simply never took a class on the proper application of theatrical makeup. Well if you find any painted jester in a store these days the packaging they find probably has them wearing a sad clown-face. Ramein soup noodles, frozen burritos, snack chips, pork rinds other staples of the American diet, especially among carny folk and people who live in houses with front porches, have begun to shrink in size! One could barely ever find a reasonable schnitzel before this latest food package shrinkage scandal. Now what’s a krout lover to do?

Of course the blame for this belongs with those oil rich nations in the Middle East. Our truckers have to charge more to get piggy to market. We are left holding the bag, and not only is it the stretchy thin plastic kind that won’t degrade for a million half lives or until Joan Rivers has her last facelift, but it is a much lighter bag than in years past. The high cost of fuel is choking our economy while the sheiks with their harems throw wild petroleum parties complete with veiled virgins in palaces playfully riding the slip-n-slide greased by revenue from American shoppers.

Recently heard in the checkout aisle amongst the divorcees is the lament that “I want my normal half- smoke big boy not the Pewee Herman sized sausage.” It’s tough these days in the meat section!” With that kind of sentiment can banana shrinkage be far behind? The country’s desire for largess is as big as ever? True you have to pay a little more, but in the past more always meant better. Just ask any married women!