Dream Diary: May 3rd (early AM): Blowjobs for Hitler

I don’t actually keep a dream diary, but everytime I jerk awake, rush to the computer, and type one out I save it as “dream diary” and with the date.  I’m sure I’ll eventually post those unedited 3am summaries.  But the dream I had last night was a doozy.  It’s 6am on a rainy Sunday… No way I can get back to bed, so I’m operating on about four hours of sleep and a burning need for coffee and breakfast…and, instead, I’m writing a post for GS.  Because that’s how dedicated I am.  You may now touch me.

The dream picks up at some point deep into World War III, which is exactly like World War II.  Everyone’s at war with Germany, and even the uniforms are the same.  I’m a POW, and in this huge camp that looks a lot like the underworld city in Demolition Man that Denis Leary ran.  (Interesting sidebar – Leary’s character, “Edgar Friendly,” is a sort of update of “Friend” in Zardoz, who was also instrumental in assisting our main character undo a complacent society.)

Anyway, at the POW camp, every single prisoner is assigned to an individual guard and lives with them domestically.  My guard was Adolf Hitler, now a very old man living in secret, and his manservant lover.  Hitler slept all the time and made me cook complicated meals, so I was always slaving away in the kitchen.

Then the war ended and the guards all fled the camp, except for Hitler who was sleeping because he’s an old fuddy duddy.  I kill his little minion, and then I make my way up to where Hitler’s sleeping and kill him.  I’m chained to him by handcuffs… I guess they stretched out all over the house so I could do chores.

For a while, we’re all stuck in the POW camp.  But my fellow prisoners all get wind that I’m chained to a dead Hitler so, to kill time, they come by to spit on his body, and I start charging them blowjobs in exchange for a five minute viewing.  Then I feel guilty because I’m getting prison blowjobs from men even though the war’s over and we should be free, so I fly into a rage and smash Hitler’s body and burn parts of it, but I keep the hand, arm, and shoulder that I’m handcuffed to.  I believe, if I can make it to civilization, then I’ll be famous for having Hitler’s remains.

We bust out of the POW camp and I start my lonely march towards the American lines.  Along the way, I meet lots of retreating Germans who all shake my hand and think I’m British and tell me I fought well, so I start faking a British accent and playing along because I’m an anglophile.  Then, finally, I make it to the American lines and I go to the CIA field office where there’s only one person on duty.  It’s Idris Elba, who most recently had a little story arc on The Office, though I think he’s best known for The Wire.  However, I remember him from Ultraviolet.  (And here’s an outdated review I wrote for the old page.)

Idris is a field agent, but I don’t believe him because he’s black.  Nor does he believe that the bloody remains I’m shackled to belong to Hitler.  So we argue back and forth a bit until I begrudgingly believe him and he runs a fingerprint and DNA test on the remains.

Once it’s proven that I’m shackled to Hitler’s remains, there’s a big fuss and I’m whisked away to the bigwig’s office to tell my tale.

Eventually, after getting cleaned up, I enjoy fame and success telling my story over and over again to newspapers and magazines and on the lecture circuit, and I never have to work again.  Though I’m always worried that the prison blowjobs will come back to haunt me.

Then the girl I was in bed with shook violently and sat up, batting at invisible mosquitoes.  She woke me up to say that something was flying around the room.  So I lay there after only four hours of sleep, eyes open and staring, as she collapsed back into the pillows and immediately started snoring.  And now I’m sitting here typing this and I’m so tired I’m half convinced that the dream was real.  In which case, I can tell you that I had 50 men suck me off just so they’d have the chance to spit on Hitler’s corpse.  Good morning!