Uh, well, see the thing is...

I still don't have an interweb connection at home. All my creative and funny ideas for blog posts get shunted into my dreams and we all know what Freud says about dreams. The thing about my dreams is that they aren't even wish fulfillment. I know this because I read the sidebar about how Freud is still wrong in an article about neuroscience and its recent discoveries and how Freud was more than a little right. Last night, I dreamed I was having dinner with some people I didn't know and I was really funny and they all said I should go into stand-up, so I stood up and said that I should really be blogging this. I walked away to go to the bathroom and I had to wrestle a bear just to go whizz in some bathroom that was not the bathroom of the restaurant that I had been in previously. So the real questions remain, who is right about dreams and why do I want to wrestle bears?*1

The answer to the first part is actually easier than most think. Dreams are representations of the unconscious wishes of the id that have yet to be acknowledged or fulfilled by the ego in the minds of the little fairies and pixies that live in the upper right, rear hemisphere of our brains, just outside of the occipital lobe. It really has nothing to do with me at all. Those frigging pixies apparently want to go back to their nihilistic days of waiting tables in a pizza house and spend their nights drinking and picking fights with bears and Navy S.E.A.L.S.*2 In the meantime, they sit up in my brain and they don't really contribute anything or pay rent. I wouldn't mind it so much if they would have unfulfilled desires of their days spent wandering the grounds of Playboy Mansion West, but that is a story for another paragraph.

This is that other paragraph. The real root of any dream of such nature is actually a human desire of all chests, male or female. There are some chests that simply yearn to be free and unencumbered by clothing or restrictive underwire. Some of these can be seen on Thursdays and some of these are seen every morning in the mirror. My chest is getting to that point, what with all the pushups and caveman gardening.*3 The only remaining barrier is my stomach which is still deathly allergic to sunlight. Regardless, some chests just make the world a better place by being seen at every opportunity. Think of the implications for world peace and the nuclear talks. Toss a couple of topless hotties of both genders into the mix and suddenly everybody is agreeing to pretty much anything.*4 This is very similar to the Bonobo Corollary of Human Evolution. The gist of this corollary is that if we were evolved from bonobos, C-Span would resemble the Spice Channel in no small way.

But I digress. I have no desire to wrestle bears. I saw that documentary about the guy who tried to create a grizzly proof suit. That was awesome. What a loon. Oh and they would rip my freaking head off and shit down my neck. Which might be preferable to those frigging pixie fairies polluting my sleepy time with visions of anything but bare chests. What a ripoff.

By the way, this is pretty much what happens when you open up a can of chuckles. The stuff gets everywhere. Rather like Stephen Colbert's Formula 401 or whatever.

*1 Blah blah, the real real question is: why do I hate America?
*2 That is actually true and I am seriously lucky to be alive.
*3 Quite possibly, the best way to garden ever.
*4 Although, I am fairly certain Hugh Hefner would quickly become a nuclear power.