Dreambomb, or 50 Word Dreams, or Expectations smashed all up in my face/grill.

Here and there I'll have a dream that is too complicated to tweet and not vivid enough to dedicate a whole blog post to. I know what you’re thinking: “BRIAN THAT SUCKS I’M SO SORRY.”  It’s okay, reader, it’s okay. I’ve created an innovative solution. It’s called The 50-Word Dream and I’ve done like four of them, so they're a pretty big deal. Here’s the latest installment, with each dream written in exactly fifty words, entitled “Expectations smashed all up in my face/grill.” 

Dream #1

As one of the judges on American Idol (they’re just letting anyone do it now), I was pretty sure that Snooki was going to completely embarrass herself. But when she belted out “Oh Happy Day,” I found myself euphorically sobbing with Paula and the rest of the viewers at home.

[No lie, folks: I spent a half hour drawing Snooki as an orange bell pepper with a leopard-skin dress, but decided against it.]

Dream #2

The Humane Society salesperson promised that Gus, an orange kitten with six toes on each foot, was actually an angel sent by God to release a prophesy bathed in heavenly light on Christmas Eve. I adopted him because it seemed like a win-win situation. He ran away before Thanksgiving. 

Dream #3

As Harry Potter AGAIN, my friends and I hid from a monster. When I peeked through the blinds, I caught a glimpse of its hideous form: Priceline’s Big Deal. Only a magical chocolate milkshake could destroy him,  but the only friend who was predestined to drink it was lactose intolerant.

Dream #4

I was N64‘s Banjo-Kazooie and I was very busy. Leaping between tree stumps, I tossed pizza slices at a gargantuan blue bull to keep it from murdering me. The bull was increasingly satisfied, but the college theatre company that were using the tree stumps for their play weren’t. 

And that's what I've been dreaming. Seriously, this Harry Potter Unconscious Fetish needs to stop. I don't know why it keeps happening. However, I think if I started dreaming that I was Banjo-Kazooie all the time, we would have a bigger problem

Dreambomb, or 50-Word Sagas, or I’m Doing Something I Really Shouldn’t Be Doing.

Another round of dreams I’ve had that are too small to devote a whole post to, so I lumped them together as short stories, written with no more or less than fifty words each. Just like the other 50-Word Dreams, these four share a theme. This time, it’s “I’m Doing Something I Really Shouldn’t be Doing.” I hope you enjoy your face off. 

Dream #1

            While sharing a pool with three women (it wasn’t a sexual dream, like the other blog), our conversation was repeatedly interrupted by one girl making a sound like a muffled car horn. My frustration increased to the point of consciousness, where I discovered the sound came from my snoring dog.

Dream #2

            Mom was sick, so I agreed to assist her in eating the potato chips held between her toes. When our new Romanian maid arrived, I let her take my place. (It’s a two-person job anyway.)

            “She’s doing it wrong!” my mom croaked immediately.

            “Be patient, Mom; it’s her first time.”

Dream #3

            Secretly lighting cigars to celebrate God knows what, my friends and I smoke (but oh dear Lord don’t inhale) happily at my roommate’s cabin, making sure to avoid the gaze of disapproving parents. Suddenly one approaches and all cigars are extinguished, save mine, which I shove wholly in my mouth.

Dream #4

            The tour of a WWII destroyed mansion was getting boring when, upon inspection, I discovered a Krisp Kringle hidden amongst the rubble.

            Oh boy! My favorite crunchy, chocolaty treat!

            Then I saw another.

            And another!

            They were everywhere! It was like a Krisp Kringle egg hunt!

            I stole them all.

The end. 

Dreambomb, or 50-word Dreams, or Love and Sex-related Unconscious Journeys

These 50-word dream segments—in which I write dreams I’ve had using exactly fifty words each—always end up having themes. First it was “It’s my time to shine.” Then it was Celebrities and Morality. This time, Love and Sex.

Don’t worry, conservative people (or Mom), they aren’t sex dreams…those are for a different blog…they just seem to be sex-related. As you will see, in the first one, sex would not be possible; in the second, sex would be waaaaay unprofessional; and the third dream, well, I’m just not interested for two reasons: (1) I have this little thing called heterosexuality that gets in the way, and (2) SWEET FANCY MOSES THAT WOULD BE SO DANGEROUS.

...silence...

 

...blink blink...

I bet you just can’t wait to read them now. 

 [I'm winking because I know that I have your attention wrapped around my little finger.]

[You ready? This is going to be good.]

 

[This gesture would be encouraging if it hadn't just come out of a minute of silence.]

I think I've held the suspense long enough. Here they are.

Dream #1

This creepy house is haunted by its former owner: a grumpy old maid—the kind who gives out books and dental floss for Halloween. As a distinguished ghost hunter, I had to take a visit. Oh look! Here it comes! …Natalie Portman? This is turning out better than I expected.

 

Dream #2

“Welcome to the ‘Fat Girls Deserve Love Too’ club!” I said proudly, sitting almost unnoticeably in a circle of rather large, beautiful, but also lonely women. This was a different kind of project for me, but I felt confident and excited for at least something to put on my resume.

Dream #3

Countless onlookers and news reporters gather to see Ryan Seacrest at Valley Fair. He’s decided to stand up naked on a roller coaster! Everyone seems excited, but all I can think of is that he is probably going to fall to his death and how his tan is extraordinarily even.

The end.

(10 points to anyone who can name which post each reference belongs to in my resume picture.)

DreamBomb, or 50-Word Sagas, or I'm Two-Thirds of a Good Person When I'm Unconscious (Part II)

Just like last time, here are three dreams that I had that weren't detailed enough to give them a full post, so they're written using only 50 words each--no more, no less. In the first two, I come out looking like waaaaay too good of a person. Evidence in Dream #3 shows that I become less of a good person if something disappoints me.

Dream #1:

“Hello, Brian! Would you like to invest in my new product?”

“Of course I would! What is it?”

“Tobacco cookies.”

“Tobacco cookies?”

“Yes, cookies with tobacco in them. All the taste without the smoke! What do you say?”

“No thanks. Let’s go rollerblading instead.”

“Oh, come on!”

“No means no.”

Dream #2:

Next! Oprah brings an inner city class to visit Brian Schroeder, the famous forest restorer!

“We come to you via Skype from the forest Brian restored!” says Oprah.

“Thanks, O. It’s really impor—oh no!”

[Massive noise.]

“I’M A GIANT TREE!”

The children scream.
But the tree only sings a heartwarming song.

Dream #3:

“Ready to see it?” says Grandma.

“Yes!”

“When pushed, this teacup reveals a compartment that holds small items.”

“What? Lame.”

Dream Bomb, or 50-Word Sagas, or It's my time to shine.

During my dream-sabbatical, I had a few tiny dreams that I didn't think were necessarily good enough to share on their own. But I felt a little guilty leaving them out, so I took a page from The London Journal's book and many other 50-word Blogs and wrote each dream out in 50 words, no more no less. Apparently 50-word stories are pretty popular, and a good writing exercise. Here are the dreams, told using exactly 50 words each. I think you'll find their pithiness (5 points!) charming. 

Dream #1: 

The Italian restaurant was charming. While watching someone struggle with the bathroom doors, Lord Voldemort appeared at our table. 

Didn’t Harry kill him already?

Apparently not.

It is my time to shine.

“That’s it, Voldemort, I’m sending for Dobby the House Elf.”

“NO! Not Dobby!” He shrieked and ran away.

Dream #2:

Tuxes donned, guests seated, flowers placed, music playing, and I’m thrilled for my wedding.

It’s my time to shine.

Outside the doors of the ceremony, I wait until they open to reveal…what? The wrong bride? Cheap decorations? Our wedding’s in a crappy civic center?  I’ve made a horrible mistake. Bollocks.

Dream #3:

We needed a quick getaway.  Why, I couldn’t remember, but was reminded quickly when I saw BAD GUYS chasing us. Broom closet, here I come.

It’s my time to shine.

After passing out the sweeping supplies, I gave quick lessons on flying these things.

Even I was a little rusty.

Dream #4:

EXPERIMENTAL FLYING MACHINES, the sign said above a curtained opening, TESTERS WANTED!

It’s my time to shine.

Stepping into the dark lab, I was given a wristband and a token, and handed something resembling a large plastic razor scooter.

It flew pretty well, but not perfectly. Still totally worth it.