I had a dream about you. You were drinking coffee, and I was eating coffee with a spoon, like soup. You thought I must be hungry, and you were right—I was hungry for your body. You had woken up my desire.
I had a dream about you. You were drinking apple juice, and I was drinking horse piss, though the spectators in the stadium couldn’t tell who was drinking what, even though one million dollars for guessing correctly was on the line.
I had a dream about you. The lettuce in my sandwich was crunchier than your conversation, and all I could hear when you spoke was myself chewing. You made such a tasty conversation that I can’t even remember what you said.
I had a dream about you. I was running barefoot on the beach, and you were chasing me because you were a cop, and I was naked. I couldn’t believe you tried to arrest me. What, is it a crime to run with no shoes?
I had a dream about you. You wanted to go skydiving, and I tried to talk you out of it because it is too dangerous. I couldn’t risk you dying without having repaid me the money I lent you—plus, interest, of course.
I had a dream about you. You told me you liked roller coasters, so I introduced you to a midget who wasn’t tall enough to ride them, so you could feel the shame of living a life of such privilege.
I had a dream about you. It was raining, and you were anorexic and shaped like an umbrella. We fell in love like a desert has a dry sense of humor. I laughed so hard I got dehydrated and sunburned.
I had a dream about you. You were riding a walrus like a cowboy, and I was riding a cowboy like a cowboy. I waved at you, and you waved your lasso over your head. That’s how I got roped into buying a new car.
I had a dream about you. The sky looked threatening, and hail the size, shape, and color of boxing gloves started pounding us in the face. Luckily my mustache looked like Chuck Norris, and you were able to take shelter under my nose.
I had a dream about you. I think we made love, but I can’t be certain because the scenes were censored by the Moral Authorities. The thing that pisses me off is my grocery list was identical to the Blacklist, so I was starving throughout the sequen...
I had a dream about you. We were running on the beach, holding hands. It was a nude beach, but we were the only ones wearing clothes. You wore a bikini, and I wore my dead grandma’s dress—with my grandma still in it.
I had a dream about you. Of all the flowers I’ve ever loved, you were the one who looked most like a woman. The others didn’t look like men, unless you count my Uncle Butch, who looks like a rose.
I had a dream about you. I asked you, “I haven’t Heaven in your pants, have I?” and you deferred to your dad, who made me sign a waver and waved me off after putting my name on the waiting list.
I had a dream about you. You were shivering, and I didn’t know if you were cold or frightened. Being the gentleman that I am, I offered you a sweater woven from the wails from a thousand sinners sizzling in hell.
I had a dream about you. Aside from you, The Carpenter was also there. I was a cross between a hammer and a nail, and I was looking for a way to build myself up. You tried to sell me two pieces of lumber, but The Carpenter outbid me.
I had a dream about you. You left your popcorn in my microwave, so I decided to enact revenge by selling the essence of your stinky fridge as a fragrance marketed toward the same people who buy Kanye West albums.
I had a dream about you. You gained weight, but I didn’t mind because all the extra poundage went straight to your brain. You told me the meaning of life, but I was too skinny to comprehend.
I had a dream about you. We were in the midst of WWIII and we both got drafted. I told the government the only thing I shoot is water guns, because I’m a farmer. I grow peace, and the whole world wants my crop.
I had a dream about you. You were the love of my life, if just for one night. I brought your body pure pleasure, and your orgasm sounded exactly like an alarm clock going off.
I had a dream about you. You were rich and I was poor, but I didn’t mind, because if I were rich I’d be trying to steal my own stuff, which is a very unproductive way to spend one’s time.
I had a dream about you. We were competing salespeople, selling love to the people. You gave away free samples, and I didn’t. At first you sold more than me, but then you caught HIV and died skinny and alone.
