Czechoslovakian Bathroom Weather Report

I am in a hallway in a school. It is similar to the elementary school I attended.

It seems older, with narrow halls, lots of wood trim and many classrooms. There are worn tile floors and walls painted in dull, unappealing institutional colors.

There are college students everywhere, studying for some type of final exam. They sit in the classrooms at creaky wooden desks and tables. They sit in the floors in the hallways and in doorways. I have to step over them as I walk.

They read textbooks and their notes in silence. I watch them as I slowly walk around the hallways, hearing only an occasional cough, the turning of a page, or squeak of a highlighter drawn across the text of a book.

I am supposed to help the students if they have a question.

I have an urge to go to the bathroom.

I really need to go to the bathroom. Now.

I walk down the hallway to a large dark wooden door. I turn the brass doorknob and walk inside.

The room I enter is very spacious with high ceilings. There are large older styled windows with worn wooden trim.

Czechoslovak flags, dozens of them, are draped all around the ceiling.

The room is filled with rows of wooden bathroom stalls. I walk to one and open the door, hearing the spring on it creak.

I step inside and the door shuts behind me. I notice there are no walls separating one stall from another. To my left and right is a row of older-styled toilets, a wooden door in front of each one.

Other people are there, sitting on some of the toilets. They look straight ahead, blankly, sitting in silence. One person reads a newspaper, slowly turning the pages.

Some of the people are women; some are men.

I don’t seem to be concerned about them.

I unzip my pants and take a leak, the sound of the flowing water echoing in the large room. I flush the toilet.

I turn around, open the stall and walk back out into the hallway.

I look back at the door of the bathroom.

A fancy brass plague is on the center of the door.

"This restroom donated by the Republic of Czechoslovakia," it reads.

I continue walking through the hallway. The students are still there, studying quietly.

Once in a while, one of the students asks me a question.

I point to something in their notes or their book.

“Try that,” I say.

In a corner of one hallway is a classroom. I walk inside, stepping over the students studying on the floor.

I see a television mounted in the corner of the room. It is tuned to CNN.

The students crowded in the room continue studying and pay no attention to it.

On the television, a man stands pointing at a map, giving a weather forecast.

"In this area of the country, it will be sunny and mild. But we’re also expecting a slight chance of inter-dimensional shifts," he says, pointing at the east coast.

I walk further into the classroom to a desk sitting next to a window.

A student sits there, graphing some type of mathematics problem on an old computer. He seems frustrated, his brow tensed, concentrating and adjusting his glasses.

He looks up at me.

“What should I do?” he asks.

I point at the graph on the computer screen.

“Try that point,” I say.

The student types something into the keyboard. The screen of the computer slowly refreshes, redrawing the graph.

The graph forms a perfect circle on the screen.

I hear a loud clap of thunder.

One of the students in the middle of the classroom stands up from his desk. He points at the window next to me.

“Look!” he yells, “It’s the Swiss Alps!”

I turn and look out the window.

Strange clouds and fog are moving into the schoolyard.

In the distance, I see the Alps, surrounded by heavy clouds. It is slowly drifting towards us.

Then I woke up.

Alien Blowfish Duck Lamp Sacrifice

I am a lamp.

I am a common, everyday lamp. One that would sit in a typical American home in the 1970's. I have a tapered ceramic base in some strange orange and burnt umber colors, a 60 watt bulb for my head, and a head covering consisting of a paper lampshade.

An obese man sits in a Lazy Boy recliner in his t-shirt. He takes a drink from a can of Budweiser and sits it down on the table beside me. He is watching a large 70's era console television set.

There is shag carpet on the floor, a sickly yellow and brown color. The room has plain wooden paneling. The lighting is subdued. It is night.

Sitting next to the television, near a window, is a toilet. The bowl of the toilet is filled with flowers, as if someone is using it as a decorative planter.

I hear someone in the hallway next to the living room.

It is an elderly woman. She is plainly dressed, her face wrinkled. She reminds me of a character actor one might see on a 70's British sitcom.

Her face begins to look distorted, almost like a blowfish when it's beginning to expand.

"Perhaps I should go upstairs," she says, apologetically, in a stoic, very British voice, "If the aliens are really here and taking over people, it might be best to just get them out of the way where they won't disturb anyone."

The man in the recliner stares at the television and seems to ignore what she is saying. His chair faces away from the hallway towards the television and he cannot see her.

Her face and head distort even more, growing larger and looking more like a blowfish.

Strange noises start coming from her body.

"Quick! Hurry!" I hear my friend Stuart say, "You have to be a sacrifice for the alien!"

I turn to see legs and arms sprouting from the toilet, like an anthropomorphic character from a tv commercial. It stands up.

"You have to be a sacrifice for the alien!" the toilet says in Stuart's voice, moving it's seat like a mouth.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I say, somewhat concerned.

Suddenly, I see a log in front of the television with an ax in it. The man rises from the chair and grabs the ax.

I feel funny.

I look down and see that I am now a duck, standing on the table.

The man grabs me by the throat; I flap my wings and feathers fly as he moves me towards the log.

"It's the only way," Stuart the Toilet says, "You must be a sacrifice for the alien!"

The woman's head grows larger and more distorted. Her body begins to shake.

"No!" I scream and squawk, "You be the sacrifice - not me!"

The man firmly places me on the log, his hand around my neck. He holds the ax high above his head.

"No!" I squawk, "There's got to be another way!"

"You must be the sacrifice!" Stuart the Toilet intones.

I see the blade of the ax coming closer towards my head. I struggle and squawk, but can't break free.

Everything goes black.

My head feels strange, as if part of the top center of my brain is empty, missing.

Then, something like a rush of electricity or bolt of lightning surges through the hole in my brain.

I open my eyes.

I am still a duck.

I am standing in a room all by myself. The floor is black tile. All of the walls of the room and the ceiling are covered with mirrors.

"Damn," I squawk, "what the hell happens now?"

Then I woke up.

Naked Jewish Boy Bus Trip Party

It's a bright, sunny spring day.

I'm riding on a school bus, sitting near the back.

The road seems very twisted and the bus speeds along around the curves.

The road is near some kind of big body of water, like an ocean or really huge lake. The road goes around the side of these cliffs. I look down and see the water on the left of the bus.

There are a dozen people scattered around the bus, all of them are adults. Some are men; some are women. I don't know any of these people.

All of the people on the bus are naked. They chat with each other pleasantly, enjoying the ride.

I hear a voice behind me.

"Are you going to the party?" a man asks.

I turn around and there’s a young man there. It is John.

He has long blond hair, a nice thin build and a bit of a shadow beard. Like everyone else, he's naked.

He wears a necklace that fits close around his neck. The necklace has different colored beads on it.

"Yes, I suppose I am," I say.

We chat with each other about the weather or something.

I happen to look down and notice that he has a really nice set of tit rings.

I also notice something else.

John has several piercings in different sizes. The rings are placed all the way up the front of his belly and chest, from his waist to just below his neck. They are all in a row, each ring about a half-inch apart.

The rings are arranged in a manner that resembles an erect penis, with smaller rings forming the shaft and the wider rings making up the head of the cock.

"It's going to be a great party," he says.

Suddenly, I am standing in a shower in the building where the party will be held.

It's a little musty and run down and the lighting isn't very good. It appears similar to open multi-person showers one might see at the gym.

I wear flip-flops and have a towel around my waist. I take off the towel and place it on a hanger.

I walk to one of the showerheads, turn it on and shower myself down, enjoying the feel of the cool water on my body.

I finish the shower, grab the towel and begin drying off.

"Where is he?" I wonder to myself.

"He's not here,” a voice says from behind me.

I turn around. It is one of my aunts.

She stands there in front of me, fully clothed.

I ignore the fact that I'm standing in front of my aunt wet and naked and just continue toweling down.

My aunt rambles on about some kind of cake she's baking.

I finish drying off, tie the towel around my waist and start to walk off.

"You should find yourself a nice Jewish boy," she says.

Then I woke up.

Golden Gate Airport Filing Cabinet

I wake up in an apartment in San Francisco.

The place belongs to someone else. I am visiting the city for a few days. They are letting me stay there.

It is a beautiful apartment in an older building, warm and inviting, with big windows. There’s a wonderful view of the Golden Gate Bridge.

I stretch and yawn. I move the white sheet to uncover myself. I get out of bed.

I walk around the room towards the window in my underwear. I look around, stretching and waking up, feeling the warm sun all over my body.

I hear someone else stirring in the room.

A drop-dead gorgeous man is in my bed. He leans back on a couple of pillows, naked, the white sheet pulled up to his waist. He stretches and yawns, the golden sun beaming off of his hard tanned body.

"Morning," he says. "It was nice."

I am taken aback. I don’t recognize him.

"We spent the night together?" I ask.

"Yes," he says. "But, don't worry. I'm just a figment of your imagination."

"Oh," I reply, somewhat confused.

I notice the man’s eyes as he looks at me. They are so blue and intense they almost glow.

“Your eyes are beautiful,” I say, “What kind of work do you do?”

The man tells me about his favorite ways of having sex ­ positions, locations, what he would do with my body.

“I really enjoyed last night,” he says, smiling.

He doesn’t mention what he does for a living.

“I’d better go take a shower,” I say.

I walk out of the apartment and into a hallway, making my way to a bathroom I know is up ahead. The wooden floors of the hallway creak as I walk; I feel the soft warm carpet running down the center of the hallway beneath my feet.

I open the door and go into the bathroom.

Two men are there, going about their morning. One is toweling off, just having taken a shower. Another stands at a mirror, shaving.

There is no eye contact between them and myself. It’s as if we share the same space, but they cannot see each other nor can they see me.

Things seem strange ­ I decide to skip the shower.

I exit the bathroom and walk back into the hallway. It has changed ­ it seems to go on for miles in the distance.

I decide to explore, to see what’s ahead in the distance. The apartment building hallway changes as I walk.

I am in the lobby of a large office building. There are people milling about, going in and out of a set of elevators in front of me. Some stand and talk with each other.

I wait there for a moment, still in my underwear, and watch them. They are dressed in suits and carry laptops and briefcases. They do not see me.

I continue walking through the lobby and enter a revolving door that leads outside.

I am on a long, narrow airport concourse with windows on either side.

Passengers rush about, going to and from their flights. Some carry or roll baggage. There are men and women, all ages. Some look like they are on vacation, others are dressed for business.

I am still just wearing my underwear. They do not notice me.

I look out the windows of the concourse. I recognize that I am in Los Angeles.

I continue walking and, up ahead, I see a film crew. They are shooting a scene with two men chasing another. They have guns. I step aside as they pass by.

I look through the windows. I want to go outside and enjoy the sun.

Suddenly, I am in a college, standing in an empty hallway. Everything is quiet and still.

There is a lecture hall ahead of me. I walk into it, feeling the cold institutional tiles beneath my feet, looking at the drab, somewhat dirty, beige concrete walls.

I walk into a tiered lecture hall. It is filled with old desks, all tightly packed.

I see a small wooden door, about three feet tall, on the far wall of the lecture hall near the podium.

I must get to the door.

I can barely walk because of the tightly packed desks.

I examine the desks. They are worn and covered with graffiti.

Each of the desks has a small rectangular wire frame on top for an index slip, similar to what one might see on a filing cabinet. Each frame contains a slip of paper.

My name is written on the slips of paper.

I finally make my way to the small wooden door near the podium.

I reach for the brass doorknob. I turn it and open the door.

Then I woke up.

Crowded Shower Box Toothpaste

I am taking a shower. It is morning and I have just gotten out of bed.

In the shower with me are moving boxes.

I have just moved in to an apartment and there isn’t space for everything ­ I had to put some of the boxes in the bathtub.

I get out of the shower and towel myself off, working my way around stacks of boxes around the bathroom.

I walk to the sink and take my toothbrush out of a small cup on the sink. I grab a tube and squeeze some toothpaste on the brush and put it into my mouth.

It tastes strange.

I look down and see that I am brushing my teeth with anchovy paste.

Then I woke up.