Ever had that dream where you’re walking into the girls’ bathroom
of your old high school about to shave your hair into a mohawk?

Well I had that dream the other night…

I was in a tuxedo, and when I walked through the bathroom door,
there were Al Bundys in every stall,
sitting on toilets with the stall doors wide open,
pointing remote controls at TVs which didn’t exist,
and bursting into tears about their fear of naked women.

There was also a Frankenstein-like Korean Elvis
singing karaoke into a makeup mirror,
shooing away an imaginary wombat,
and sporadically banging on the lone closed stall door,
yelling curse words in Spanish to its inhabitant
who’d only occasionally counter with a meek-
“Whatchu talkin’ bout Willis?”

Pairs of hair clippers began raining down from nowhere,
so I picked one up and initiated my mohawk cutting…

But then floor abruptly started rattling…

And it felt like an earthquake was hitting!

I turned around and saw geysers erupting from all the toilets,
shooting the Al Bundys through the ceilings…

The toilets then grew arms, legs, bat wings and devil horns,
and seized the Korean Elvis, flushed him down one of their mouths,
and began circling me, séance style…

I got gangster, levitated, and Matrix-style-flying-karate-kicked
several of them and then ran out the door into the hallway
making pigeon sounds and obscene hand gestures.

The hallways were somehow filled with celebrities and annoying people
from my high school with masks
of their social networking site profile pics over their faces…

(I even saw The Queen of England in a dominatrix suit
punching a Walt Whitman statue
and screaming into a bullhorn whilst performing
simultaneous rectal exams on
androgynous Rosie O’Donnell impersonators
wearing rainbow afro-wigs and stupid frilly dresses.)

Somehow my hair clippers were still running;

accordingly I decided to make the most of it
and grabbed random celebrities
as well as the annoying drooling high school people,
put them into headlocks,
and shaved their heads into mohawks.

The Toilet Monsters soon caught up to me, however,
so I spotted the nearest catapult and shot myself from it,
right through the fourth story window…

I landed on my feet, in the street, but I wasn’t in Florida anymore…

I was in Paris and suddenly dressed like a Buckingham Palace guard!

And, instead of French people,
there were Satanic Toilet Monsters everywhere!

They were sitting outside cafés smoking cigarettes,
walking poodles, playing accordions, eating cheese,
having anal sex,
and doing all the things normally associated with Parisians!

The sky started raining a redolent thunderstorm
of pot smoking iguanas and Siamese twin camel fetuses
and the French Toilet Monsters began pointing, screaming,
and coming after me.

I got on all fours and ran like a cheetah through the streets
and reached one of the bridges which traverses the Seine,
when out of nowhere, another angry mob of
French Satanic Toilet Monsters came running at me
from the other side of the bridge;

it was like the Bastille all over again!!!!!

I was completely cornered
and had no other option than to plunge into the Seine,
Michael Phelps hitting a bong style.

I figured I’d swim back home to Florida
but unexpectedly breaststroked into a big, nasty shark!

And I said to that shark, “Hey, what are you doing here, man?
There aren’t supposed to be sharks in the river that runs through Paris!
Why aren’t you in Florida or a dumpster in New Jersey?”

The shark told me that the Toilet Monsters chased him
out of the Gulf of Mexico
and got him fired from his job as a telemarketer
and so he got a really cheap travel package to Paris
from his sister who is a travel agent in Iowa,
and even though he felt bad for me
because he knew how awful it is being harassed by Toilet Monsters,
he was still hungry and was going to eat me.

And then he ate me and I was dead
and never even did get to finish shaving my hair into a mohawk.

I’m glad this was only a dream
but am worried something like it could happen one day.