This Dream Will Give You a Nightmare

I was going to put up a pic of
teeth falling out, but I decided
to reverse course. You're welcome.

You have been warned.

I'm not someone who believes in all that dream-interpretation stuff. Several times a year I have one of those dreams where I either lose my teeth or forget my locker combination or my class schedule, which I'm told means I've got some kind of worry or insecurity.

This makes me wonder why I don't have these kinds of dreams every day, or why I'm not losing my teeth in real life, but that's for another post.

We all have weird dreams. Some of them are just so bizarre that you can barely describe them to someone else, or you're just afraid to. With that in mind, I'm going to share with you a crazy dream I had over the weekend. It's could be one of the worst things you'll ever read.

Again, you've been warned. So, hey, read on!

Let me start with a bit of dream-related disappointment that I experienced the following day. I was in the middle of a dream where I was about to go to bed with someone I knew. I doubt anything would have happened in my dream, nothing works in a normal linear fashion.

I was in a bedroom, and the woman was in the bed. The covers were off, and I could see she was fully clothed. I wrote "go to bed" in the previous paragraph and I mean that literally, not as a euphemism, because even though dreams are where you can (usually) get away with any anything, nothing is ever as it seems in my dreams. I was just happy that I was sharing a dream with a somewhat attractive woman, and not some old hag, or a professional wrestler.

This dream went no further that what I described above, because I was woken up by my almost-5-year-old daughter, whining, "Can somebody make me breakfaaaaaaaaast?"

If only she could have desired those frozen waffles at an opportune time the previous morning.

HERE WE GO

My subconscious also gave me the middle finger.

Most dreams begin in media res, so it wasn't surprising to suddenly show up in the middle of a scene. I was some sort of journalist (fantasy land, right there) looking to interview The Iron Sheik.

Who is The Iron Sheik? Only the most hated person in the entire world, if you were like 13 years old during the mid-1980s. Even though the Iranian hostages were released in 1980, every red-blooded American hated the Persian nation during the entire decade. (As if things are different today.)

The Iron Sheik, who was actually Iranian, unlike the majority of "foreign" wrestlers who are actually Canadian — like Abdullah the Butcher, billed from Sudan, or the Scot-in-heritage-not-by-birth Roddy Piper — was the perfect villain/foil for all-American Sgt. Slaughter, who was actually a drill instructor at one time, even if his real name was the not very slaughtery Bob Remus.

It was around 1984, and wrestling was all black-and-white in terms of its good-versus-evil matches in the pre-"Stone Cold" Steve Austin, cheer-for-the-antihero era. The Iron Sheik spoke with a menacing accent and would often rile up the crowd by yelling, "I-RAN! NUMBER ONE!" When he teamed with fellow Cold War enemy Nioklai Volkoff (who was actually Croatian), he would add, "RUSSIA! NUMBER ONE!" Then he would conclude with "USA! HACK...PTOOEY!"

"HACK...PTOOEY" is what is actually sounded like when he "spit" on the United States.

BUT ENOUGH DIGRESSING
Okay. So, I think I had wrestling on my mind because I'd recently posted on the death of Randy Savage, and last week I found an old clip of The Iron Shiek losing the WWF title (as it was called before a years-long dispute with the World Wildlife Federation lead the wrestling company to call itself WWE) to Hulk Hogan.

I could also add that a number of somewhat recent The Iron Sheik rants can be found on YouTube if you type into the search box "Iron Sheik goes nuts"; many of the rants are not "in character" but an actual glimpse into the mind of The Iron Sheik.

In short, he is quite likely legally insane. This is important to know, based on what he does in my dream.

Anyway, in the dream I knock on The Iron Sheik's door (it was probably a hotel room), and he invites me in.

I enter, and he is naked. I will immediately add that in the dream I did not actually see a naked The Iron Sheik. My field of vision was from the waist up, but something in my subconscious told me that he had no clothes on.

We sit in chairs that face each other. I'm about to begin asking my first question (I don't know what it was) and he says...

[YOU STILL HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO STOP READING]

"Sometimes a masturbating wrestler
is just a masturbating wrestler."

"I am going to have to masturbate first."

He says this very sternly and with that menacing Persian accent that tells me that he's not asking for permission.

I say something like "Of course you do!" as casually as possible and expect him to go to the bathroom to take care of business.

Instead, he makes one loud thrusting gesture — which I hasten to add I still cannot "see" in the dream — and there's this loud explosion-slash-firehose-gusher of white paint (yes, it's white paint!) that sprays away from me, but starts to splatter onto a sportcoat (note: I do not, in real life, own a sportcoat), and I'm getting pissed off, like How the hell am I gonna get that white paint out of my sportcoat?

Then I wake up.

Coming in a future blog post: The time I got thrown out of my therapist's office!