A memo to my subconscious:

Just knock it the hell off.

You did this before, with my busdriver. My busdriver, for God’s sake. Now you’re starting in with a professor I work with, and I am not going to tolerate this!

Stop with the crazy sex dreams!

I do not need to be having wild erotic dreams about married, older men who I am not the least little bit attracted to!

Well, wasn’t the least little bit attracted to . . .

After the dream, I ended up in a meeting with this guy, and all I could think about was him humping me in a cabin next to a suspension bridge over a waterfall. (Freudians–the humping I understand, but if you can figure out the the bridge and the river are supposed to mean, I’d be much obliged.)

Damn it, it’s distracting! And if it’s anything like the series of dreams I affectionally refer to as the “Sex-Crazed Busdriver Chronicles”, I’m in for more of these dreams.

What I really want to know, though, is where the hell is Russell Crowe? Now, I recognize that he’s probably very busy filling roles in the sexual dreams of millions of other women, but as soon as you can make an appointment with his agent, you can feel free to substitute him from Dr. Not-At-All-Intriguing!

Am I the only one who has this problem?

Now you are experiencing the harsh reality that every male on the face of the planet must live with every day: uncontrollable sex dreams!
[sub]Not me, of course, I’m far more civilized than most men[/sub]