Last night I had a very vivid dream that I was in Vietnam, had been separated from my company, and was hiding from the Viet Cong, crawling through rice paddies and jungles trying to find my way back to my troops.
I think I must have switched dreams with one of my neighbors. Somewhere, a house or two away, a Vietnam veteran woke up with a start and said, “Jesus—I just dreamed I was at the Dior spring fashion show in Paris!!”
Hmm… I’m not sure which would be more frightening…
Wanna trade?
I kept dreaming that the zombies were coming for me. Not fun when you stupidly scheduled a five hour block for sleeping.
When I was a teenager, I had a dream that I was in some kind of WWII prison camp and my dearest friend there was Judy Garland. (In her younger, Dorothy days).
A dream that featured combat boots and Judy Garland. If that’s not a sign that I’m a queer gal, I don’t know what is.
It wasn’t a few blocks away, Eve. I guy I work with came in today saying he dreamt that he showed up at a fashion show in Paris with a rifle.
And wearing a very nice Versace number.
The air was thick with acrid smoke. Charlie had been busy during the night. At last county our medics counted 15 dead or wounded. Christmas was going to be a sad, sad day for some families back home. Fucking war.
A few claymores had gone off, and in spots there was a bloody mess where once had been a VC operative, but other than that they had come and gone with nary a sound. Like ghosts. Ghosts wearing stylish black, two-piece silk pajamas, with a mandarin collar and very subtle piping around the hems.
Their operation has started like they always do…pots and pans ringing, that loud screaming in that sign-song voice they all seem to have…“Think Pink! Think Pink! Think Pink for Spling!” they had cried. And then silence. It was enough to give you the willies and wish that you could crawl back in your fox hole. But there was little damn chance of that…Not tonight. It was Tet and Fashion Week all rolled into one tonight, boys. There was going to be hell to pay.
Word was coming down from HQ that Ho Chi Minh himself was trading in his drab, gray tunic for a magenta ensemble with a delicious little embroidery touch, and that St. Laurent had come down out of his ozone to meet with the little elf himself. Sure…get your ass handed to you at Dienbenphu and then come crawling back to try and get a few francs for some frocks. Damn schmattas.
I headed over to the chow hall to get some cold coffee and c-rations, but all they had was some petit foi gras on toast points and a mediocre chardonay that needed to age a little more. All of the escargot had long since been scarfed down, and the brie had run out into little puddles on the linen. You could bet some general was eating well, though. I could hear his chief of staff now, “But the General is on the list…I just know he’s on the list…I called and verified it myself…There HAS to be some mistake…Marcel, where’s Marcel…?”
Yeah, war is hell. Well, war and a Chanel-knock off that has one sleeve longer than the other and poor stitching around the button holes.
Charlie was close. I could hear the rustling of the silk moiré. And I could smell the “Charlie.”
And yes, eats, that is the gayest dream ever.
Eve, why did you frag me?
Incumming!"
Wow I had 'Nam flashback too !!! It was scary. The enemy approached from all sides. The jungle was filled with the smell of death. Suddenly, a fatherly figure approached and said “Relax Junior. I got you into the Guard”. I never had such a close call in my life !!!
Sincerely,
George “Dubya” B.
(Last name withheld for confidentiality).
I keep on dreaming that I’m in WWII and that I’m a nazi, what are the chances that I am reliving a past life experience?
I keep dreaming about Nazis too. In one of my dreams they took over the whole world and were basically in the process of killing everyone. They set up a camp near my parents’ home and were *inviting * people to it and people were fighting to get in. I tried to warn my parents that this was a Nazi death camp, not a country club, but they wouldn’t listen.
About 10 days ago I dreamed I was on the Titanic. There was a lifeboat available and I was able to get off but jeez Louise, why don’t I dream about my own life rather than someone else’s?
Maybe you’re channeling Sam Kinnison…
Relax, you’re just reliving a Twilight Zone episode . . .
Last night I had a dream that I lived in a little town which was being attacked by rabid chickens. I took refuge in Auntie Em’s house just before Hillary Duff came zipping in on a tornado. Then there was some cute guy with a sexy accent. I don’t remember what he was doing there but that bitch Hillary kept trying to steal him.
Ah, yes… Hanoi Hillary.
Always cheerfully telling our boys to defect.
In my worst nighmares, I have my back against a sheer cliff wall, and I am staring one thousand angry Jotar in the face. I suddenly discover that I am naked and weaponless. I think to myself, “If I die here, in battle with the foes of the gods, I shall live forever in Hall of Odin!” I leap twoards them with all my strength, and begin to tear them limb from limb. Then they all clear, and the the great wolf Fenrir. Then I awake, drenched in sweat.
Oh Dear God, Eve. I hope you weren’t hit with any Agent Orange. That would so clash with your uniform.
Ah, I had a weird war dream the other day too. I was in some army or other, and we were surrounded. We were all ready to go out and attack the enemy and die in a blaze of glory, when the officers came around and said that we should all commit suicide instead. Nope, no blaze of glory, no using our lives to hurt the enemy one last time. People started taking poison and killing themselves, there’s a lot of fanaticism in this army I guess. I’m exchanging glances with some other guys and we’re thinking “what the hell is this?” Then the officers start to look impatient, they hand out some more poison, and then say that they are going off to kill themselves somewhere else. Yeah, right. I’m not buying it, and I can’t figure out why they want us to kill ourselves, and they clearly aren’t going to kill themselves either. The second they leave all of us guys who haven’t killed ourselves decide we’re going to make a break for it, screw this suicide crap. Off we go, only to be captured by the enemy. Still better than suicide I’m thinking as I thrown down my rifle and they hustle us off to fates unknown.
I’m still pissed at those officers who tried to get us to kill ourselves. Bastards.