Case in point:
A few weeks ago, I was trying to remember the name of a certain bigoted Fundy wackjob. I remembered that his was as crazy as Jack Chick, but less funny, and that he regularly got pitted here.
A name floated up from the back of my mind: Mike. Or maybe Michael. Didn’t help. I was still completely blanking out.
Then, later the name I’m looking for suddenly pops up: Fred Phelps. The God-Hates-Fags guy. So why was I thinking Mike… oh. Michael Phelps is the swimmer. Phred is the nutjob with the signs. Somehow, even though I couldn’t remember the name, I still made a connection to the Phelps part.
Case in point 2:
So last night, I told a figment of my imagination that it had a dirty mind.
I was dreaming, and in this dream, someone mentioned that a certain structure was rather phallic.
I looked up. All right, I said to myself, it is long and tall, and it has a conical top. But really, it’s just a twelve-foot tall bright-orange inflatable tower, and you’d have to have sex on the mind to think of genitalia when you looked at it. Obviously, this other person was a pervert. It certaintly hadn’t occurred to me to see it that way before the other guy mentioned it.
So basically, I was telling myself off for being disgusting, because I would never have come up with that interpretation myself.
The subconscious is weird.