Why is C. K. Dexter Haven chasing me across the hill on a giant lawn tractor?

Many more dreams like that, astro, and you’ll be first in line for some major therapy.

More like a symbol of castration, no? :eek:

[Donning a Freud costume, and gesturing for Astro to recline on a tattered old chaise longue]: To elaborate on this a bit, in The Philadelphia Story, “C.K. Dexter Haven” was the ex-husband of Katherine Hepburn and the former owner of the Truelove, the yacht on which the couple had spent their honeymoon, IIRC. Logically, then, the mower now driven by CKDH is symbolic of a loving relationship and/or a marriage, which Astro’s id is afraid will mow him down, mangling or severing his limbs (and genitals) so that he loses his independence, freedom, and manhood. The detail that the menace approaches him slowly underscores its validity as a metaphor for a relationship, which also often develop and progress toward marriage with a deliberate pace. As a final kicker, the whirring blades carry the overtones of vagina dentata imagery, the ultimate castration threat. However, the particular nature of that threat is ambiguous: either marriage will kill their sexual passion, or his lover-cum-wife is a voracious lover whose sexual appetites Astro is unable to satisfy. Astro’s dream suggests that a relationship purporting to be “true love” will rob him of his freedom and, one way or another, destroy his sexual virility.

My advice to Astro is that he should consider changing his background wallpaper. :smiley:

Be careful, you know how that story ends up!

“Don’t count your boobies before they’re hatched.”
-Thurber

Was it a dream where you were standing in sort of sun-god robes on top of a pyramid, and there were hundreds of naked women screaming and throwing little pickles at you?

That’s your dream dude! Our dreams are like chocolate and peanut butter, never to mix unless we’re out walking, and somehow get our pet’s leashes entangled, and your chocolate gets accidently thrust in my peanut butter, but that would be too gay for studly hets like ourselves, so best we keep those morphean musings at a distance.

BTW the pickles in your dream… they’re actually women’s eggs. They are offering you their fertility. They’re screaming “Our fertility! Your scrotility!”, over and over.

The name is really a code directive to look for a safe place for those in the right.

Genius. “Real Genius”