THE MAN OF YOUR DREAMS

In other words ... I'm finally just throwing all caution to the wind and sexually abusing every woman that I come across in my dreams.

For decades, I've always been quite a gentleman in my dreams.

Whenever I was presented with a hot young woman carrying a pepperoni log on fire and demanding sex from me, I would politely decline the sex part due to being married and then hop in whatever vehicle was available and drive to Idaho where I would wind up in a desert full of ducks who would be trying to explain the laws of physics to me.

Not anymore.

Now I'm grabbin' titties left and right in my dreams.

Two nights ago, I dreamt that Mattie Gee had a new secret girlfriend that was left alone with me in a room.

After I was done grabbing everything she had to grab, she complained to Mattie Gee who promptly hated me for groping his secret girlfriend.

I woke up with a smile on my face.

Last night I dreamt I was back at college and I lived in a co-ed dorm and all these college gals were traipsing up and down the hallway and it was a smorgasbord for my hands as I was slapping thong-covered asses and tweaking boobies with every step I took.

I distinctly remember two young coeds on their hands and knees side-by-side in a room and I was slapping their butts like bongos while everyone laughed and thought I was a sexual God.

I'm glad that I've finally broken out of my shell in my dreams and started treating all women like sexual objects.

I deserve the cheap thrills.

Lord knows I can't get away with them in real life.

While there, I picked up a Hoverdisc for Andrew.

You know ... the hoverdisc.

The amazing inflatable frisbee-like contraption made of mylar that you can fill with either air or helium but if you fill it with air it doesn't so much "hover" as it just "falls to the fucking floor" so you have to get Walmart to fill it with helium and then you have to try to hang on to the thing on a blustery day as you make it to your car and then shove it into the back seat without it flying away because if it flies away ... ha ha! Fuck you! You lose, dumbass!!

Yeah. That one.

So I get one because they're marked down from $20 to $2.

Plus, I've always wanted one.

I pick out a Spongebob one because Andrew loves him some Spongebob lately.

I take it to the little floral/balloon department.

"Can you blow this up with helium for me?" I ask the grouchy old hag behind the counter.

"Be a buck," she says.

"What??" I ask.

"A buck," she repeats. "It'll cost you a dollar to fill it up with helium."

Ahhhhh ... thanks for the Redneck-to-English translation.

Because I am a man who always has an extra dollar on me thanks to the little secret zippered compartment on the inside of my belt, I sprung for the helium.

The lady rips the box open and slowly straddles the hoverdisc hole over the helium nozzle, inching it down slowly and seductively.

I was prompted to grab a hooter at this stage but quickly remembered this wasn't a dream and fought off the urge to fondle the Queen of the Trailer Park.

She starts blowing the thing up and it's getting bigger and bigger.

"How much am I s'posed to put in here?" she asks another woman behind the counter.

Just then, the hoverdisc burst with a loud pop.

"I'd say just a little less than that much," I quip, ever the jokester in Walmart.

At that point, it became a debate the seriousness of which hasn't been seen since Nixon and Kennedy.

Who was going to go back to the toy department and get another hoverdisc?

I knew exactly where they were and could race back there as fast as my chubby little legs could carry me, swipe a Hoverdisc off the shelf and race back.

I wanted to go back because I got the feeling if Ms. Balloon Buster went back there, she'd detour into the pharmacy to shoot the shit with Marge the pharmacist about what they was go' dress their grandkiddies in for Ha'ween and I'd be stuck waiting for the woman for an hour.

Plus, she admitted she had no idea where they were located and just said "Toy department ... right?"

So I finally won the battle of who gets to leave and retrieves a new Hoverdisc.

I race back there, snatch the thing and race back up to the front.

She tries it again.

This time, I'm playing Backseat Driver with her.

"Not too much," I'm repeating. "Slowly. Slowly. Slowly."

She blows the thing up too much. Not to where it's going to burst but where it's bending the inner ring of the thing so it's not perfectly round, it's got a dent the size of Rhode Island in it.

"Now I'll have to do another one," the toothless hag says.

"It's fine," I said, staring at my watch and realizing my lunch hour was up ten minutes ago. "I'll fix it at home."

"I kin fix it," the woman drawls as she begins grappling with the balloon-like thang, squeezing the life out of it.

"Stop!" I yelped. "I can fix it at home."

"Fine," the lady says with a hint of protest. "YOU fix it."

I wasn't trying to be mean or anything ... I was just running late and this lady was tackling this project with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for folding clean clothes.

I managed to find Mattie Gee and we left the store.

Went back to work.

Came home.

Showed Andrew the new toy.

...And he instantly went to the TV to watch his tape of "Little Einsteins" instead.

Ungrateful little brainiac.