... wait what?

Dreams are funny things. They can be serene and calming, horrific and terrifying, or just plain weird. Some cultures considered them coded messages from the gods, which contained hints of futures yet to come. Sigmund Freud believed that they represented repressed desires bubbling up from the subconscious mind. While there is still a great deal of speculation as to the nature of dreams, a lot of scientists now seem to believe that the majority of dreams result from the brain randomly "pushing buttons" to see what will happen. If this is true, it would certainly go a long way towards explaining the ineffably weird shit that my subconscious mind vomits up at me on a fairly regular basis.

Case-in-point - a few weeks ago, I had a rather peculiar dream. One that, curiously enough, involved inflation. Now, I almost never experience dreams that cater to my fetish in even the vaguest sense, and when I do, the inflation/expansion tends to be 'hinted at' rather than shown (a nagging sense that somewhere nearby - yet just out of reach - some lovely lass is inflating). Hence, when a dream does come along where inflation is not only featured, but is explicitly shown as well, it tends to stick with me. This particular dream was especially impressive because, not only was the inflation shown in exquisite detail, but it also boasted a surprisingly coherent plot to go along with all the mind's-eye-candy.

So, with that long-winded introduction out of the way, I thought I'd share my little pneumatically-themed, unconscious nocturnal hallucination with you all.

As the dream begins, I find myself existing as a disembodied presence - an unseen observer, rather than an active participant in the events. A fly on the wall, as it were. The scene opens upon a gorgeous, fairytale-like garden, bursting with bright, blooming flowers, great old trees with lush canopies of leaves, and soft, green grass underfoot. Early afternoon sunlight shines down upon the idyllic landscape, and birds sing merrily as they flit about. A number of people - most of them female - are milling about the garden, enjoying the scenery. Some are clad in Victorian-like finery, while others resemble something out of a Peter Pan fanfic gone horribly awry. All appear to be in high spirits. The overall mood is one of happiness and serenity.

Suddenly, a cackling feminine laugh splits the tranquil air, and the crowd turns to see a strangely-dressed (by comparison) young woman standing in the branches of one of the larger trees, gazing down at them with cold contempt. She is astoundingly voluptuous - think Jessica Rabbit, only with ginger-colored hair and wearing an impossibly-tight, pink and yellow latex catsuit - and holds what appears to be a glass scepter in one hand. She utters some stereotypically megalomaniacal threats of the sort that would make Skeletor proud, causing those present to shrink back in fear. She then proceeds to tilt back her head and suck in an enormous breath of air, causing her breasts and belly to expand hugely. She holds this immense breath in for a moment, then purses her lips and exhales a shimmering cloud of silvery-blue sparkles, which gust towards the onlookers with surprising force.

The crowd immediately screams in panic and breaks into a run, desperate to escape this gusty blast of apparently deadly glitter. Their efforts are in vain however, and as the sparkles touch their skin, they transform - one by one and with an abrupt "pop" - into balloons. Not balloon-like versions of themselves, but actual party balloons, which bob helplessly in the air, apparently neutrally buoyant.

Seeing the crowd reduced to a herd of bobbing balloons, the strange, latex-clad woman breaks into a fit of maniacal, triumphant laughter, causing her prodigious bosom to bounce and jiggle in a decidedly eye-popping fashion. She is only moments into her gloating however, when a piercing, defiant scream - worthy of the lead singer of Manowar - splits the air, interrupting her sadistic revelry. She turns sharply, eyes blazing, clearly enraged at the intrusion. As she does, we see a viking (yes, you heard me) - complete with a braided, man-eating beard and shaggy mane of dirty-blond hair, clad in naught but a bearskin loincloth and horned helm - charging toward her, spear in hand, atop the back of an eight-legged horse.

The latex-clad woman glares at the intruder, her eyes burning with furious hatred. She draws in a tremendous breath - even larger than her first - causing her body to balloon so large she can scarcely see over it, before unleashing another devastating blast of transmogrifying sparkles at her attacker. The viking - battle-hardened warrior that he is - manages to evade the blast, but his steed is not so fortunate, and immediately dissolves into balloons beneath him, throwing him into the air. As he strikes the ground, the viking rolls with the impact, coming up on one knee. The woman is already inhaling another breath, puffing herself up until she is nearly spherical. The viking wastes no time however, and while his opponent is still engorging herself with air in preparation for another attack, he pulls out a bow and arrow. Moving with the utmost haste, he draws an arrow from his quiver, takes aim, and fires.

The arrow strikes its impossibly bloated target dead-on and, with a loud BLAM, the latex-clad woman explodes - bursting apart in a shower of glitter. As the sparkles rain down on the garden, they touch the flock of helpless balloons that were once people. A series of gentle "pops" fill the air as, one by one, the balloons revert to their original, human forms. Much cheering ensues, and the viking takes a bow, humbly accepting the praise of the grateful crowd.

Then there was cake.

And then I woke up.

As I stated earlier, this is probably one of the single most coherent dreams I've had in ages. I'm still not entirely sure what to make of it, although if this is what constitutes a message from the gods, they must be smoking some pretty powerful shit up there on Olympus.

... and I don't even want to THINK about what dear old Sigmund would have to say about this.

Grumpy old codger always trying to ruin everyone's fun...

Cheers.

- Phraxus