Mind Your Own God Damn Business

I can’t have wet dreams.

It’s not that I’m physically incapable (as far as I know). I have plenty of dreams where things are leading towards sex.

The problem is that I’m mentally incapable of it. Once I get to the point with the girl that we’re on the verge of the act, one of two things happens:

"Don't worry, pardner. Just 'cause I have the diabetes don't mean we need to cut this shindig short. Here's a wine cooler and a bowl of Quaker oats. Your boner will be back in no time. Who wants a mustache ride?"

A) The girl in question shuts me down – maybe she has a boyfriend, or she decides she’s not actually that into me, or I have one of those surreal dream moments where the girl from my Jr. College ethics class that I’m undressing suddenly transmogrifies into Wilford Brimley – whatever the reason, it suddenly becomes clear that we can’t have sex.

B) My brain stops me. I’ll be about to get it on, and then I think something like “Wait a second – you? Having sex? With a girl? Not likely. You must be dreaming!” at which point I realize that I am, in fact, dreaming and wake up.

Until a few months ago, this was the only type of reoccurring dream that I had where my brain would talk me out of having a good time while I was asleep.

But now, I have another type of dream to throw into the mix:

The Video Game nightmare.

It’s about what it sounds like. I dream that I am playing video games, having a grand old time, when I suddenly realize that I’ve broken my new year’s resolution. I then spend the rest of the dream completely devastated that I made such a terrible mistake. I wake up, spend a couple of hours feeling guilty and then realize that I only dreamed that I broke my resolution.

Here’s what I think about all of this: My brain can go and fuck itself.

I made a resolution to completely give up video games for a year, and so far, I have.

Even though I never made a resolution to give up sex for a year, it has kind of worked out that way, much to my chagrin.

What this means is that I spend all of my time during the day not playing video games or having sex, and I’m fine with that (or at least willing to tolerate it).

But I can do whatever the fuck I want while I’m sleeping, because if it happened in a dream, it didn’t actually fucking happen. It’s an opportunity to enjoy some activities that I can’t engage in while I’m awake. If I play games in my sleep, I’m not breaking my resolution, and I can do whatever filthy, depraved illegal sex acts (or completely wholesome ones) that I want in my sleep without any negative consequences, because I didn’t actually do it. Unfortunately, my brain doesn’t seem to realize any of that, and so the second I touch a controller in my sleep or go stumbling into second base with the girl who I saw at the grocery store earlier that day, it shuts me down.

It's cool, baby! Even if this weren't a dream, we're in Texas, so it's totally legit! Now let's get you out of that vest and fire up the PS3!

I’m leading this sexless, gameless existence right now, and the way I see it, the second my head hits the pillow and I close my eyes, there’s no reason that I shouldn’t immediately be balls deep in some 25 year old (Or 60 year old, or Count Chocula, or Wilford Brimley for that matter – none of it is real), Wii controller in my hand and a stylus strapped to my chin for the DS.

Riding on top of a Centaur.

Who’s taping the whole thing. Who cares? It’s a dream.

Instead, my brain cock blocks me, and I get to spend all of my time dreaming that I’m in the middle of the ocean getting eviscerated by sharks, or that it’s the last week of school and I just realized that there’s a math class that I haven’t been to all semester because I forgot that I was enrolled in it.

To add insult to injury, there are plenty of implausible things that happen in my dreams that my brain doesn’t bother to stop. Sometimes I can fly in my dreams. I had a dream one time that I was dating a tarantula. Dreams like that never make my brain pause for even a second, even though I’ve never once flown without the assistance of an airplane or had any reaction to spiders other than irrational fear. I had a dream one time where I had crapped my pants and didn’t do anything about it. That was totally fine with my brain. No arguments whatsoever. Throw a pair of boobs or a PSP in there, though, and all of a sudden, my brain is like “Woah, buddy! Let’s pump the breaks, here! Is this really realistic? Besides, is that person you’re making out with actually Jessica Biel? Look closer, bitch. It was Gene Shalit the whole time!”

For those of you that don’t know, this is what Gene Shalit looks like:

Do it on my face!

Fuck you, Brain.

Well, it’s getting late, and I have to work tomorrow. I’d better get to bed so I can have a long, restful night of stressful, humiliating dreams. Maybe I’ll dream that I’m brushing my teeth and getting ready for work. That’s always fun. Or maybe it’ll be the one where I’m in a classroom where the kids are misbehaving and refuse to calm down no matter what I say to them. If I’m really lucky, I’ll be in my underwear for that one. I just hope that I don’t try to do anything fun in my sleep, or I’m going to wake up covered in sweat, flinging my pillow across the room because I’m convinced that it’s Walter Mathau’s nutsack.

Goodnight.