interrupting the dreamscape with a stout dose of reality

When I find myself unable to sleep and no option other than extremely late night TV to lull me back to the dreamscape, I’m usually hit with the same question. One question leads to another until it snowballs to an entire fleet of questions saluting and waiting at attention. Invariably, one or more channels will be playing the “Girls Gone Wild” infomercial.

The first question that usually rolls around in my sleep-deprived mind is “What the fuck is that about?” No, the plot isn’t that perplexing nor is it confusing. It’s a bunch of drunk college girls getting naked or semi-naked for the video camera. I guess my main question is “Where are these girls going wild?” My next question is essentially a two-parter that goes like this “How can I get there and does it require a right turn in Albuquerque?”

I work for a college in a field that uses cameras and I’ve seen nary a naked or semi-naked college girl in various degrees of inebriation. That, my friends, is just a damn shame. Further proof that life isn’t fair and that mine, in particular, just flat out sucks. Maybe I need to start giving away t-shirts as an incentive.

I find my occupational morale in the crapper nine times out of ten and a drunk college girl in a state of undress would lovingly lift the spirit right out of said toilet, dry it off, and make it shine. It might even go as far as making it so happy that it will burst into flames, but what a way to check out.

At the very least, I’d need a Radio Flyer wagon to keep my jaw clean as it hits the floor. If there was a widespread epidemic of naked or semi-naked drunk college girls going wild in my vicinity, I could simply show up for the floor show, let the show begin, retrieve my jaw, and wheel it to the next showing. Ammonia might be required if I was to encounter a gaggle of naked or semi-naked college girls in various degrees of inebriation, because I’m not sure that I could take it in my current state of fragility. However, I would be more than willing to give it a shot...repeatedly. Vital signs be damned.

I can only imagine an EMT discovering the carcass. “Yes, sir, this is the way we found him. Rigor mortis setting in, pointing at something, and a smile we couldn’t remove with a jackhammer. Whatever it was, it must have been good.” You damn right.