Had a dream where I was in HS. We were on a field trip being led around by a substitute teacher. I realized as we were walking around that I accidentally brought to school a large .50 Desert Eagle. I didn't have a backpack to hide it in, so it was difficult to conceal. I knew that if the teacher found out I'd probably be expelled, so I had to do my best to conceal it within my clothes somehow. This was complicated by the fact I was wearing a very loose pair of grey sweatpants with no pockets, which made the pistol very precarious to holster in the waistband. It was constantly falling into my pants, and I often had to fish it back out of the crotch or ass area.
At some point I got the idea that I could just holster the pistol in such a way that the pants bulge would look somewhat like my penis, which would serve a twofold purpose of concealing the weapon while making me look huge. This didn't really work though, as one of my classmates quickly realized that I was holding a handgun. Luckily it was a black student who thought bringing a gun to school was really bad-ass. He flashed me the handgun that he himself was carrying, establishing a rapport between us and setting my mind at ease.
Later on in the field trip, the setting changed into a 3D platformer style video game (I guess we were visiting a video game museum). Students were expected to follow along by completing obstacles, jumping onto platforms, and balancing on precarious objects. The obstacle course was located thousands of feet up in the air (like the height where sky-divers leap from airplanes), so a missed jump would be bad, although I assumed we had extra lives if we fell/died.
In addition, not only did I have to jump through the level, but I had to go first, and everyone was watching me, including the teacher. I knew that if I jumped around too hard, then my Desert Eagle would fall out, and I would get expelled. I figured this was pretty much it for me, but I had nothing to lose by trying.
I jumped around from platform to platform. Each time I jumped, I had to re-holster the Desert Eagle into my waistband. It probably looked like I was adjusting my private parts to the audience, which was embarrassing, but that didn't really matter right now—all that mattered was completing the level and hiding that I had brought a gun to school. I actually made some impressive jumps even before accounting for the fact that I was also concealing a large pistol in my waistband. Like, I hopped onto a wobbly teeter-totter like plank and managed to leap from it and onto the next platform, which was a pretty difficult feat on its own.
Somehow I made it through the platformer level perfectly on the first try, and everyone applauded my attempt. It was the next student's turn, so now I could relax, as no one would be paying attention to me.
Like hours later (after everyone had completed the platformer level), we were walking through the museum looking at exhibits and such. Suddenly, the FPS exhibit spilled over into the normal parts of the museum. The field trip suddenly became a game of Halo. It was life or death: students were getting shot to death by Covenant forces. Blood and bodies were flying everywhere. Some kid got stuck by a sticky grenade, which left a big crater where he stood and send his extremities flying in all directions. Another kid's body went flying after a Brute walloped him with the gravity hammer. It was like the beach scene in Saving Private Ryan with so much gore. Kids were getting absolutely massacred by Brutes. It was fucking awesome.
At this point I was lucky to have my Desert Eagle on me, which was actually pretty similar in power and effectiveness to the pistol from Halo CE (remember the pistol was OP in that game). I went through head-shotting Brutes and just generally kicked ass like Master Chief. The black kid with his Glock probably killed a few too. Anyway, after hours of fighting, I eventually killed all the Covenant forces, and everyone—including the teacher—celebrated me for bringing a gun to school by hoisting me into the air, kind of like crowd surfing.
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In another dream, I was asked to serve as a substitute teacher for a Drama class. This wasn't really my forte, of course, but I figured it'd be good job experience.
I treated it like a game of D&D with everyone RP'ing their characters. I cared more about having fun and entertaining the class than I did about learning anything. I was cracking jokes that should have probably gotten me fired, but most of the students were laughing and having fun, so they didn't seem to care. I mean, of course every class has a few stuffy, serious students who care about learning, but I think they were only mildly annoyed by the raucous atmosphere and not irritated enough to report me.
Anyway, things were going pretty well until one of my students, Brandon, decided to say something like "we absolutely raped them," referring to how his group killed some goblins or w/e. He said it in proximity to these two girls who started crying, I guess because they took rape super seriously. Brandon didn't seem to notice or care, but Chris apologized contritely on Brandon's behalf and told Brandon sternly that rape jokes were not okay. Brandon slurredly acknowledged what Chris said, and then he immediately hobbled over drunkenly to to another trio of students and started bragging about how his team absolutely raped some goblins.
Luckily for me, this didn't get me fired, so all told I viewed my subbing for the Drama teacher as a success.
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In a final dream, I was helping to take care of my Dad. It was the future, when he'll be going through chemotherapy and is extremely frail and weak. I was in the kitchen doing something, and then I entered the hallway and saw my dad sitting naked on the floor between the TV room and the bathroom. (This will be easier to understand with a diagram).
I asked my dad why he was sitting on the floor naked. He told me that he wanted to watch TV, but he had to go to the bathroom. But he didn't want to stop watching TV to go to the bathroom, so he reasoned that sitting in the hallway where he could see both the TV and the toilet at the same time was a fair compromise. He could just watch TV while he shit, and then pick up the turds off the carpet and toss them into the toilet later.
One thing you have to know about people who have been on chemotherapy for a long time and who are in the final stages of losing to cancer is that their brains don't think very clearly, and what they say doesn't always make sense. So, while I tried to process his logic, he was sitting with his knees in the air, positioned more on his tailbone as he sat. He was rocking back and forth trying to coax out a big poop log, which kind of extruded forward and slid along the carpet slowly.
Even though his logic didn't make sense to me, I knew one thing for certain: I'd be cleaning shit out of the carpet later no matter what. So, because the outcome was going to be the same regardless, I didn't yell at him. I figured it'd just be easier to clean up the shit-stained carpet than it would be to try explaining to him why shitting in the hallway is unacceptable. He didn't have long to live anyway, so I'd only have to put up with this for a few more weeks, tops.
This post was edited by Terps on Mar 24 2020 11:31am