For All The Amatuer Dream Analysts Out There.......  

rm_NaughtyOkies 45M/55F
37 posts
2/12/2006 3:29 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

For All The Amatuer Dream Analysts Out There.......

I feel the need to bore you with another strange dream. However I believe it was pretty unique, and the concept of it was very thought provoking.
I was on a flight headed for some tropical location, not sure where but I remember anticipating warm weather and fruity mixed drinks while lazing on white sands surrounded by blue water and bronzed people. We were flying over the ocean, and suddenly out of my window I could see the water rushing toward the plane, knowing that the end was imminent. At the moment of impact, there was no pain, no anxiety, just a sudden moment of finality. That moment passed quickly and I found myself in what appeared to be an airport terminal, and all of the passengers on my plane were being directed through different doors. Most were a little confused, and the realization that they were dead and being directed to their final destination was the last thing on their minds. I, however was quite privy to the gravity of this particular situation. I felt no panic or fear, but a pressing curiosity of what surprises may wait behind the door chosen for me. The "airport"(maybe purgatory?) staff were leading groups through the door and all of these "guides" were attractive, well dressed women. Not sexy attractive, but well groomed and pleasant with their charges.
As my guide found me, I realized that she was very disheveled, kinda like a junkie in desperate need of a fix. She nervously led me through an unmarked door into a room filled with chairs and a sign on the wall that said "ORIENTATION". As we all found seats and made ourselves comfortable, a well dressed man entered the room and stood at the front of the group, ready to begin his introduction. He had a neatly trimmed beard and kinda reminded me of MR. BELVEDERE from that cheesey 80's TV show.
He stood at a chalkboard and began to write his name in large, neat print. Hello I am MR. S-A-T-A-N, he said as he wrote the letters on the board. The people in the room got very quiet as he began to explain that we had indeed passed on and that we would be spending the rest of eternity in a Hell tailor-made for people just like us. You see, we weren't exactly BAD people, he explained, we just weren't exactly GOOD people either. Luckily for us, our Hell wouldn't be nearly as bad as it could be, he assured.
Our Hell would be more like a neverending series of annoyances and inconveniences rather than an eternal swim in a LAKE OF FIRE. He then asked if there were any questions before the tour began. Not a single hand was raised....
We shuffled from the room and followed our JOLLY NEW DICTATOR down a hallway, and he opened a door and showed us the restrooms. They weren't quite filthy, but could surely have used some attention. The bowls were stained from countless millenia of use, and there were no dividers between the toilets. There were only a few there, so we could be assured that we would be sitting directly next to someone when that magical moment came when nature called. Also the toilet paper was very rough and we would all have a good case of the sore ass when we were done cleaning ourselves with it. Also the handsoap dispensers were empty, and there was no hot water at the lavatories.
We next came upon a commons area with a small BLACK & WHITE TELIVISION with rabbit ears that had tin foil strewm between the two bent antennae. There was no remote control, and the only thing showing on the fuzzy screen were OXYCLEAN infomercials, coupled by endless ESTEBAN commercials. He did point out that the good news is that there were LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE reruns on Saturday afternoons from 4 till 6 pm. (however, on a bright note, there was a ping pong table with one paddle)
At this point he began to sum up his presentation, but felt he did need to point out that the meals were pretty bland. We could expect lots of SPAM sandwiches, and a nice refreshing glass of lukewarm TAB to wash it down with. All lines in Hell would be very long, he added, and the person in front of you will always be writing a check, although he will have to search his wallet several times in order to provide the necessary I.D. in order for it to be accepted.
At some point, as he was droning on and on about what we could expect from our own little private piece of Hell, I wake up with a start.
What a strange dream. Maybe it meant that I should try to be a better person, you know, always help little old ladies across the street, or carry their groceries. Maybe subconsciencely I'm CONCERNED about my ETERNAL WELFARE.

Maybe Mr. Belvedere is the DEVIL.

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