People always say about cheese making you dream. I always
thought this was a myth, similar to other cheese based myths such as the moon
being made of cheese or that cheese is actually made from the bodies of tiny
fish that live in milk. However, this isn’t the case, cheese dreams are
definitely real. Cheese clearly contains a small psychedelic bug that is
absorbed into the blood stream creating crazy dreams. The good thing about
cheese dreams is that in the dream I often know that it’s a dream so if something
bad is happening I can wake myself up. For example, should I find myself being
bummed by a horse I can say to myself in the dream “This horse bumming is
definitely a very bad thing, however, this is a dream and to avoid further
horse based humiliation I should wake up” I will then wake up relieved that I
haven’t actually been violated by a horse. However, I do normally allow the bad
things to continue for a while because in the world of dreams bad things can
very often turn good. For example the horse may actually be a psychic talking
horse and in a moment of horsey passion he leans over and whispers the winning
lottery numbers in your ear. That of course raises the question “would you
allow yourself to be bummed by a psychic talking horse in exchange for the
winning lottery numbers?” Obviously there are a number of factors to consider
such as whether it’s a rollover or not and of course the make and model of
horse. A shire horse would certainly be a very different experience to that of
a Shetland pony. If I won the lottery I’d wear a top hat a lot, have a beer
waiter and have carpets made from the softest substance known to man, bumble
bee fur.
I enjoy having cheese before bed as the dreams are always
pretty interesting. This is a selection of three weird cheese dreams.
1) I was woken up (in the dream) by noises
downstairs. I figured that it sounded like burglars so picked up a bit of wood
that happened to be by the bed and headed downstairs to have a look. As I got
down to the middle landing I witnessed two hippos carrying our TV down the
stairs. These hippos were partially clothed and were walking on their hind legs
and carrying the TV in their “arms”. I waved my wood at them and shouted and
they dropped the tellybox which appeared to be rubber and bounced down the
stairs. They then ran off, down the stairs, out of the door and down the road
(possibly back to a zoo or hippo sanctuary). Obviously the moral of this is
that if your house ever gets burgled by hippos all you need to do is wave a bit
of wood at them and shout a bit.
2) In a lot of my cheese dreams I can fly. Well,
not really fly like superman but kind of bounce and float. As if I’ve got
springy shoes (I like to call them boingy shoes) and then I sort of glide a bit
before I have to land and bounce up again. In one particular bouncing dream I
was being chased by a dog. Ever since I was little I’ve been scared of dogs.
I’ve never liked any dogs apart from maybe my mums next door neighbour’s dog
but that was too fat to do anything and just ignored you. It’s dead now, it had
an enormous growth on it’s arse that nobody ever found out what it was and it
died of that. I think technically it died of a fat arse. Anyway, whenever I
dream about dogs they’re always nasty and vicious and chasing me. As this dog
was chasing me I bounced in front of a dustbin lorry. I waited and jumped out
of the way as the dog jumped at me watching the dog glide effortlessly into the
back of the dustbin lorry. It was like I was a matador with a bull but without
the bull and cape and with springy shoes, a bin lorry and a dog instead. I then
activated the crushers and squashed the dog. As the dog was being squashed lots
of doughnuts came out of the top of the lorry. I imagine people probably
remembered this day for years to come as the day I defeated the evil dog and it
rained doughnuts. I think the government should maybe consider inventing a
dustbin lorry that turns rubbish into tasty doughnuts.
3) In a lot of cheese dreams I kill things. This
particular one I came home from work one day to hear a lot of noise coming from
the loft. I went up to investigate, once more carrying a bit of wood (I seem to
have a recurring theme of finding security and protection in a bit of wood) and
it turned out to be bats. These weren’t just ordinary bats though, they were
bats that looked like popular ex Spurs and England striker Gary Lineker. It was
like some kind of mythological creature with the body of a bat and the head of
Gary Lineker. The bats weren’t violent or anything, they were just very, very
noisy. I was aware that bats are a protected species but wasn’t quite sure
where the law stood on Gary Lineker bats so I wasn’t sure if I should kill them
or not. I decided that Gary Lineker bats were probably more rare than normal
bats so they would probably be protected. As I was trying to figure out what to
do (I was considering trying to lure them out with Walkers crisps) the bats
started to change into zombies, not just any zombies but Gary Lineker zombies. Clearly
zombies aren’t a protected species and should be killed due to their nasty
nature. Unfortunately my trusty wood seemed to have vanished and the only
things nearby were pencils. I picked up the pencils and went on a zombie
stabbing rampage. Whenever I dream about zombies I always stab them in the
eyes. Obviously the moral of this is that if you ever find your loft full of
Gary Lineker bats, fuck the Bat Conservation Trust and kill them before they
turn into zombies.
