No, What It Means Is: Never Eat a Large Amount of Ice Cream Right Before Bedtime

“I had occasion to dream, last night.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.  I was working back at X (the production company at which I began my illustrious post-collegiate career as a studio/equipment manager), and had – as in life – given notice that I was leaving.  But – again, as was the actual situation – had agreed to stay behind and train my replacement.”

“Yawn.”

“It was some woman, in the dream – I don’t remember much about her, she was one of those anonymous Dream People, she had unkempt, shoulder-length black hair, and largish hindquarters.  Squeezed into khakis.  Doesn’t matter.  She took a lot of notes, but proved endlessly inept, and refused to do any physical labor.  When I asked her how she was going to do the job without actually lifting anything, she shrugged and said, ‘That’s what we have P.A.’s for.’  I wanted out of there, though, so I didn’t say anything about it to the people for whom I worked.

“She one day, however, for some reason, ruined a hot set by covering it in powdered unsweetened chocolate.  A lot of it was blown on – in drifts – by Mole® fans, but there were these huge slabs of the stuff mixed in.  No one had any idea how she got them there.”

“’That’s what we have P.A.’s for.’”

“I suppose.  Anyhow, after that she was out.  The next candidate was this lean, intense, very able kid.  Shaved head.  Don’t know him, another dream construct.  He not only mastered every aspect of the job, but bested my own performance.  I felt secure he could do the job, and a bit scared that I’d actually have to leave; see, I hadn’t any savings on which to fall back.  Quitting had been a rash decision, though one that dragged on through my bizarre loyalty.”

“Yawn.”

“Yes.  See, one day my replacement revealed to me that, once this position was his, he would use the full power of the office to reclaim his rightful title as King (or Sultan or Emir or General Mucho Grande) of Turkey, a title denied him because his father’s father’s father was disgraced in some fashion I never really grasped.  There was a fire and madness in his eye that told me that he would, indeed...”

“You were an stage manager for a production company, right?”

“Stage and equipment manager.”

“So he was, what, going to abuse his ready access to Maffer clamps to..?”

“Shush.  Naturally, I immediately went with this information to my superiors.  Upon entering the CFO’s office, however, I noticed that he, several financiers, and Juliette Binoche were reviewing an underwater love scene I had filmed.”

“Juliette Binoche?”

“Yes.  I suppose she might have been in the love scene, but even in the dream I found it odd; I’d never much cared for her.  Would have preferred Irène Jacob; perhaps the studio forced me to use Binoche.  Doesn’t matter.  The scene itself – very tastefully done, I thought – was (appropriately enough) very dreamy, with shifting planes and these huge floating grey tube-like things that I thought looked a little like intestines, but now realize must have been fish poop.”

“Gross.”

“Whatever.  The financiers were very worried.  They said that this had to go, that it would never playinPeoria, that it’d be banned in every country in the world.  Thinking quickly, I asked:  If I could guarantee an official screening in one of the most conservatively tyrannous nations on earth and the endorsement of the ruler of said country, then would they let me keep my underwater sex scene?  Naturally, they acquiesced.

“It was then that I resolved to help my replacement become Sultan of Turkey.”

“And?”

“And I woke up.”

“Dude.  That totally means that you’re gay.”

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