Well That Was a Hell of a Dream


I’ve been having a lot of dreams lately that, when I wake up, I can just barely remember the gist of how they went. Last night’s dream, however, was much more vivid and memorable.

I’m in D.C. my dad and he’s all “let’s go see the White House.” So we walk over to the White House, knock on the front door, and are let inside.

(Y’know, how ordinary people normally get inside the White House.)

The interior looks suspiciously similar to our old house on Grant St. except there’s more furniture and Donald Trump and Michelle Obama (???) are sitting at this large table in the middle of the living room. My dad decides to jet on me, saying he had something he needed to do but would be right back, and I’m tasked with trying to make small talk with Trump Taco and Michelle. So I’m like, “I like your house,” and that’s obviously not a very impressionable thing to say to them because they just keep sitting there, smiling awkwardly at me like “who is this nerd?”

After a few awkward minutes, I notice that there’s a taste of blood in my mouth, and I realize that one of my upper teeth on the left side of my mouth is bleeding a little. So I excuse myself and go to the bathroom.

(Y’know, how ordinary people normally use the president’s bathroom.)

In the bathroom, the bleeding starts to get worse, and no matter how many Kleenex I use, I can’t get it to stop. It only takes about five minutes for there to be tons of bloody Kleenexes in the trash can, the sink, the toilet, and the tub.

But I’m like, “nah, they won’t notice this,” and decide to try to plug up the bleeding just using my tongue, since I suspect my dad is back by now and is angry that I was rude and left The Trumpster Dumpster and Michelle.

I open my mouth one more time to look at it in the mirror, and I can see blood just gushing out between my upper teeth on the left side of my mouth. I also notice that my cheek is starting to swell up quite a bit, as if I had a golf ball tucked in there.

NO BIG DEAL THOUGH, RIGHT, so I leave all the bloody Kleenex everywhere and try to wash the blood off my hands before I go back out there to see everyone. But as I’m doing this, the swelling gets worse and worse and then I start to feel the swelling move into my throat, making it very difficult to breathe.

I’m also shirtless, somehow, by this point, and I’m thinking that I really need some medical attention. Which is super embarrassing, but IT’S MORE EMBARRASSING TO DIE IN THE PRESIDENT’S BATHROOM, so through my rapidly closing airway, I manage to shout, “dad, I need some help!”

And then I woke up.

Yeah.

The scariest thing about this dream though? The fact that Trump was president. Good thing it was just a dream.

OH WAIT—

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