Oh The Places You’ll Go: A NyQuil Dream Log

By Josh Carmel

DISCLAIMER: THIS ARTICLE NEITHER CONDONES NOR SUPPORTS THE UTILIZATION OF NYQUIL TO OBTAIN FRIGHTENINGLY REALISTIC, ALBEIT EXCITING, VERY LUCID, ALBEIT INTERESTING, AND VERY ODD DREAMS. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.

Amongst the rather eclectic heroes of my life, those who have endeavored to enlighten and those who have attempted to rattle the proverbial social foundation, a select few stand out for their constant dedication to change and to the unequivocal progression that their actions foster. Such names include: Edward Michael Grylls, for paramotoring over the Himalayas, Richard Nixon, for effectively sabotaging an election that he otherwise could have won, Jon Stewart, for attending that “shithole” William and Mary, and Sigmund Freud, for creating the auspicious blend of cocaine and sexual deviance.

As I reviewed this prodigious list, I began to contemplate the actions that I could take in order to promote world peace and bolster a currently dilapidated confidence in human nature. I had not ruminated very long when an idea struck my fancy. Why not take Nyquil every day for a week and record the spasmodic dreams that I was subsequently subjected too? What sounded like a scientifically pertinent project, at first, began to evolve, until, at long last, the Great NyQuil Narcotics Binge of 2010 became a resplendent reality. I sallied forth into the unknown on February 22, to arise coherent on the 26. The following log is the only fragment left of my experiment. I hope you enjoy.

Monday- Dream 1:

Grandma turned into a lawnmower on Halloween night. I woke up sobbing into my bed sheets, muttering Attica.

Monday- Dream 2:

An armless Czechoslovakian midget, with very white teeth, attempted to beat me to death with four pounds of bruschetta behind the Blue Parrot. I woke up naked and cold.

Tuesday- Dream 1:

A rather eccentric Psychology teacher from high school was lording over Gettysburg’s campus. Armed with a luffa, and two pairs of tongs, he managed to eradicate all of the squirrels. I woke up mildly amused.

Wednesday- Dream 1:

My RA force-fed me banana rice while singing one of Pavarotti’s arias from La Boheme. He then proceeded to act out every monologue ever delivered by Fran Drescher. I awoke wondering how I knew every recorded monologue delivered by Fran Drescher.

Wednesday- Dream 2:

I had a conversation with Shamu in Ancient Greek. Shamu proceeded to eat me and I made French toast in his innards. I woke up mildly impressed that, after two semesters of Greek, I could manage a conversation with Shamu.

Thursday- Dream 1:

My brother was transformed into a pitcher of Natty Ice. We argued a bit over said transformation and he was subsequently named valedictorian of  Harvard University. I woke up slightly upset that Stephen Hawking, who happened to be present, lost out to Natty Ice.

The Final Night- Dream 1:

I was trapped inside Weidensall 308 with 550 different versions of Katherine Haley Will, all reciting the Gettysburg Address backwards, while “No Way Out” was played on a loop. I woke up terrified of Kevin Costner.

The Final Night- Dream 2:

Adolf Hitler burnt off his eyebrows and was laughed out of the beer hall. Gun in hand, he proceeded to marry a miniature schnauzer named Fluffles. I woke up very amused.

The Final Night- The Final Dream:

Gettysburg College was transformed into a gelatinous platypus, which, despite its rather wayward figures, proceeded to consume both New York and San Francisco. I woke up relived that I could stop taking NyQuil.  My cold was gone.

To all those who hope to follow in my unequivocally expansive footsteps, I ask that you do so with respect. It’s not every day that Fran Drescher, Adolf Hitler, Katherine Haley Will, Shamu, and an adorable, bruschetta-hating midget are in your bedroom.