Wet Dreams

By Raph al Guul

They called it the ship of dreams, and it was. It really was. At least while it was above sea-level. And at night, when everyone was sleeping. To anyone who wasn’t too drunk to have any dreams. Daisy was neither sleeping nor drunk, no; she was currently shagging some dude she met two days ago, when she had a crazy fit and tried to fling herself off the back of said ship of dreams into the Atlantic ocean. His name was John or Jim, or something generic, and he had said some nice things to her that night. Daisy had low standards because no one ever said anything nice to her, so of course she immediately climbed back over the railing. Well, at least she tried, but she was one hell of a clumsy girl. John or Jim didn’t mind, though, because she was pretty hot. So he helped her fail her initial goal of finding the bottom of the ocean and immediately got accused of attempted rape afterwards by a bunch of people who thought that the prime directive of any rapist was to take off his shoes. After that misunderstanding was inadvertently cleared up, John or Jim – look, let s call him Frank for short – was left on the deck with two cigarettes (one of which he had been allowed to take, the other he just sort of took and no one said anything).

You probably already know how the story goes from there. Frank started stalking Daisy around the ship, trying to get her to do inappropriate stuff (like, uhm, spitting in public). Eventually they found themselves alone in Daisy’s cabin and she showed him her tits. Since Frank didn’t have a camera phone, he quickly sat down and captured the moment in a drawing. He figured that was safer, too, considering the poor privacy standards of some phone manufacturers (little did he know that this risqué drawing would later be shown on national television). After that, they ran away because a bad guy with a ridiculous name and a generic backstory came to look for Daisy. Naturally, they ran down to the cargo hold because that’s a place where it is generally very easy to break into and hide from disgruntled henchmen and crew members. They found some guy’s car and decided to be jerks and have sex on the leather of the back seat. When they realized that their musk wasn’t quite yet equally distributed all over the car, they tried to touch every inch of the vehicle s inside, smearing their sweat against the seats, the armatures, even the windows – okay, you get the point; that car was basically a private booth in a strip club now.

With suspiciously unrealistic timing they left the car and the cargo hold right before all the generic bad guys caught up with them. The two lookouts up in the crow’s nest looked down, as if to make a semantic point, and saw the two exit through some nondescript door onto the forward deck below them. Of course, that split second of inattentiveness, combined with a few raunchy remarks on part of the two seamen, was enough for them to completely drop the ball on a gigantic-fucking-iceberg that had been right-fucking-there-all-this-time. Sure, they still made the call to the bridge, and that still resulted in an excessively slow turn to starboard, but it just all goes to show that you shouldn’t look at horny tweens and comment on their love-life about which you know literally nothing at all. Because the ship of dreams took a full broadside of ice and started tilting forward a little bit. Luckily, all the dreamers had no clue and just thought it was really darn cool that they could play ice-soccer on the deck at midnight. Daisy and Frank had noticed the rumble, but weren’t schooled in interpreting a rumbling ship passing by a giant heap of ice that towers over the entire vessel – that sort of thing required a nautical degree.

At this point it got a little chaotic. First, the crew was told to bring out the passengers in life preservers. With remarks about being paying customers and sick of drills, the spoiled first class travelers started funneling out the narrow passages onto the boat deck, while the lowly steerage folks, who were pretty much all Irish, which is why this was not exclusively classist, but also racist, only got to line up behind barred exits. Officers were positioned close to the life-boats that were being lowered for boarding, yelling their usual sexist and ageist women-and-children-first slogans. The whole thing was a complete charade of offensive, politically incorrect behavior, though, because pretty much everyone knew that dreams were unsinkable and therefore they were safe on this particular ship. That and the fact that there were not enough life-boats anyway, but the first reason was clearly a lot more important to everybody. Daisy, being holder of a first class ticket and a woman at the same time – imagine the odds – got to board one of the boats. However, as has been established in the very beginning, she had a total death-wish and therefore climbed back onto the sinking ship half-way through the process of lowering the boat, almost fulfilling her self-destructive desire by simply falling to her death right there. Unfortunately for her, though, she did survive the dismount and went to find her holiday fling who had been left behind a few decks above.

When they reunited, Frank led her to where they had first met, partly because he thought it romantic, but also because everything else had been dowsed in stinky sea water by now. And so they held on to the railing at the stern and watched other people around them act out potential ways for them to die in this situation. When the last bit of dreamship was about to be submerged, Frank stated the obvious and told Daisy to take a deep breath and swim for the surface. While this remark may seem redundant in any other situation, we should bear in mind Daisy s suicidal tendencies – Frank most likely feared that since his hot new conquest didn’t really care to survive all that much, she might not try unless he told her to. They both made it to the surface alive, but this was only for the sake of a new dramatic conflict: there was a wooden floaty-thingie to which Daisy clung, but when Frank tried to also mount it, they both realized that they’d have to make a bit of an effort to make this thing carry them both. Since they were not willing to do that, it became clear that one of them would have to die. Oddly, Frank decided that instead of the clearly suicidal and kind of deranged hottie, he’d take the bullet on this one.

And then he died.

Daisy did not notice, though, because she was taking a nap at the time and only woke up in time to call the shipless crew of the ship of dreams to come and get her cold ass out of the water. The lesson, of course, is that you can be as self-destructive and suicidal as you like, the odds of your survival are solely decided by whether or not you are rich. Also, dreams may not have actually been THAT relevant to this ship after all.

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