the mother of all dreams

 when i was sixteen years old my father bought the american dream home for dinner. he was a regal looking gent in a tux with a warm smile and a glint in his eye. my father said that the american dream was his partner and he would be staying with us. after that life was never the same. my father’s business grew in leaps and bounds. soon he was running a business empire with offices in most parts of india and the gulf. we moved into a huge mansion with many servants around to do your every bidding. life was one big party. my mother took to wearing fancy designer clothes and speaking english. she was a very fair, curvaceous woman with big tits. i remember the tits because at all the parties she would wear low cut blouses and serve the guests. once i caught her in the bedroom buck naked with her ass held up like a trophy. the american dream had his tongue stuck up her pussy. jesus! it blew me. i am sure my father knew about all the things she was up to. maybe he put her on to it. she wasn’t complaining for sure. made business sense. the american dream also took me under his mantle and taught me the ways of the world. most nights he would sneak into my bedroom and stick his big dick up my ass. i remember the time i tried to poison the american dream. i had finished college and my father was keen on inducting me into his business. i had deceit, guile, sham and pretence as my constant companions presided over by the american dream. i was meant to go far in business. i didn’t want any of it and the only way out was to do away with the american dream. one night i sneaked into his room and stuck a kitchen knife in his throat. he jumped up screaming with blood shooting out in all directions. suddenly he stopped and looked me in the eye. “ you can’t kill me.” he said with a smile and fell down dead. my mother was inconsolable. she screamed and shouted and cursed me for what i had done. “ you killed the dream” she screamed,” what will become of us now!”   you are free now mom.” i told her,” no more compulsive shopping, no more impulsive shopping, no more nips and tucks, face-lifts, manicures, pedicures, facials and waxing, no more chemicals in your hair and face and food and drink, look ma, now you don’t have to spray your hair and douse yourself in perfumes and wear fancy clothes and go partying, you don’t have to flash your tits and shake your ass at every passing stranger, think about it, you don’t have to keep up with the joneses and drive around in fancy cars. you are free now! now you can be yourself and discover who you really are under all that facial goop, now you can feel your heart beat under all that silicon, now you can stop by to smell the roses, feel the wind blowing through your hair, watch the sun going down. i have killed the dream mother and we are free!” but my words fell on deaf ears. there was no way i could exorcise the dream out off her system. my father was quite cool about it. maybe he knew something i didn’t. we buried the american dream in the backyard in the middle of the night. in the morning he was back. he was sitting in the living room with a can of coke in his hand. “ good morning” he said, when he saw me,” aren’t you happy to see me?” i was shocked and scared. he got up and came close to me. i could see the amusement in his eyes. “ you can’t kill me kiddo. the whole world worships at my altar. without me around there would be no tv, no advertising, no game shows, no credit cards, no pepsi, no coke, no starbucks, no mcdonalds, no nike, no adidas, no hollywood, no disneyland! i fill the emptiness in people. i give them a reason to live, to shop and shop and shop! can you imagine a life without shopping?” my mother was happy to see him back. together arm in arm they got into the car and drove down to the mall  for a bit of shopping. I went down to meet richard brautigan. he was sitting in a rocking chair feeling completely pissed off. he had a gun in his hand which once in a while he thrust into his mouth. the trout fishing in america shortly had left him high and dry. i bought him a beer and sat at his feet. “today, i let a dream walk away” i told him. he took a swig from the can of beer. “if you let the dreams live” he said,” they turn into nightmares, such is the nature of the beast. look at the american dream, its turned into a nightmare. there are two nightmares living with me right now.” i said i once knew a nightmare that was pretty smart but got run over by a truck. it was getting pretty cold outside so we went in and got the fire going. the nightmares were sitting there watching our every move. one was a pretty mean and ornery looking customer with a tattoo on his arm and the other was a young nightmare with her breasts spilling out all over the place. after some time, the nightmares got up and walked off together into the bedroom to make love and give each other a hard time.