(Page 1 of 3) Infomercial by Tim BoucherSUMMARY: Dreams and television advertising don't mix"Ungh... could you turn off the tv? Jesus..." Jason rolled over, groaning.
But the tv wasn't on. Furthermore, there wasn't anybody in bed next to him to accommodate his request. Jason opened his eyes, slowly becoming aware of both these facts. It had been over a month since Sharon moved out, but the reality of it hadn't completely taken hold in him yet.
He propped himself up on his elbows and peered across the darkened room in the direction of the tv. It sat happily asleep on top of his dresser. What the hell was that dream, then? Jason wondered, lowering himself back onto the pillow. Something about unbelievable real estate money-making opportunities... and he seemed to remember midgets wearing business suits.
Over the past month, Jason had gotten into the habit of falling asleep with the tv on. Sort of to keep him company, although he didn't like admitting that. He had some excuse he told himself instead, about how it filled the bedroom with soft blue flickering light, and a low murmur, almost like the sound of an electronic brook. And each night he'd let it wash over him, as he drifted off into sleep.
He had to be careful to set the off-timer though. Or else he'd wake up in the middle of the night sweaty and angry, having been bombarded with all kinds of weird tv-induced dreams. From his sleeping body, his mind had no trouble incorporating sensory input into his dreams. He expected it was probably some kind of evolutionary throwback to when proto-hominids slept in the open jungle and had to remain alert in case of predators. But all it meant for him now was that he'd end up trapped in these horribly unpleasant dreamscapes, where strange dire men hawked cookware and arcane exercise devices. And eternally horny women pleaded endlessly with him to call an 800 number to alleviate their lonely naughty desires.
The tv had clicked itself off hours ago, though. Like it did every night, at 1:30am. Jason looked at his clock, 4:19am. He flopped onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow, trying to ignore the creeping despair of having to be awake in less than three hours to get ready for work. He had to just relax now, or else he'd never fall back asleep. Goddamn tv dreams, he thought to himself. It was better than dreaming of the office though, which he sometimes did. Or of Sharon. He let out a muffled sigh.
Jason immediately found himself seated dead center of a demographically diverse audience, excitedly witnessing a demonstration of the latest in hair removal technology. An extremely hairy man sat on a stool with his shirt off and his back to the audience. An ageless woman in blue dress slacks stood off to his side, pointing some sort of electronic wand at him. It looked like one of those handheld metal detectors they use on you at the airport. She pressed a button which set the thing whirring, smiled in a cold practiced way, and waved it over a portion of the man's shoulder. A viewscreen off to the side of the stage showed a closeup of the hair promptly falling out. The woman snapped off the wand, and brushed away the hair with her hand.
| 
(4 ratings)