This is a real dream I had a few years ago:
In the dream, I was standing in a long line of guys in their underwear, inside a late 19th century wooden building that was painted a mud green on the walls. After a while, I realized it was an induction center for the British Army. Suddenly I was at a window, and the man at the window yelled, "Hold out your arms!" So I held out my arms. "Shirt!" he yelled. "Shirt!" I replied. And he put a mud green uniform shirt, neatly folded onto my outstretched arms.
"Next Window!" he yelled.
So I went to the next window. "Hold out your arms!" yelled the man at the window. So I did. "Boots!" he yelled. "Boots!" I replied. And he put a pair of new combat boots onto the shirt. "Next Window!" he yelled.
I went to the next window and held out my arms, knowing the drill now. "Greatcoat!" said the man, I did the usual reply, and he slipped a mud green trench coat under the boots. "Next Window!"
I got to the next window, arms stretched out with the stuff on them, and the man yelled, "Helmet, stockings and blouse!" And he put a tin hat, socks and service jacked kind of thing on my pile.
When I got to the next window with this pile of stuff, the guy yelled, "Kilt!" and put a kilt onto the pile. I yelled, "Kilt??" It dawned on me that I was going to be in a Scottish regiment. "Next window!" he yelled.
Holding out my arms, the man yelled, "Bean Bag Underpants!!" "Bean Bag Underpants!" I yelled back. And he dropped this -- large thing -- onto the pile.
Next thing you know, I'm in France in WWI, and I hear the guns firing in the distance, and I'm marching along with the rest of the soldiers, and you hear the muffled sounds of big guns, and small arms, but in our line of men you hear this relatively loud "crunch, croosh, crunch" of hundreds of men in bean bag underpants marching along, the sound coming through under the men's kilts and greatcoats, and you hear the sergeants barking out orders, etc.
At some point, we stop to eat. And it's one of those nights that the moon lights up the clouds, and you can see very well. Off in the distance there's the flash of cannons, but the sound is still muffled. Still, the sky lights up every time one of the cannons goes off.
For some reason, I'm not terrified.
I'm sitting in front of a fire with the other men, and I realize that in fact, the underpants under the kilt make a very comfy little bean bag chair when you have to sit on the ground! And I'm feeling quite good about this. I'm smiling in the dream.
And the next thing I know, one of the sergeants sits down next to me, takes a big swig of whisky, and says, "Well, what do ye think of yer bean bag underpants now, laddie?"
It was an incredibly vivid dream, and so bizarre that I woke up laughing hysterically.
