An actual dream I had last night.

In Iraq, the secret plan for cultural domination is to have some massive military operation to freak people out sexually. There's a big building in this town in Iraq. Solders, like me, who are willing to go the extra mile for our country are brought in to fight on the front lines. Apparently, randy Iraqis are also being recruited to help loosen up square American troopers. Someone's got a plan for a revolution.

I arrive and climb up many flights of stairs. There are screening stations, control desks (everything is taped and monitored) and couches all along one side of the building. The other side has been divided into small rooms. My control desk operator (the peson who checks me in and out, and watches what goes on in the room) is Molly's fasionist friend Caramia. I'd heard before that I would be working with her -- we have some kind of prior relationship -- and there's a little joking flirtation about what someone might mistake "working together" to mean in this context.

So the place is pretty busy. There are uptight girls coming out of the room kind of freaked out. Stereotypical schoolgirl porno dialogue. "His *thing* was all hard, and then it squirted..." And there are some tall, lanky, confidant-looking arab women; sophisticated types; walking out of rooms with an air of satisfaction, soon to be followed by nervously grinning GIs from the Bible Belt.

The dream shifts before I see any action. A marketplace in the same town. Someone asking for directions to a steakhouse. Some guy telling me about back in the '80s when there was a budding surfing industry in Iraq. The scenery looks like the Playa, feels like a very run-down version of Miami.

Would that this were true. We can all dream, can't we?