I have to talk about my dream. However, this is not going to become a "dream journal," because published dream journals are lame. This is for posterity and future interpretation.

I am a slave driver. My slaves are all these women that go to Tulane. The holding camp is in the backyard of the house where I grew up. The other slave drivers are all these other guys that I know in real life that I think are jerks. They think I am their buddy or something, but I am highly sympathetic to the slave women and their plight. [Alot happens in this span, but it doesn't make much sense] Therefore, I help the plan a revolt with the leader of the slaves. All goes well and we retreat to a bathroom in some subway station. Not a typical subway bathroom: It is triangular in shape with lush decoration and green marble everywhere. The (now free) women sit me in front of a mirror and tell me I have to shave my beard. I don't understand because I don't have a beard. I look closely and see only a few stray whiskers that I must have missed. I shrug and begin to lather up my face. They say "No!" and make me do it with water only. I pull out my trusty Mach3 and start, but quickly grimace in pain because each stroke of the apparently dull razor cuts my face horribly. My entire face is bloody, but cannot seem to shave a single whisker. I continue, only to find that a new face is revealing itself underneath the old.

I wake before I recognize him.