So, here they are, from the home office in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, the top ten reasons why women like men who work with their hands…

Just kidding. It’s only me. I bet you thought I was really David Letterman for a minute there, though, didn’t you? Sure.

I had a dream the other night (Oooh, alert the media, wake up the President, call an emrgency meeting). OK, just keep in mind that I wouldn’t be telling you about if I didn’t think it meant something.

Anyway, it was a pretty wild dream, and it didn’t even have anything to do with Elle MacPherson and a hot tub filled with strawberry jello. That was last week.

In this dream, I was Bachelor #3 on The Dating Game. Bachelors #1 and #2 were Adolph Hitler and Manuel Noriega, respectively. The entire audience was dressed in black, like they were all going to a funeral, the female contestant was the girl of my dreams (whoever she may be), and the hostess of the show was my second grade teacher, Sister Luanne.

First question: What is your favorite musical instrument and why?

Hitler said the electric guitar because it really kicks ass. Noriega just said, “No comprendo.”

Now it’s my turn. The pressure’s on. I’m sweating by the bucket. Then my mom stands up in the middle of the audience and yells, “You better not screw this up, young man!” Then everything’s dead quiet, like Wrigley Field on Christmas Day. I can’t think of anything great to say, so I just use the same answer I always use when somebody asks me that question:

“I like the tuba, just because it’s interesting to look at.”

The girl of my dreams says she’s already knows who she wants. “Yes!” I think to myself. Then the dream takes a dive into Nightmare Land. She chooses Hitler. AHHH! As a consolation prize, Noriega gets a year’s supply of Clearasil. Sister Luanne says I get nothing because I’m Satan’s child.

Then everybody from the audience comes down to the main floor, where this casket just appeared. I can’t see what’s in it from where I am, so I start walking toward it. It takes about a day to get there. On the way, I pass Holy Name Cathedral, where the girl of my dreams is marrying Adolph Hitler. Everybody I know from college is outside the church. They’re all waiting to get married. Finally, I get to the casket. I’m in it! (Big surprise, eh) Then somebody goes, “You know, he was single when he died.” Everybody starts bawling. Then I woke up.

It seems like everybody’s getting married so young these days. The last time I checked, there was no law that said you had to know who you were marrying before your college graduation. I mean, come on now. You can’t want babies already. Babies smell bad, they’re lousy drivers, and they can’t hold their liquor. Don’t get me wrong. They’re cute and they make nice conversation pieces, but I think it’s something I’ll look into down the road a bit.

I urge you to not live life like the main purpose of college is to get married. Life is not a package that must be neatly wrapped before you leave college. Live it up while it’s still socially acceptable.

The preceding masterpiece is dedicated to Liz Eisenmenger. Today is her 22nd birthday and putting her name in the paper will save me a couple of bucks.