Trevor Booker knew he was dreaming. In real life, he didn’t have the ability to just fly through the air like a bird. Armed with the knowledge that his surroundings were entirely constructed from his own thoughts and hidden desires, he attempted to summon a naked woman into the dream for his enjoyment. The attempt failed, so he consented to simply explore the new sensation of flight. It was a lot like dunking, he decided, except he could stay up in the air as long as he wanted. That was the main difference.
As he flew over fields and treetops, Trevor saw a figure on the ground beckoning him. Trevor was too high up to discern any more details, but he figured that since he was in a dream, whatever this person had to say was likely to be either extremely important or extremely wise. Slowly lowering himself to the ground through pure force of thought, he found himself standing on a low hilltop decorated with tiny flowers of every imaginable color. Standing next to him was somebody that Trevor vaguely recognized from his youth: professional wrestler Booker T.
“I guess you’re in my dream since my name is T Booker and you’re Booker T,” Trevor said.
“That’s right,” Booker T replied. “I was just having a great time flying around and stuff and then my dream decided that I had to stand here and try to get your attention. All my attempts to insert big-booty chicks into this dream have been failures.”
“Maybe with our forces combined we can pull it off,” Trevor suggested. Both men developed intense looks of concentration on their faces as they each imagined a woman with an enormous rear end, trying to will her into existence.
“It’s not working,” Booker T said. “And I feel like I have to argue semantics with you. This is not your dream. This is my dream.”
Trevor looked around. “No, I”m pretty sure it’s my dream. I was here first.”
“So you’re saying that you put all these flowers here? That was your choice? Because I’m a gardening enthusiast in my waking life, so these are definitely my flowers,” Booker T argued, pointing at the multitude of brightly-colored flowers which surrounded them.
“Yeah, but that river made out of Grape Fanta over there is mine,” Trevor said, pointing to the distance, where a purple-hued stream was flowing through a forest. “I love Grape Fanta. When I’m done talking with you I think I’ll go over there and stick my head in it.”
“Maybe our dreamscapes have merged because we were destined to be bros,” Booker T conceded. “Anyway, we have to get down to business. I feel like I’m supposed to give you some wisdom since I’m the five time, five time, five time WCW champion, and you’ve yet to win a championship.”
“You also won the tag-team title with Goldust,” Trevor pointed out.
Booker T nodded and smiled. “I did that too. That’s like the equivalent of making it to the playoffs, which you did once if I remember correctly. But we have to hurry up, because dreams can end really suddenly.”
Sitting down cross-legged on the ground, Trevor said, “Okay. Bestow upon me your championship wisdom so that I may internalize your lessons and one day become a champion myself.”
Booker T sat down across from Trevor. “I just realized that my wisdom might not be applicable to your situation. I won all my championships because the outcomes of the matches were predetermined. I imagine that it works somewhat differently in the NBA.”
Trevor’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah. In the NBA you actually have to be on a good team, and even if you’re on a good team, you could still lose. Rarely, if ever, does an entire playoff series get rigged. It would take a lot of rigging for the Jazz to win five championships.”
Booker T looked disappointed. “I could tell you about the value of hard work and stuff.”
Trevor stood up. “I already know about that. I’m in the NBA, after all. You don’t get to be in the NBA for no reason unless you’re like Chuck Nevitt or something.”
“I guess this dream is just about over then,” Booker T said sadly. “It was cool being dream-bros and sharing my dream with you. If you hurry up you might be able to make it to your Fanta river before it disappears and you wake up.”
Looking longingly at the burbling purple river which popped and cracked with carbonation, Trevor knew that it was too far away. If he was lucky, the river would reappear in a dream at a later date. Maybe Booker T would be there to share it with him. That thought made him happy. “We might not have achieved much here, but it was a blast,” he said, holding out his fist for a brofist.
Booker T bumped his fist against Trevor’s, and that exact instant, everything went black.
—
Trevor awoke to an unfamiliar sensation on his stomach. Groggily, he lifted off the covers.
Around his waist was a WCW championship belt.
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