Laughing in My Sleep - WARNING: Contains graphic dialogue that may be considered offensive to some.

I have been told by a few people that I often laugh in my sleep. Now, I seldom remember what I was dreaming that was funny enough to make me sleep-laugh; usually the sound of my own laughter startles me awake and I immediately cannot remember what the dream was. Occassionally, however, I do recall the funny images. Such was the case last night.
First, I should explain this: Yesterday, Raychel and I had an ongoing text conversation that was so funny it had me laughing until tears were rolling down my face. It was, without revealing more than I should, a conversation describing smells so horrific that the most insane images and digusting thoughts were the only way to explain it. I told her that there was a smell that permeated a room and when I opened the door, it engulfed my nose; it was like "a decomposing moose that had been burned in a concentration camp; got up and vomited stale Ragu, then cleaned it up with bile and urine, then pulled out his own teeth that had chewed themselves...." You get the picture. Raychel followed that with another very descriptive scenario of a smell she had encountered that was even more unconscionable, and too vulgar to repeat here. It was like performance art - coming up with the most vile, digusting images we could invent.
So, last night I woke myself up laughing, and I remember that the dream was basically the images of the things we had described, and more. This time, the decomposing cartoon moose was so offended by his own smell that he gouged out his own eyes and put them back in backwards with the optic nerves hanging out and then proceeded to peel off his own rotting nose.
Now, before you think I am just a nasty, disgusting person with an awful sense of humor, you have to realize that these kinds of thoughts take effort...they don't just reel off my blank mind without some serious brain fuel burning. Or, as I said, they come through a dream, which is outside of my control. I can't help it that I happen to just be a very descriptive relator of ideas. It's the same characteristic that makes my "nice" writing so unique. When you read what I've written about "the soft green undulation of the broad leaves of an untended soybean field" in the south, or "the smell of tea olive and magnolia heightening summer passion" or the way "the sound of a screen door slamming in the distance makes my heart leap, for I know I am close to home, the whitewashed clapboard home of my mothers and grandmothers. Women of stature in pressed linen with work-worn hands softened by Gardenia Water and motherhood; hands that caress, shuck, scrub, write and steady a fine china teacup all in one day..." remember that the same mind that comes up with decomposing moose images, comes up with "anemic moon" and the sea "marking time with it's motion."