Dream Log: Kissinger’s grave

Last night, I had the most vivid dream. I cannot let it go from my head, so I decided to write a dream log and document it.

It is the 29th of May 2023, and to the surprise of everyone Henry Kissinger has died just a few days after his 100th birthday. The New York Times runs a column about how he was the greatest diplomat to ever exist while politicians talk about his impact on the global society in vague words to avoid outrage but still respect the guy’s death. Meanwhile, I think about how fitting it would be to piss on his grave. Keeping that in mind, I begin my trip to the US Consulate in Delhi.

“What do y’all need a Visa for?” asked the guy in a big cowboy hat as he puffed on an absurdly large cigar.

“Well sir, I’m going to visit Kissinger’s grave. I was a big fan.”

The guy doesn’t know my true intentions and it is better that way, who knows what would have happened to me if I announced my true intentions. Surprisingly my Visa comes in quick despite me being brown, and I board my plane. Kissinger doesn’t know what’s going to hit his grave. This is an in and out job, no time to see the sites.

The excitement is unpalatable, I have been drinking multiple bottles of water on the plane and I can’t hold it in anymore. The pressure in the balls is building up to the point where I may have to remove a little now. No I can’t do that to my Bengali bros, his grave will feel the full might and pressure of my piss machine. Nothing less. I quickly get off the plane and book an uber straight to his grave. I finally see it, there are still people there, this may be hard. I quickly pay the guy but refuse to add a tip (who the fuck does that), and jump out. It’s a miracle I have held it in for so long. There is a crowd there, this may be awkward. Regardless, I put those thoughts out of my head, stand in front of his grave, unzip my pants and release a torrent of yellow liquid. The fury of my piss stream is unmatched to anything I have ever seen before, I channel it quickly on the headstone and yell out “This is for Bangladesh you fuck.” People start applauding me and another guy joins in. And then another and another. By now the Grave is overflowing with piss. The stone is starting to erode (I think I need to get my balls checked). Everyone starts clapping as the souls of millions slowly start rising from the morbid man’s wretched tombstone. Tears of joy escape my eyes.

As my mighty pisser starts overheating, I look up to the sky and then back at his grave and think “Fuck you Kissinger.” Then the serenity is ruined as I am shot multiple times in the leg by an American cop. The crowd yells out NO and tackles him to the ground as I begin to make my escape. I try to order an Uber but nobody accepts my request, that tipless fuck must have given me a bad rating. I had given up all hope and was preparing myself for a life in American prison until a black Mercedes pulls up. “Get in” says a man with a raspy voice, baffled and confused I ask who he was. He replies in a cool tone “Friends”

He drives me to the Indian embassy. As I enter everybody starts clapping, they have all heard of the infamous grave pisser by now. Somebody posted the video online and I am being celebrated as a national hero. Soon, the FBI surrounds the embassy and demands my release or they will sanction India for harboring piss terrorists. But the MEA knows this is a bluff, they know they need us to combat China and they wouldn’t sacrifice it for an ordinary pisser like myself.

Soon a special detachment of the RAW and Paratroopers successfully extract me from the embassy onto a covert airfield and take me back to India. As I leave the airport the media starts surrounding me and dozens of people throw flowers at me as I enter my Z+ Level Security entourage (threats have been made on my life so the government has given me protection). They drive me to the Rashtrapati Bhavan where I am greeted by the Indian cabinet. Jaishankar walks up to me and asks me to marry his daughter. Modi hugs me and tells me that I have done my nation a great service. Soon my name is called and I am given the Bharat Ratna (India’s highest civilian honor) by the President.

I reach home and go to bed knowing that I have done my duty.

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