Dream: He was a pilot and a bomber, dropping the most powerful weapon the world had ever seen: love-bombs.
Over the enemy’s capital, he unleashes a barrage of winks, crushes, temptations, and first kisses, packed into twenty or so iron eggs. They fall slowly, almost drifting, but explode on impact, hatching sunsets, candle-light dinners, heart-shaped mushroom clouds, and emotional bliss.
Back at the base, the commander-in-chief: “Take a break, gents. We invade in 10 months.”
But then, an infant’s scream. The bomber rolls over. His wife: “Your turn, dear.”
He gets out of bed, realizing he’s already lost the war.