I arrived at work at an un-Godly hour one morning to finish an article due first thing.  I dove right into the work, writing for thirty minutes straight before fueling up with some high-powered java.  That’s when all the Fathead wall graphics in my office came alive.  Since I work in the marketing department of Fathead.com, I’m talking an army of wall graphics here.

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David Ortiz swung his heavy bat back and forth, as if limbering up for the heat of Mariano Riviera’s fastball to come screaming across the plate before him.  Spiderman leapt from his perch on a wall-mounted television, nimbly crossing the office in a heartbeat before coming to rest (hanging upside down from the ceiling, how else?) before Maria Sharapova.  Poised in mid-backhand and not expecting Spidey’s trademark kiss, her racket sliced through his web like a bad review through my ego – sending the super hero  straight to the floor.  Undeterred, Spiderman stood to cast his web elsewhere, determined to find a willing female for the elusive upside down kiss.

 

On the other side of the office, Brett Farvre and Tony Romo tossed the pigskin around with the casual air of friends at a Saturday afternoon pick-up game.  Kobe and Lebron started a slam-dunk competition with Chewbacca, who made a better floor mop than aerial acrobat.  Despite his superior height and strength, I learned grace and coordination don’t come naturally to Wookies.  They’re also copious shedders.  By the end of the competition, the hard wood floor beneath the hoop was carpeted in thick, brown Wookie wool.

 

I felt the light tap on my shoulder of someone or something trying to get my attention.  Not this morning.  Certainly not when Hannah Montana was standing on a nearby desk giving an impromptu, a cappella concert.  Waving their arms, singing along as if reliving their adolescence were Mohammad Ali, Henrik Zetterberg, Dale Earnhardt Junior and Captain Jack Sparrow.  Upon closer inspection, I saw Lightning McQueen parked beside the spontaneous show revving his engine and honking to the rhythms of Hannah’s song.

 

Impossibly surreal, the scene in the cubicle next to me captured my attention.  As if they were in a singles bar and all of this was perfectly natural, David Beckham and Darth Vader competed for the attention of Marissa Miller.  Determined to outsmart his adversary, Vader tossed a hacky sack at Beckham, who immediately began showing off for Miller.  While he bounced the hack from knee to toe to ankle, Ryan Sheckler, Chad Reed and Triple H joined in and soon a bona-fide hack circle was formed.  Satisfied that his competition was otherwise occupied, Darth Vader turned back to Marissa Miller only to find her attention usurped by Tom Brady.  In a fit of rage, Vader brandished his light saber.  The tapping on my shoulder continued.

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Little did Vader know, but Brady had a light saber of his own – and a REAL BIG secret.  The name Tom Brady, you must have guessed by now, is only a secret identity.  The star quarterback has very real superpowers of his own.  As they parried, thrust and tumbled around the office, slicing cubicles in half and sending employees and Fatheads scrambling for cover, Homer Simpson snuck from desk to desk stealing the sweets from everyone’s lunches.   Stewie Griffin slowly stalked R2-D2 back to the kitchen.  Oblivious to the action or potentially on a break, Wolverine lazily trimmed the office topiary with his adamantium claws.  Finally, Batman burst through the window with his usual aplomb and put the kibosh on the light saber battle.  Again, I became aware of the incessant tapping on my shoulder and spun around to confront the tapper.

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It was my boss.  At the sight of him, I practically leapt out of my seat.  I had been sleeping at my desk.  Now, I  was wide-awake and officially past my deadline.  Looking around for help (can Superman write super fast?), I was disappointed to see that reality had returned to the office and the Fatheads were all back to their original positions on the walls.  After begging for twenty more minutes to finish my article, I made a beeline for the coffee.  Still somewhat shaken by my dream, I had to do a double take when I passed Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, Ana Paula Araujo.  I could swear she winked at me.

 

Need material for your own dreams?  Check out the wall graphics of fan-favorite athletes, super heroes and entertainment icons at www.Fathead.com.  One word of advice: never turn your back on a Fathead!