In a dream, last night...

To tell TBOGL about the dream I had last night, I'm going to have to leave out some of the disgusting details, I think - specifically pertaining to a diseased prostitute. I feel as if I've said too much already.
There's not much you can do about the contents of your dreams.
I often have dreams where I'm with a woman who's a composite of several of the women I've been with in my life. I was with her last night. We rode, in a yellow Mustang convertible, to a garage. She was driving. We were not a couple anymore, but more like friends. When we got to the garage, she went into the office and spoke to the owner about why her husband (Charley?) wasn't at work. Apparently, he worked at the garage. It seemed as if maybe they were on the verge of breaking up and he was generally throwing his life away, as men are wont to do under such circumstances.
I was lying on the garage floor, propped up on my elbows, waiting for the composite woman, when I noticed the big roll-up doors were going down. They were closing early because of some sort of storm. I looked out. The sky was dark and lightning flashed.
We left and went to a motel. Oprah was on the TV. Her guest was some black guy trying to set a sexual record. He came out on stage, naked, having sex with a naked woman, who had her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. They pooched thusly as he ran across the stage, pushing a grand piano in the process. (I know, it almost sounds like a set-up for "The Aristocrats.")
The composite woman somehow procured a prostitute for a friend of mine who had magically appeared in the motel room. I don't know who my friend was. He was a vague entity. The prostitute was sick and disgusting. The women went into the bathroom, and without getting into too many vile details, the prostitute left a bathtub full of bloody water, which seemed to set off a catastrophic chain of events, once the plug was pulled and it flowed down the drain. Step by step, domino-like, the earth, life, existence itself began to erode and extinguish - until it reached its lowest level, its basest form - no, not atomic, but rock. At the core of our world's actuality are rock people. I was there. I saw them. Their leader was a rock priest. They were worried - and rightly so - for they realized that they were the last defense against annihilation. Then, in what was an ominous indication of the degeneration of the situation, the rock god appeared. He was humongous and spoke in a deep, weary voice. He asked for "The Pencil." Was he going to write something? An antidote to the ghastly ills plaguing Existence? The priest reverently removed "The Pencil" from a rocky shelf. When he did, a pebble fell, then another, and another, until a gigantic mountain crumbled - destroying the rock people and their god.
I stood, in the distance, against the yellow Mustang. There was nothing now but a rocky, desert landscape. Dry, dusty and barren. I slid under the wheel and drove off.