hot dog!

… hot dog! …

One should never be telepathic, I’m thinking. Especially not in dreams. Ok, this one was funky. Very condensed, it started out with me coming home after my parents had discovered one of my porn tapes in the VCR. Not that I ever left my porn tapes in the VCR, but still, very odd. Of course in the course of arguing, I pointed out my father’s overflowing Playboy collection, sadly for my mother all I could point out was the “Everything you always wanted to know about sex” book that I’d found in her drawer one day.

Then the dream shifted… I was the president of some very small country. I assume it was post-secession Georgia, ‘cos for some reason I was in Japan, with the band from my high school. The current band that is, not the one I went to school with. Anyway, as I said, telepathy. I somehow knew that the Japanese Minister was conspiring against me and planning to drug my drink. The band kids were with me, possibly on some cultural exchange, and due to some kind of planning we were eating in a very nice cafeteria, glass ceilings, architecture, but still a cafeteria. I realize that my brain must have been trying to intersperse a little Bond into it ‘cos the Minister was bragging about how he’d trained his staff to prepare American delicacies for us, which I told him wasn’t necessary as I’d had our national cuisine changed over to Szechuan, but still it was nice of him to think of us (I had to gain face). Again, I *knew* that my drink (a coke) was drugged, but couldn’t tip the hand just yet. The band kids were politely ordering hamburgers and fries, then one of them ordered a hot dog, which caused a big stink ‘cos no one had ever ordered a hot dog from the kitchen before, so there was much cheering from the staff and in the celebration I stood up and spilled my drink.

About that time my alarm clock went off, and thus endeth the dream. I am so messed up sometimes.

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