In which I relate a recent dream.

A few nights ago, I had an odd dream. It certainly wasn’t the oddest dream I’ve ever had, and it wasn’t as odd as most of these – which are fantastic, by the way – but I still woke up saying “what the fuck was that?”

picture is unrelated

Yeah. What the fuck was that?

Anyway. I dreamt that Chelsea Clinton – and why on earth her, of all people, I have no idea – at the age of five, either died, faked her own death, or had her death faked for her. Then, in her early twenties – in a Martin Guerre move – she, or somebody pretending to be her, came back. And that was that. I think that the dream ended with the twenty-something-Chelsea angrily telling the five-year-old-Chelsea that she was going to just have to suck it up and fake her own death already – but it’s possible it was a heated discussion between the twenty-something-Chelsea and the twenty-something-impostor-Chelsea.

So. Not sure what that was about.

Oh, and if any Secret Service agents read this: I’m a nice guy, really. I don’t want anybody to die. Let’s have a cup of coffee or something and talk this out.


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