So last night, I dreamed that I had been trying to sleep outside in some North Hollywood park for some reason, and maybe about 4am or so, with the sun coming up, I gave up and figured I’d better head home and call in to work to let ’em know I wouldn’t be coming in.
I walked down Moorpark street in my pajamas trying to make my way back to Burbank (even though I don’t live there anymore), and then found myself in an underground parking garage of a large mall in Universal City.
I thought about catching a bus, but then I looked up the escalator and saw Donald Trump heading my way.
So, I went up the escalator and figured I’d meet the guy, regardless of mine or anyone else’s politics.
I introduced myself and shook his hand, still in my pajamas.
“You look really tired,” he said.
“Well, I’ve been up all night sleeping in the park, gotta get home,” I said.
He laughed and said “I hope you have a pitcher of Margaritas waiting for you there.”
I shook my head no, and then he added. “Watch, now they’ll talk about how I’m drinking pitchers of margaritas.”
“No,” I said. “I know you don’t drink at all.” (And this is true, if you’re curious.)
And then Trump added an observation that has had me pondering all day:
He began “You know when someone puts out a tray of muffins to sell, they always take the best tasting muffin and put it up front, to draw you in. But you know, it’s the best muffin and it’s only there up front to make you buy the others which are inferior. So when you think about it, that muffin is a total lie, a total lie.”
The dream breaks up after that, I woke up chuckling over the muffin speech… but the more I think about it, the deeper it gets.
It’s like a Zen muffin koan.
Avoid the muffin that LIES.
Now, I’ve had some psychic dreams before – I’ve written about them and worked them into the plots of my Wagstaff detective books – so now I’m hoping that Trump tweets something about muffins that tell lies. The more I think about it, it’d be on brand.
I also remember the distinct feeling during my dream that Trump didn’t give off a “Presidential vibe” while I listened to him discuss the muffins. Granted, I’ve never actually met a President. The closest I came was shaking hands with a Presidential candidate, Senator Frank Church, back in 1976 when he appeared at a discount store in Warwick, RI… very fitting for a discount candidate, but it was nonetheless cool to go when I was a kid.
And biggest-loser-in-history Walter Mondale attended my college graduation, and I walked by him and saw how much weight he’d put on since the previous November. He definitely drowned his sorrows in donuts. Or muffins, perhaps, who knows? I didn’t meet or talk to the guy.
But the deeper meaning of my dream is pretty clear to me, at least: when you go into the voting booth, avoid the muffin that lies.
Or just try the chocolate muffins from Costco. They’re pretty damn good, liars or not.
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