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I was in a store, which as usual was the size of a small town. For once there weren't any cars driving around inside at least. There was, however, an escalator a mile long. When I got off the escalator, I was in the blue jeans section and had a brilliant idea: a slogan to go on blue jean butts! It was the greatest slogan ever! It was going to make my fortune! I would have it made!
So I asked Wendy & Lisa. Younger readers or anybody not afflicted with "Jeopardy!" memory can be forgiven for not knowing that they played with Prince in The Revolution before going, uh, soli. In real life, I have no recollection which one's Wendy and which one's Lisa. In the dream, Wendy was the guitar player and Lisa-- um, I sort of substituted the character from "Saved by the Bell." At this point, my dream featured narration. (Hey, I spare no expense in my sleep.) The narrator detailed Wendy & Lisa's recent credits, some but not all overlapping. One (in my sleep) is in the house band on "American Idol"--do they actually have a house band on "American Idol"? And there were a bunch of fictitious movies. Wendy, or anyway the guitar player, was stuck in time at the "Kiss" video; then again, so am I in so many ways. She liked the slogan; Lisa, not so much.
The slogan? All the news that's fit to print is written on my butt. Yeah, I was disappointed, too. In fact, awake me was actively pissed off, because in the dream I was totally convinced that this was the route to wealth and fame. Awake, I can easily see that a) it wouldn't fit on most people's butts; b) anybody with a butt it would fit on wouldn't likely want to call attention to it by writing on it; c) nobody puts writing on jean butts but on sweats; d) the New York Times would sue; and e) it's a crappy slogan to begin with. But it was kind of cool when it was going on, and anyway, how often do you have a silly-ass dream, literally?
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