Chat
01-17-2021, 01:10 AM
2021-Jan-11 – Turkey Dinner
My wife and I were working at the pharmacy, at dusk.
Nancy Pelosi came in. “I would like to order a turkey dinner banquet,” she said, “with all the side dishes. It is to be served on the second floor of the Magic Shop downtown. Can you do it?”
I hesitated because Turkey Dinners are not what we make at the pharmacy—but then said, “Yes, sure we can do it!”
“Good!” said Pelosi. “Now, about the turkey neck—Can you cook that as well? I want to make some soup with it later, for my family.” When I looked down, there was a skinned, raw turkey neck on the pharmacy counter, with a black number “11” printed on it.
“No,” I told her, “but we can pouch up the raw turkey neck and send it to you.”
“That will be fine,” she said, and left the store.
Scene 2:
While our staff scrambled around to put hot plates on the work counter and get out pots and pans, and go shopping for vegetables, my wife asked, “Where is this Magic Shop, and what do they sell there?”
“It is right downtown,” I told her. “I've seen it before. It's a white frame two-story old storefront. They sell card tricks and whoopee cushions.”
We got our dog on a leash and walked through the snow to the Magic Shop. Its door was ajar, so we went inside. No one was there. There were 8 inches of snow on the counter top inside. Our dog jumped up on the counter and began to nose around and roll in the snow.
“Why is there so much snow in the Magic Shop?” asked my wife.
We both looked up, and saw that the Magic Shop had no ceiling or roof, like it had been blown away in an explosion—and of course, there was no second floor, which presented a problem for Pelosi's turkey dinner.
Scene 3:
Protesters had decided to drive to the Turkey Dinner in something they called a “Mad Car.” This was a yellow school bus with its front and back ends flattened out into platforms. There was an armored compartment in the middle with no windows, and a periscope. It was school-bus yellow, of course, but the number “11” was painted in black on the outside in random locations. It looked sort of like the Civil War ironclad 'USS Monitor,' but with school-bus wheels.
The Mad Car was driving rapidly down a highway, approaching the Magic Shop. Inside the armored middle there were a number of bearded young men, sitting around the edges of the yellow bus room. There was a fireplace in one corner with a roaring fire. One of the young men was sitting next to the fireplace, steering the car with a Gameboy controller.
Dream ends here.
When I woke up, I said to myself, “At least we have several days until the 11th to figure this one out...Ahh, cr*p!..”
Comments
Well! A banquet ordered from a pharmacy, ill-equipped to make it.
To be served at a location that no longer exists.
Party-crashers in a cobbled-together war bus, navigating their way with a gameboy controller. There are lots of discontinuities here, and I am really unsure of the significance of the number '11.'
It feels like an ominous dream, but I could just be upset over the storming of the US Capitol on January 6th. Nothing much happened on the 11th. If any significance, there are 11 days between the 6th and the 17th, or between the 11th and the 22nd.
Assuming it is related to recent politics--
We had the raw turkey in the pharmacy, including the neck. Pelosi's demand for the neck makes me think that the Turkey represents Mr. Trump, who is due to be 'roasted.' But the roasters don't have the right equipment to do the job properly—it is outside their expertise.
The Magic Shop is supposed to have two levels, like the upper and lower levels of Congress, but somehow one of the levels has disappeared—so no banquet.
What will the protesters do when they arrive at the Magic Shop? They did not destroy the Magic Shop because it was already destroyed before they got there.
My wife and I were working at the pharmacy, at dusk.
Nancy Pelosi came in. “I would like to order a turkey dinner banquet,” she said, “with all the side dishes. It is to be served on the second floor of the Magic Shop downtown. Can you do it?”
I hesitated because Turkey Dinners are not what we make at the pharmacy—but then said, “Yes, sure we can do it!”
“Good!” said Pelosi. “Now, about the turkey neck—Can you cook that as well? I want to make some soup with it later, for my family.” When I looked down, there was a skinned, raw turkey neck on the pharmacy counter, with a black number “11” printed on it.
“No,” I told her, “but we can pouch up the raw turkey neck and send it to you.”
“That will be fine,” she said, and left the store.
Scene 2:
While our staff scrambled around to put hot plates on the work counter and get out pots and pans, and go shopping for vegetables, my wife asked, “Where is this Magic Shop, and what do they sell there?”
“It is right downtown,” I told her. “I've seen it before. It's a white frame two-story old storefront. They sell card tricks and whoopee cushions.”
We got our dog on a leash and walked through the snow to the Magic Shop. Its door was ajar, so we went inside. No one was there. There were 8 inches of snow on the counter top inside. Our dog jumped up on the counter and began to nose around and roll in the snow.
“Why is there so much snow in the Magic Shop?” asked my wife.
We both looked up, and saw that the Magic Shop had no ceiling or roof, like it had been blown away in an explosion—and of course, there was no second floor, which presented a problem for Pelosi's turkey dinner.
Scene 3:
Protesters had decided to drive to the Turkey Dinner in something they called a “Mad Car.” This was a yellow school bus with its front and back ends flattened out into platforms. There was an armored compartment in the middle with no windows, and a periscope. It was school-bus yellow, of course, but the number “11” was painted in black on the outside in random locations. It looked sort of like the Civil War ironclad 'USS Monitor,' but with school-bus wheels.
The Mad Car was driving rapidly down a highway, approaching the Magic Shop. Inside the armored middle there were a number of bearded young men, sitting around the edges of the yellow bus room. There was a fireplace in one corner with a roaring fire. One of the young men was sitting next to the fireplace, steering the car with a Gameboy controller.
Dream ends here.
When I woke up, I said to myself, “At least we have several days until the 11th to figure this one out...Ahh, cr*p!..”
Comments
Well! A banquet ordered from a pharmacy, ill-equipped to make it.
To be served at a location that no longer exists.
Party-crashers in a cobbled-together war bus, navigating their way with a gameboy controller. There are lots of discontinuities here, and I am really unsure of the significance of the number '11.'
It feels like an ominous dream, but I could just be upset over the storming of the US Capitol on January 6th. Nothing much happened on the 11th. If any significance, there are 11 days between the 6th and the 17th, or between the 11th and the 22nd.
Assuming it is related to recent politics--
We had the raw turkey in the pharmacy, including the neck. Pelosi's demand for the neck makes me think that the Turkey represents Mr. Trump, who is due to be 'roasted.' But the roasters don't have the right equipment to do the job properly—it is outside their expertise.
The Magic Shop is supposed to have two levels, like the upper and lower levels of Congress, but somehow one of the levels has disappeared—so no banquet.
What will the protesters do when they arrive at the Magic Shop? They did not destroy the Magic Shop because it was already destroyed before they got there.
