Weird dream I had about Oprah and Gingrich

[nuxvomica]

So I had this long, vivid dream last night. Oprah Winfrey had bought the corporation I work for and she had this policy of inviting a random low-level employee to lunch along with some random celebrity. My lunchmate happened to be Newt Gingrich.

Apparently there was this experimental medical breakthough that allowed terminally ill people to have their heads removed temporarily from their bodies, shrunk to the size of a postage stamp and placed on top of a small trophy pedestal. The pedestal contained whatever technology that kept the tiny head alive. The process costs millions of dollars. Gingrich had to fly across country for the lunch, so he insisted he have this procedure done to make the trip easier on him. Oprah had graciously complied.

As the dream begins, we're finished with lunch. I'm carrying the little pedestal with Gingrich's shrunken head, which is prattling on about something and annoying the hell out of Oprah. We go through door after door of Oprah's seemingly infinite mansion. She's rushing us to catch Gingrich's flight out because she's tired of listening to him. I'm being quiet and just minding my manners.

We have to stop in a small sitting room because some business emergency arose. Some suits are discussing it with Oprah but it's company talk that Gingrich shouldn't hear so they put one of those translucent glassine envelopes on his head while I stand there holding the little pedestal. Soon Gingrich is having trouble breathing in the envelope and keeps making this noise like somebody blowing on a harmonica. The envelope tightens as he inhales, making the harmonica noise, and expands as he exhales. The rhythm becomes faster and frantic. I'm starting to worry about him. Sure he's Newt Gingrich, I'm thinking, but he's a human being. No one else seems to care. Finally the breathing stops and I fear he's dead. One of the suits takes him away and Oprah tells me not to worry about him.

So then I'm sitting on a couch in this little room, watching TV while Oprah tends to her business matter. Sitting next to me is an African-American woman in her 60s, wearing a beautiful white dress. She's some famous singer, but I don't catch her name, and she's suppose to substitute host for Oprah this week. I turn to her at some point and say, "You know what's wrong with politics today?"

"What?" she says.

"No matter how bad someone behaves," I reply. "We can't shame them."

She nods her head thoughtfully.

[MilesColtrane]

1. Woah

Better lay off the episodes of Futurama and pepperoni pizza before bedtime.

[nuxvomica]

3. I didn't think of the Futurama influence

Now it's all partially clear.

[trof]

2. Pass the smoke, man.

That's some good stuff.
;-)

[nuxvomica]

4. Sometimes sleep can be nature's version of weed

:D

[Tripod]

5. OMG, That is weird.

Those dreams are intense. I wonder what it really means to you. Have you analyzed it since March 13?

[nuxvomica]

6. I realized what it says about what I think of Gingrich

Note that he demanded Oprah spend a lot of money on him for something pointless and even damaging to himself, meaning he has a need for people to spend a lot of money on him, regardless of whether there's any value to him beyond that. The incident with his breathing difficulties told me I should pity him rather than despise him.
The point of Oprah was wishful, because I have an unpublished novel and she's a person who could make any book a bestseller. Very few people have that power.
The statement about politics at the end, well that's just my growing frustration with the way Republicans get away with so much. I still haven't figured out who the singer is.

[Tripod]

7. You have analyzed your dream.

Good stuff. I don't suggest taking the antibiotics again. HA, HA. Maybe there is a best seller in your next dream. Hopefully in your future. I still haven't read it. I think that it's called "The Brick"?