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So I have a theory. On my sidebar, you will see a box that says “Popular Posts.” For those of you who are too lazy to scroll down (I’m mostly talking to you non-Macbook users who have to bring your cursor all the way over to the scroll bar and draaaaaaaaag that stupid bar down to the correct place, instead of simply placing two fingers on your trackpad and effortlessly navigating the page. I totally understand, by the way…when I want to scroll on a PC laptop I feel like I’m scraping superglue off tree bark with a pipe cleaner. [I find more uses for those every day!] Anyway…), here’s a picture of that box: 

You’ll notice that a lot of these posts are some of my better ones. Perhaps you're chuckling to yourself about something funny that  I wrote in one of these previous posts. Such fond memories, right readers? But did you notice that Pictionary one? Do you remember reading that? Was that a good post?

[It’s okay if you want to say no. I understand.]

The truth is, this is not a very good post of mine. It was early off in this blog’s life, and I guess I thought it was cute.

And yet...

It’s one of the most popular posts. Why? This is my theory: The title has five board games listed in it. There are clearly some game enthusiasts out there who look tirelessly to find a good board game-themed blog who stumbled upon Popcorn Day in a Google search. They took a look around, saw that this was just a silly blog of some guy who draws pictures of his dreams, and stepped out. Thus, this post receives more visits. 

To test this theory, I have titled this post with the names of current celebrities and pop-culture items. If it ends up in my “Popular Posts” box, we will know definitively that I am right. 

 [For some reason I have the Inspector Gadget theme song stuck in my head.]

This is the most pointless post…

A Very Fancy Turkey at Thanksgiving

It was Thanksgiving in my dream a few nights ago. (For all of my international followers, I know you don’t celebrate Thanksgiving, but just play along anyway. [Who am I kidding, I don’t have any international followers; I’m pretty sure I know every one of you. {But hey, if there's anyone from a country other than the U.S. reading this blog, say hi! Just by commenting, you will make my day! (Okay, I'm pretty sure I'm talking to no one right now. Whatever.)}]) 

My family discovered that we had some distant relatives that none of us knew about, so we decided to spend Thanksgiving at their grungy old farm. This is how I should have understood it was a dream, because my family is so tradition-bound that we would have never ever ever just gone to a complete stranger’s house for Thanksgiving without some sort of picketing by at least two people outside the residence.

While they were cooking up who-knows-what in the kitchen, a few of us went to go see what kind of animals they had. Among the cows and chickens, we noticed an enormous black and bright pink turkey trotting around the farm. Its trot was more of a waltz than anything else; this was a very fancy turkey.

I stood there staring at it. Then my dimwitted, distant cousin-once-removed turned to me. I’ll say his name was Dierks.

DIERKS: Wanna see something cool?

ME: Yes, of course, always.

DIERKS: That turkey’s scared of ducks.

ME: What? Why?

DIERKS: It just is. We like to chase it with ducks.

ME: Ducks?

DIERKS: Ducks.

ME: But why would a bird be afraid of a smaller, wimpier bird?

DIERKS: It just IS, okay? Gosh, do you want to see it or not?

ME: Jeez, okay fine. Yes show me the turkey.

DIERKS: Ducks!

ME: I know! We’re going to grab ducks and chase the turkey with them, right? That’s what I meant.

DIERKS: I don’t like your tone, sir.

ME: Could I please see the ducks?

DIERKS: Turkey!

ME: Oh come on.

So we grabbed some ducks and started running after it. The turkey squawked and tried to run away, but then stopped, trembling.

DIERKS: It’s going to do the eye thing!

ME: What’s the eye thing?

DIERKS: Just look!

The turkey then curled up one of its wings into a number eight-like shape, leaving a small space of bright pink from its belly showing inside of it. This place of pink must have had darker spots on it, because it ended up looking like a pair of bright pink, quivering eyes. All while the turkey was making a sound similar to a very birdlike motor scooter accelerating to full speed.  (I unfortunately do not have an example of that.)

The turkey then kept running, and we continued to chase it with ducks until we reached a large pond. Turkey’s can’t swim, I thought, but the turkey leapt into the air, did a fancy flip, and dove into the water, and swam across the pond. It was fancy. 

 

We kept chasing it, ducks in hand, and the turkey then stopped and spread all its feathers, very much like the spitting dinosaur in Jurassic Park. It didn’t spit, though. It just kind of thrashed its feathers around.

[It was a very fancy turkey, though it didn't have very good defense mechanisms.] 

ME: This is great!

DIERKS: Toldja. 

 

Just then Dierks’ mom came out. Let’s call her Camille. She looked a little flustered, but who wouldn't be when hosting a whole family of people you don't know for Thanksgiving?

ME: How's the food coming?

CAMILLE: My dog’s a skunk.

ME: Oh haha. That’s okay. I can handle smelly dogs.

CAMILLE: No, you don’t understand. I just found out that Trixie, the dog I’ve had for ten years, is actually a skunk. A large, smelly rodent. Not a dog.

ME: Oh sweet Jesus.

CAMILLE: Trixie was playing with your dog, and then she just turned around and sprayed her. She’s a skunk.

I then made to walk into the house, past my dog, who was covered in tomato juice, and past Trixie, the skunk dog. At first glance, she looked like a matted-haired, ugly old dog, but upon closer inspection, I could make out a white stripe hidden in her black fur. How could they not notice it?

 [Actually, once I think about it, it's kinda difficult to tell them apart. Just saying. I also may not have very much respect for Pomeranians. They're a**holes. ]

Then I woke up, and all I could think of is that my mom was totally going to blog about this story before I could. After gaining more consciousness, I realized, of course, that that was impossible.

In which I pepper a dream I had about Jenna Fischer with lyrics to probably the worst—but also somehow loved—song of our generation

 The other night I dreamed that I was in Disney World, which is good enough for a run-of-the-mill pleasant dream, right? I would have been very satisfied by that alone, thank you very much.

But it got better.

I shall tell you about it. And Anna Nalick will help, because I feel as though her insights shown through metaphors speak deeply to this story.

[You can sense sarcasm even though it’s typed, right? What I meant to say is that Anna Nalick’s Just Breathe (2am) song sucks giant ocelot balls and should only be sung by 11-year-old girls at their school’s talent show.]

Anway. So I was in Disney world, and it was just my dad and I. The moment we walked through the gates and into the park, my Dad grabbed a Mickey Mouse balloon and ran off giggling.

That didn’t really faze me. Plus, I don’t need a chaperone for Disney World; what am I, five? So I went off on my own to go Disney World the crap out of myself.  

At that point, my brain fast-forwarded and brought me to the end of the day, when I was sitting on a bench and eating a Premium Bar. 

Just then Jenna Fischer (yes, Pam Beesly Jenna Fischer, on whom I’ve been crushing since season one of The Office, and who has been in my dreams before) walked up to me. I remember what she was wearing like it was yesterday: a mint-green polo and knee-length safari shorts. Sexy. 

And she came over to me, yes ME! Wow, guys. I feel like I’m naked in front of a crowd, ‘cause these words are my diary screaming out loud.

 

JENNA: Hey there, how’s it going?

ME: Oh, uh, hi, Jenna Fischer! It’s going well!

JENNA: “It’s going well.” You know what, it’s so nice to hear someone use correct grammar when I ask them that. The people I work with here are just all, “I’m doing good,” “I feel good.” …Ugh it’s so annoying!

ME: Wait, do you work at Disney World?

JENNA: Yeah! When I’m not working on The Office, I’m here leading the Safari tours. A bunch of us do it. John Krasinski runs the digital simulation rides, and the lady who plays Phyllis works in one of the Scandinavian food restaurants in Epcot. It's great! I don’t know about other people, but I like to say that Disney World is the happiest place on earth.

ME: I SAY THAT EXACT SAME THING, JENNA FISCHER.

[It's a little difficult to show how hot she was while trying to draw a mint polo and safari shorts, okay? My drawing skills aren't necessarily honed enough that I can draw those kinds of subtleties with a Sharpie.]

Jenna Fischer and I ended up talking for a long time. And readers, don’t tell anyone, but we totally hit it off. We laughed together, we had the same interests, we talked about our childhoods…IT WAS SO AWESOME.

(Christie was somehow nonexistent in this dream, which is weird, but she can’t be mad because she also had a dream recently where I was nonexistent. So…tit for tat.)

After awhile, I thought to myself, “Wanna hold [her], maybe I’ll just sing about it.” But then I thought, “Why only sing about it? This is MY dream, I can do what I want!”  So I made to go hold her hand, which was kindly rejected. I wasn’t totally crushed, because our eyes had this conversation:

JENNA’S EYES: Hey, don’t worry, I’ll be totally fine with this on maybe our first date or something. You can’t jump the track; we’re like cars on a cable.

MY EYES: But life’s like an hourglass glued to the table!

JENNA’S EYES: Just be patient, Brian. I’m into you. 

So I felt all right about it. In the end, we had to say goodbye, but she gave me her digits (that means phone number, Mom). I made sure to put that in the most protected pocket on my backpack. "I guess I'll go find my dad. I hope he still has his balloon," I said.

And then I woke up. Without Jenna Fischer's digits. 

As someone once said,

There's a light at each end of this tunnel, you shout, but you're just as far in as you'll ever be out

[Spoiler alert: this means that you’re in the middle of the tunnel.]