I had a dream once I owned a pet baby elephant. As with most dreams, this didn't seem at all strange. But at some point, it occurred to me my baby elephant was going to grow into a giant, adult elephant and I would not have room for him. Suddenly, my sweet little dream turned into a terrible nightmare as I panicked over finding a new home for him. Naturally, I did what anyone would do in my position and visited the San Diego Wild Animal Park, pleading with them to make a new home for him. They must get requests like this all the time, because their policy was very strict. They demanded I show his official "African Lineage" papers. You can picture my horror when I couldn't remember where I put them. The baby elephant and I tried our luck at several other zoos, but we quickly realized we were blackballed without those papers. I woke up somewhere between soliciting Jason Bourne for his help and thrifting for Baby Elephant clothes. Relieved, I started my day knowing no baby elephants were in danger on account of me.
As you might imagine, that dream was pretty traumatic for me. Being a bad caretaker of a baby elephant is a textbook recipe for years of counseling, so I try not to recall the dream too often. Until this morning... You see, I was searching for this:
But sooomehow, I found this:
All the repressed memories of my pet baby elephant came rushing back. I sure miss that little guy.
(It should also go without saying how pissed I was at DirecTV when I found out this wasn't real:
)
Moral of the story: If being on drugs resembles my dreams in the slightest, I'm starting to really regret that D.A.R.E. pledge I signed in 6th grade.
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