The last we’d heard from Cindy Capleton, she was delivering babies in North Carolina, escaping hurricanes with Sir Pumpkin Longshanks, and training to become a legally licensed metaphrastic so she could finally fulfill her lifelong dream of translating a set of ancient Elvish documents she found as a child in her basement (the documents were actually in French). Now, Cindy is dedicating her time to interpreting her dreams, which usually consist of one confusing substrate laid upon the other. She began documenting these dreams in a diary the instant after she woke up. The first entry, dated September 5th, 2011 was a succinct, chicken scratch of a scribble that read:
Dolphin mug me a water gun
Frustrated by the fact that she could not monitor her dreams properly due to the lack of ability to form words in the morning, she darkled and began to eat her feelings, until she finally discovered a new approach: drawelositus, a technique used by famed psychoanalyst Frankie Freud (grandson of Sigmund), in which the patient, awoken from a trance-like sleep draws the first thing he remembers and are later able to associate minute details from his dream with the picture. At 4am today, Cindy drew this:
And at 7am, Cindy remembered her dream perfectly:
Lady Schwarz and I were at Kahala Mall in Hawaii and snuck out of a meeting with my old boss to get water; no matter how much water we drank, we were still really thirsty. Then we were sent into a magical land that was a mixture of Narnia and Hogwarts. It was snowing, so we had on these fur coats. There were magical street urchins everywhere, except they were good and were helping us fight evil. We were gammoned by a talking octopus, who used his tentacles to push us onto a train where we kept getting attacked by wizards in the car that was labeled “Medusa’s Library.” Lady Schwarz had to consult a very old book of Aslan, and while she researched, I was the lookout except my wand didn’t work. Finally, when the last attacker tried to stop Lady Schwarz from discovering whatever it was she was looking for, she took off her sunglasses and flirted with him to let us stay. Then she sat down and said, “And that is how you use subtle sexuality to get what you want in life.” And then I woke up.
Peter was mad for weeks after the little urchin that Maury called his “son” stole the traditional gammon from under his nose at the Labor Day dinner table.
Former world-champion gammon player Harv Wrinklestein was now a mere street urchin, having spent all his winnings on hookers and expensive dental work.