Idiot Box Showdown

11-12-15 Thursday night

I woke up after my dream, and tried so very hard to will myself to make dream notes on my iPhone.  I used to do this - on the "Notes" app of my phone, I would write incomplete fragments, just enough so I could remember everything in full the next day.  I didn't.  I was so very sleepy.  I drifted back to sleep.  Darn it!  Consequently, all I have are fragments again.

A man and a woman face each other, prepared to duel.  She is slender and feminine in shades of blue and white.  The subtle smirk on her face has a touch of evil and mischief tucked in the corners.  Her attire is one of either campy sci-fi or cosmic genius.  He is her opposite, heavily clad in browns and blacks.  His pants are wide-legged over his boots.  Nothing shines or glimmers.  His hat is pulled down low over his face, which simultaneously holds looks of fury and utter sorrow.  Both looked determined and confident.



The woman's father, who looks like the less attractive, more masculine, and obviously older version of her, is desperately attempting to persuade her from some distance behind.  He wants her to join him and return home.  She has no interest.  He sweetens the deal, goes all in.  Her face completely drops its hardened facade and she turns around, confirms his offer, and accepts.  The King (her father) is overjoyed.  His bluish figure stretches out like silly putty and gaps apart like bones as her essence slides towards him, and they connect together like pieces of a puzzle.  It isn't grotesque, but it is certainly bizarre.  Their lengthened, slendered selves retract down a tunnel in the floor like a self-retracting vacuum-cleaner cord.

Her opponent has retreated down a tunnel, as well.  He sits at the bottom, surrounded by tetris-colored bubble tiles, and a portrait of his lost love.  Sobbing and distraught, he calls out: "Dorabella!"

The next we see of the woman and her father, they are in a boxy room with neon painted walls, an old-fashioned TV set, and eerily life-like mannequins of mod fashion poised to look like they are enjoying some TV with our father-daughter duo.

"I love the idiot box," the woman says, as they watch a retro game show.


The King is giddy that she has spoken up, for he has a kind of "welcome home" surprise for her.  They are suddenly on a small aqua studio stage, and the daughter is in a small aqua shift dress with her hair in four pigtails sticking crazily up from her head.  Another woman, who appears to be like the two of them, approaches, pretending to be a game show host.  There are only one or two dozen apathetic onlookers scattered in the audience seating.

Rather than being filled with excitement, the daughter is disgusted.  "What is this?!" she demands, and becomes enraged by the whole set-up.  "I hate liars!"