WE ARE SUCH STUFF...

...as dreams are made of.

Some of us, anyway.

I leave it to my Esteemed Readers to determine how I ended up in Queenie’s Imaginary Game Show Scenario:

I was led into the warehouse by a cadre of network employees, through the studio audience. I was gratified to see some of my friends there, but could not for the life of me fathom why they were dolled up as they were. There was Velociman, of course, my nearest and dearest, accompanied by Yabu, Sam Moore, Dax Montana, Zonker, Bane, Elisson, Acidman, and my father and uncles – and each and every one of them dressed like a crazed football fan. Naked to the waist, the fellows had painted their faces and chests in the pink-and-green of the game-show logo. Velociman sported fake Halloween wounds (a mental remnant, I feel certain, of something I saw at That Party on Saturday night) and pom-poms. Sammy-baby had my name written across his back. Dax was wearing one of my bras on his head, and Bane had my contestant number emblazoned on each cheek. My dear, dear loved ones, along with the rest of the crowd, went wild as we entered, screaming with joy at the spectacle about to begin.

But I like my explanation best. What if “Bowling with Oatmeal” were not a dream at all?

Suppose - just suppose! - that a carload or two of Merry Pranksters were to rent a bowling alley and assorted television equipment for an evening. Suppose - just suppose! - that this selfsame horde of Merry Pranksters were to abduct Queenie from her nice, warm bed and shoot her full of Powerful Amnesiac Medication (Versed comes to mind) and drag her off to said Bowling Alley? Why, who is to say that all this was a Figment of an Overheated Imagination when it could very well have been real?

One cannot choose but wonder. For there are many mysteries that can be seen only with the Mind’s Eye, and they can be passing strange when that Eye is a Blown Eye.