I had this dream the other night that I was talking with the manager of Depeche Mode, who was telling me about his other claim to fame. “You know that dog, that famous dog that was on Letterman a bunch of times? Yeah, I discovered him. In fact here he is.” He pulled out a small black pug, but the pug was about as big as a squirrel. I was expecting the dog to do a backflip or say I love you. But instead, he started singing “Sixteen Tons,” the Jimmy Dean song. In a whiny dog voice. “You load sixteen tons and what to do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt.”

It was surprising. Then he showed me the movie that he managed to cast the dog in during the 80s. It was a slapstick summer swimsuit comedy with girls in bikinis and jokesters jumping off high dives. And the little dog jumped off the high dive too.


Another time I had a dream that I met Stephen King at a picnic. I told him, “I have to say, you are an amazing short story writer. One of the best I’ve ever read. But your novels, man. You just go on and on. I feel like if you just had a good, unforgiving editor you’d be a much better novelist.”

He stared at me and nodded and said, “You’re right. I am an amazing short story writer.”

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