Cats misbehave, and Steve, Tim and I go to Wendy's

I dreamed Uncle Steve, Cousin Tim and I were at my house getting ready for a night out. I was primping in front of a mirror, and I decided to try to see if I could still put an earring in one of the holes in my ear that had been pierced when I was a teenager. I found an old diamond stud that had been laying around since Sharon died, and without any disinfectant or prep of any kind, rammed it through the skin of my left earlobe. 

It didn't hurt nearly as much as I'd anticipated, though it did start looking red and irritated. I dabbed it with some rubbing alcohol, glanced approvingly in the mirror and began doing a funky ethnic dance, to the mild amusement of Steve and Tim.

We decided that it would be a good idea to channel this newfound energy and go out on the town in search of chicks. As we were about to leave, I noticed that my Stratocaster was lying on the tile floor of my living room. Apparently, the cats had knocked it off the stand -- again. Picking it up, I found that the neck was broken in half, and it looked like something Jimi Hendrix had just finished with. These cats, I thought to myself.

"That's it," I said to no one in particular, "I'm taking this to the luthier in Grass Valley. This is beyond my ability to repair."

"What about the cats?" Steve asked, concerned about feline justice and the lack of any disciplinary action on my part.

"Oh, well," I said with uncharacteristic nonchalance. "Whatcha gonna do? They are cats, after all."

We left the cats and the broken guitar and headed down to Wendy's for some burgers and fries. I didn't order anything, because nothing on their menu even remotely fit into my diet, but I eyed the giant hamburger that Steve ordered quite enviously. It looked like at least a pound of hamburger sitting atop a bun the size of a catcher's mitt, topped with a huge slice of tomato and a whole salad's worth of lettuce.

"That's some burger you got there," I said, picking off a piece of lettuce and gnawing it Bugs Bunny style.

"It'll do," Steve said, nonplussed as he hoisted the giant burger in the general direction of his face. 

I was curious as to how he intended to actually eat it, since no part of it looked at all like it was going to fit in his mouth, but somehow he managed. Maybe he unhinged his jaw, I don't know. I sat there, hungrily contemplating the idea of ordering my own burger, but I decided against it. I settled for a french fry instead, purloined from Cousin Tim's basket. 

Yeah, not much seems to happen in these dreams of mine. I keep thinking that Steve had a message for me, but damned if I can remember what it was. My stomach has a message for me now: It's breakfast time.