The dream I had last night will continue to haunt me until I get it down on paper and subject other people to it. Yes, that means you are now part of a viral infection.
In my dream there was a way to feature a FaceBook Author page on a kiosk at *cough* McDonalds, guaranteed to boost your fans.
I swear, I only left it up there for twenty minutes before shutting off the ad, but in that time, I gained two MILLION fans to my page. Mostly they were five year old button pushers, with a few eight year old fans thrown in with comments like "This is a neat book!" sprinkled over my page.
It seems the kiosks were centered in the middle of the McDonalds playgrounds, right next to the plastic tubes that look like they're made for giant gerbils. The comments from my "fans" puzzled me though. Did they have little plastic keyboards attached to the screens for young minds to participate in a type of modern-day graffiti?
The teenagers were worse, of course. One wit asked if my book came with fries; others thought they'd practice their stand-up comedy act for the X-rated crowd on my page.
None of this woke me up though. I could deal with it all, calmly considering a change of name and possible move to another country to fix my blunder.
It was the English Professor who left me with heart-pounding fear, waking to stare at the dark ceiling while dread settled in for a comfy spell.
The Prof went on a diatribe of quotation marks, bold words and the horrific s/he vs. they conundrum. I swear an entire English course passed before my eyes. At one point, I bit halfway through my tongue (maybe it was less than halfway, but at the time it felt like I'd severed it).
By the time I read the dissertation s/he had left on my page, I wondered what a person like that was doing on FaceBook in the first place. Really, wouldn't *they* go mad witnessing the grammatical inconsistencies that abound there? Or perhaps defacing my author page was only a pit stop squeezed in between sliding through the gerbil tubes and munching salty burgers.
I could almost feel sorry for the person…almost.
Disclaimer: I am not responsible for any inconsistencies, since it was a dream. You'll have to take your complaint to the REM department, which keeps strange hours and is totally unreliable…usually…often.
