Dreams are often weird, sometimes downright stupid. Apparently they actually mean something too! Well, if anyone can figure out what the meaning behind this one is. I’d be very grateful if you explained it to me because I just had a dream about Donald Trump. The Donald Trump, President-Elect Donald Trump… Maybe my dreams have given up trying to be subtle, thrown in the towel and decided to be just as stupid as the real world?
So we start out inside what I’m assuming is one of Donald’s many, many penthouse suites. Although, if I’m honest its kind of on the small size. Take that Trump! Your property isn’t as nice in my dreams as in reality! For whatever reason I’m having a meeting, no not a meeting, a little chit chat…and my mums there?!
We’re all having a rather pleasant chat it has to be said, my mum is on her best behaviour (She’s not the biggest fan of Trump, well neither am I…). We’re avoiding politics completely in fact. He then introduces us to his personal assistant, who later he refers to as his daughter and then also his wife during the course of the conversation. Which, I suppose doesn’t really surprise me considering the comments he has said about his own daughter!
Later on his daughter/wife/personal assistant would take me on a tour, in which she took great pleasure in showing off the lavish washrooms. They were indeed very lovely, in the middle of the room was the sink. Which could only be describe as a ornately carved font, that you would normally find in a church, with a regular bog standard kitchen tap stuck in the middle. She complained about the plumbing however as the water would still flow for a couple of seconds after being switched off. Disaster! Luckily, the mirror image washroom next door didn’t have such faults. Thank God.
It’s at this point that the tour takes us to his library, in which I don’t actually recall seeing a single book. Instead it was pretty much a larger version of that gold elevator that Trump and Farage love having photos in front of…
Some of my cousins and Uncle show up for very little reason and do absolutely nothing. They just get in the way while I’m trying to look at ‘the library’.
It’s at this point I start asking my new best friend Donald about a recent purchase of his. Which apparently was an original draft of the bible that was found a few years ago in a dessert. I asked him what the specific name of the bible was, but he didn’t know. What the hell is my brain even doing at this point?!
Unfortunately, it’s time to leave. We have to catch our flight back home. Luckily it turns out that Trump’s penthouse is actually the airport as well. Because why not.
After popping into some of brand W.H Smith equivalent we all try and read the airport departure screen, but it doesn’t make any sense and we can’t figure out what time our flight is or where to go.
…and then I woke up.
WHAT THE HELL DOES ANY OF THAT MEAN?!