Warning: crude humor ahead, which is surprising since my waking brain doesn’t “work blue.”
In this dream, we were visiting our friend and Archer’s sometime Shakespeare acting coach Scott at his cabin in Muir Woods.1 He told Archer this joke:
Q: What do the townspeople call the King’s fucking-cake?
A: A cake fit for a Queen!
In the dream it took both Archer and me a moment to get the joke. (I first thought it was a play on the gay-man meaning of queen, but it’s not.) But then we both did, and both laughed. I was at once appalled that Scott would tell that joke to my 11-year-old son and perversely proud that Archer got it.
My sleeping brain came up with a dirty joke that I didn’t get right away! How does that even work?!
- He does not have a cabin in Muir Woods. [↩]