My secret other life

I dreamed that I was set up by an unnamed informant as a drug dealer.

No kidding. I dreamed that there was this big investigation at work, and then I was interrogated by corporate executives (because that's totally how drug investigations work). Apparently some woman had called up the police, confessed to multiple felony drug offenses and named me as her supplier/enforcer/kingpin.

My lavish lifestyle must have tipped them off, eh?

I told them the most sinister thing I do is sell books. Suuure, it's books you sell out of your trunk at coffee houses, they said. Uh, yeah, I replied, feeling the noose tighten.

But it was the next part that was really hilarious. The entire staff of the newsroom filed into a conference room for an intervention. I kid you not. They were all very kind about my "problem." It was weird - I felt defensive and embarrassed as hell even though I knew I was set up. The more strongly I protested, the more guilty it made me sound.

If I really were a drug dealer, there is no way I'd be driving this car, man. I'd totally be able to afford a decent minivan like Mark Kaiser's. I could fit all three kids in at once!

Strangely, toward the end some of them were on my side and promising to help me figure out why I was being set up. Though one of the editors totally didn't believe me. My fellow reporters have my back, man. Big sniffle.

Also, I didn't know Wuerz could sing show tunes.

This weird-ass display of WTF brought to you by Big Mac indigestion and two days of intense investigative training this week, with a side order of book signing on Sunday. (Come see me at the ToyMan Show in Bridgeton! No drugs, I swear! Really!)

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