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Last night I dreamed we were making

Last night I dreamed we were making a vid about Mayan history. As you may know, Mayan history consists of a long chain of until they all ran out of magnets to propel their cars, etc.

So all the kings had trollfaces shopped in. One episode in Mayan supremacy was illustrated thus

King X and King Y were frenemies. King Y was stronger and had infiltrated Kingdom X with all sorts of spies, plants, and sleeper agents. King X sort of knew about

this, but didn't have much he could do about the problem without inviting open aggression. So he invited King Y to share a festival in Kingdom X. In the meantime, expecting to pay a heavy host tribute, he spared no expense.

Meanwhile King Y planned to stage his insurrection during the visit.

So King X supervised the construction of an exquisite jaguar crown. Because King X was sort of pinheaded, he normally wore a small hat. But he ordered this crown to be made slightly roomier in back. This was so he could fit a pressure pad inside the crown. He also had two thick ropy rubber bands placed inside the jaguar mandible halves so that they were held in maximum tension, unless the pressure pad was pushed up. Then the jaws would snap shut, not top-to-bottom, but side-to-side, crushing the windpipe of the wearer.

And he made it the most lavish, exquisite piece of regalia ever seen.

And wore it every day, being very careful to slip it over his narrow little flat head so that a brisk wind might pull it off again.

So when the appointed festival came, King Y, as predicted, rolled into town with a huge retinue, leeched the countryside dry, ate, drank, and whored his way to the royal complex, and immediately upon seeing the Jaguar crown, knew he must have it. So after a few nights of watching King X parade this lovely artifact around in front of him, naturally he had to own it. The courtiers in the know provided a convincing amount of resistance to the idea. But no, as King X knew all along, King Y would insist on owning it, and in the gray wee hours of the third morning of the festival, a courier presented the crown to King Y for his morning dressing. 'Quick, sire, be seen in this beauty before King X changes his mind.' And the courier disappeared.

King Y

made great pains to memorize exactly the appearance of the Jaguar Crown, for he wanted to assure himself that this is the same one King X wore, and not a copy. It must be the only Jaguar crown; he would not share the honor with anyone else. Satisfied, he pulled it onto his large, broad head.

When King Y did not appear at breakfast, his planted spies and 'loyal' courtiers made haste to his guest chambers, where they found him dead as a doornail, sprawled over a polished silver mirror.

With the creme de la creme of Kingdom Y society trapped inside his walls, King X finished the gala with a round of show trials, executions, and sacrifices.

'Problemas?'

And then the rest of the dream dissolved into me and a friend rummaging around in a box of seashells at work while in the background, a TV segment aired about black Jews, featuring Dennis Rodman.