Dreamt a silly shaggy dog ghost story about a beligerent drunk in the 1920s-ish who went to stay at a friend's Upstate New York mansion full of ghosts. There was a lamp that would flicker every time he argued with his wife, so she told him to turn it off. It was the kind with a bar you click back and forth. He reached for it and was shocked, not with electrical but electoral energy. He became a Senator for a few terms, and died mysteriously while running for President.

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Smeap is the honk of a flamingo. Smeap was also at least once, a storybook land at the weird intersection of TV ads and the worlds they seem to inhabit. It was a place where wars were fought over sodas, and talking polar bears had very good reasons to guard soda machines. It was a place where rainbow color candies were harvested for electric power. It was a place where a prairie dog might move to big city inhabited mostly by Pink Flamingos to follow her dream to be private investigator, only to get slowly entangled in the seedy underbelly of crime and prohibited soda trading of the Neon Flamingos and their syndicate. Social media at times lately feels like it has become almost entirely seedy underbelly with very little upside. Maybe it needs more storybook worlds.