I love how our sleeping brains try to offer us plausible explanations for real-world intrusions into our REM cycles. Like how every time I get a midnight charley-horse, I dream I’ve been shot in the calf.
Here’s my brain’s newest pitch. I swear, this guy should get a job in Hollywood.
Me: ::sleeping:: What is that horrible smell?
Sleeping brain: Oooh! Ooh, I got this! Okay, you’re in an amusement park, see?
Me: Amusement parks don’t stink–
Brain: Will you just shut-up? I’m setting the scene.
Brain: Okay, and you’re walking around looking for the source of this smell, cause it’s really bad.
Me: On that we can agree
Me: Sorry, pray continue.
Brain: Okay, and you go past all sorts of rides, but it’s not there, and then you round a corner and you find… duh Duh DUH! A bathroom with a baby-changing table!
Me: Ah, so it’s baby poop, I guess that makes sense. Babies stink.
Brain: Aha, but no! Nothing so plebian! There is a sign in front of the bathroom saying it is closed due to… A SHRIMP MIGRATION! ::looks pleased::
Me: A what?
Brain: ::still smiling:: A… shrimp migration?
Me: What the fuck is a shrimp migration?
Brain: Well… uh… it’s when a bunch of shrimp take over the bathroom, and… there are baby shrimp… and… and… they have to get back to the ocean after they’ve hatched! Like turtles… but with shrimp. And bathrooms.
Me: At an amusement park?
Brain: It’s near the beach. Like Sea World.
Me: You didn’t say that before.
Brain: ::reviews dream:: Uh… well you are. Go with it.
Me: But why would hatching baby shrimp even smell like this? That is a truly putrid smell. You should have stuck with baby poop.
Brain: Uh… well… there are ants, see! The baby shrimp need to get to the ocean, but there are mean, nasty, swarming ants in the way. So first, we just see one baby shrimp, already covered in ants and being carted away. Stinking. And then we see a pristine group of baby shrimp, headed for disaster and they don’t even know it. They need _your help_ to get to the ocean.
Me: These don’t really look like shrimp. They look more like trilobites.
Brain: THEY’RE FUCKING SHRIMP, OKAY? BABY FUCKING SHRIMP!
Me: … ‘kay.
Brain: And they need your help to get away from the ants. So once they’ve entered the swarm–
Me: Why wouldn’t I just pick them up before they hit the swarm?
Brain: It’s. Called. Dramatic. Tension.
Me: Whatever. This is stupid. I’m waking up.
Waking brain: Good morning. It’s 4am PST. Oh, that smell? Your cat just pooped in the litter box. Go scoop it.
Me: Shit. I should have helped the shrimp.
Edit: I just googled Shrimp Migration, and apparently this is a real thing. I owe my brain an apology.