I had a dream.
In my dream, George Takei reviewed my book for Amazon. The review got a gazillion hits, and Hyperlink from Hell was now a bestseller.
And I was famous.
Famous, famous, famous, famous, famous.
George and I were at some famous restaurant or another, his treat. Paparazzi and fans were kept at bay outside, behind red ropes with gold tassels. I hate red and gold together. Tassels are OK.
“But George,” I said (I called him George in the dream, because he and I were besties, now), “I didn’t want to be famous. I just wanted people to love my book, preferably after buying it.”
“Shut up and eat,” said George, tucking in a bib, then tucking into a giant slab of horse meat.
I really wasn’t hungry. The crowd outside swelled and swelled, until it burst through the ropes and started pressing up against the window glass, like the people on the overpopulated planet on that episode of Star Trek.
“Look!” George said, and when I looked, he was showing me a mouthful of meat. “Ha, ha, made you look!”
And the moral of this story is?
Don’t look gift horse meat in the mouth.