I dreamed I was in Colonial times in the war. I knew it was colonial times because I had a tri-cornered hat on and other funny clothes. I was walking and talking with a friend when, all of the sudden, we heard the sound of gunfire off in the distance. My friend fell to the ground and pulled me down as well.
He said," lay down, lay down, someone's shooting a musket at us.''
"Don't you mean lie down?,'' I replied.
We crawled to the relative safety of a large rock and tried to figure out what was going on.
"Lay down, lie down, what's the difference? You're just splitting hares.''
"There's a big difference. You lie down but you made me lay down when you forcefully pulled on my arm.''
"It's all just a matter of semantics. What's important now is that we are safe," he said.
"I would be lying if I said semantics were not important. Don't tell me you're anti-semantic. I simply won't tolerate that. Furthermore, you said hares when clearly you meant hairs.''
"How can you tell which word I used by the sound of it. I didn't spell it out.''
''I could tell by the way you said it, you clearly said hares. And I don't think we can say for certain if that was a musket. It could have been a fowling piece. But I can find out," I said.
With that, I took off my hat and extended it out beyond the safety of the rock using a longish stick. A loud gunshot resounded and my hat flew backwards with many holes in it.
"Definitely a fowling peace. Maybe it's just an angry farmer and we are not at war at all. Maybe we are at piece.''
"That was a foul misuse of peace and piece? You're just as bad as me. And how do you know it's not a shotgun? If you step out from behind this rock, you might end up in peaces.''
''If this is 1778, and I stress the if, then it was definitely a fowling piece. It may sound like a shotgun and smell like a shotgun but in this times, it would have to be a fowling piece. But fowls can't distinguish between piece and peace except at the end of their lives, when they may end up in frying pieces,'' I said.
''Did you just mix you're singular and plural in the same clause? This is really getting out of hand. And did you mean flying when you said frying?''
"Truly it is getting out of hand, but you just used a wrong contraction for the possessive form of you. What about that now? And I meant exactly what I said. Now all this talk of frying fouls has gotten me hungry. I hope Tee-time is soon.''
"Did not Benjamin Franklin once say that a fowl in the hand is worth too in the fryer? But mine was a common mistake. You must excuse me sometimes.''
"No I musn't. You have no excuse whatever. And I believe it was Socrates,'' I said.
"You just mis-spelled mustn't. It has too teas in it you know.''
"I didn't think you'd notice. The first one is silent, you know.''
"This is all getting to be ridiculous. Perhaps we should just surrender to the man with the gun and let him sort it out. By the by, I still think it might have been a musket,'' said my friend.
"Clearly you are insane. How could it be a musket? You saw the multiple holes, same as I. And how do you know it's a man. It could be a woman trying to kill us,'' said I.
''Some musket balls are designed to fragment on impact. Maybe it was one of those.''
"Impact with what? My hat? It was made of felt.''
"It still is made of felt. It's just over there. Only now it's full of wholes.''
At that point, I felt it was time to resolve all this and get on to Tea. I proceeded to take out my white hankerchief and tie it to the longish stick. I stuck it out over the top of the rock and waved it vigorously. My friend and me then heard a loud man's voice from the same direction as the gunfire.
"Come out with your hands up. I won't shoot you, I promise.''
We both stood up and came out from the rock, hands raised.
"We surrender. What do you want, good Sir?,'' I asked.
Now the man yelled at us.
''I just want the both of you to SHUT THE HELL UP.''