'Twas strange the dream I had the other night. Apparently, Bernie and Ruth Madoff had an empty house in Washington, D.C. And my boss was given a key to the place to hold onto, so everyone in my office decided to go over there and crash. We weren't technically supposed to be there, but the mansion was still fully staffed, kind of like Camp David. Anyway my office-mates and I are swimming in the pool, eating fish sticks, wandering around. There was even a bathroom suite-- three abutting rooms where you could choose between a loo designed by a college freshman, one outfitted nicely by Ikea, and another with marble countertops for the optimal in comfort.
I have to run, because I have an attache case with very important files for a court case that could end with me going to jail. I hate to tear myself away from the party. I walk out to my truck, a huge silver Ford F-150, and see my grandmother standing in the parking lot. Going over to her, I say, "Granny! You would not BELIEVE whose house I was just in!" She says, "Whose?" Grinning, barely able to contain myself, I say, "One word, Granny: ponzi." Suddenly a police officer materializes and says he overheard my conversation, and that he must go arrest the people who are trespassing on the Madoffs' property.
I'm crestfallen because I've just sic'ed law enforcement on my co-workers. I quickly say goodbye to Granny and flee the scene. But not before grabbing an ice cream cone. I stand in line waiting to buy some ice cream and the people in line around me give me "Judas Iscariot" stares. I wake up.