I dreamt last night that a duck was in the house.

But not just any sort of duck. This was a Gary Larson, Far Side Duck. It could also hover, like an insect. In fact, it pretty much was an insect, except for the minor fact that it was a duck.

Anyway, I didn’t like this duck at all, just as one doesn’t like a wasp. A wasp is all well and good ‘til it turns on you: imagine if it were a duck!

So I managed to shoo it out of my room, and close the door after it. Aha!

After a while, I decided to go check to see if it was still around (for some reason: I guess you never know with hoviverous ducks).

Turns out there’s a ceiling fan in the landing. Damn thing was turning so fast it was invisible, and the duck flew right into it, and was split clean in half.

So now I’ve two halves of a duck lying dead on the stairs, right? Well, I then realised that everyone knew that I didn’t like this duck, and, oh, seems the duck belonged to someone (possibly a duck person) who was coming here. Oh no! So I decided the best thing to do was to try to dispose of the body, so no one would wrongly suspect me.

This all got hideously complicated and difficult, especially since half-way through, my dream morphed so that I had actually killed the person who owned the duck.

I gave up, owned up, declared myself insane, and woke up.