I had a dream that I was a contestant on The Apprentice and that I was dating Donald Trump.
I suppose nightmare is probably the better descriptor.
So, ladies (or men if appropriate) does Donald do it for you, or is he nasty, nasty, nasty?
Inquiring minds want to know.
He holds absolutely no appeal to me.
Ew, The Donald. That indescribable hair, the way he holds his lips… yuck.
I dreamed the other night that I was chowing down on a hotdog smothered with blueberries, but that doesn’t mean I want one.
Seriously. You know how when you wake up from a dream and you’re sort of fuzzy headed and you’re trying to make heads or tails of what you were dreaming about?
Ew. That’s pretty much where I was at. And the scaryest part is that I have a fuzzy little dog and he was cuddled up to me and it was like it was the donald’s nasty hair touching me. ACK!
By a strange coincidence I had a dream my cat was growing some kind of pumpkin-gourd out of its side that looked just like Ivana Trump before her makeup gets troweled into place.
I had a dream that I was having an affair with Donald Trump and that his 15-year-old son walked in on us when we were doing the nasty.
There was also this whole subplot about his killing someone and hiding the body.
You know, for the bargain basement price of one percent of his estimated net worth, I’d love Donald Trump for as long as he’d like.
Um, what? I didn’t say I do the nasty, I just said that I’d love him. There are other ways to love someone! 
Humm. Well, last night I wasn’t dating him, I was planning his lady’s birthday party. It was going to be a masquarade ball with a spanish theme. Massive, fist-sized shrimp were going to be served, and Julio Eglasis was going to sing.
Have I mentioned that I’ve never actually SEEN The Apprentice?
I think I need to have a hot bath.