Dreams, Debates and Dancing with the Stars

Last night I dreamed....

...that they ran out of spray tan on Dancing wit the Stars and chose, instead, to cover all the dancers with orange buttercream...and no one noticed the difference. This required only a quick trip to a local 7-11 since -- as we approach Halloween -- orange buttercream is sold by the vat.

Last night I dreamed...

What is wrong with this woman?

 ...that Susan Boyle had been released from the Scottish prison where she is doing serious time for improper body hair maintenance and stood like a cigar store Indian next to Donny Osmond during a live performance on Dancing with the Stars. That is, until she opened her mouth...then she sang like an alligator had his teeth clamped onto her ass.

It IS a viable dance move, I tell you.

Terribly off key, apparently dazed and/or about to commit a murder, Donny Osmond held her hand for dear life as she scared every small child in America allowed to stay up late enough to watch Kirste Allie hoist up one boob in what she's decided is a viable dance move while Maks twirls around her.

Only a matter of time...

Last night I dreamed...

 ...that Peta Murgatroid finally put her hand down Gilles Marini's pants because that's the only place she hasn't groped him while just standing around waiting for scores.

Her hand, of course, came away covered in buttercream because he may, actually, be the most orange of the bunch. And speaking of mistakes, why does he wear eye liner every week? He is starting to look like this:

What?

Val

Last night I dreamt that my ex-husband Maksim Chmerkovsky, for the third consecutive week, has begun to look more like a muscular woman in drag than the irrepressible hunk and a half he's been for several years now.

I also dreamt that his brother, Val, is suddenly starting to looking almost as good as the strangely effeminate Maks used to look.

Moments before the attack.

I also dreamt that Derek Hough was sucked into his dressing room mirror as a result of spending way too much time staring into it and Mark Ballas was fired and took a job teaching the mambo in a combination nudist colony/homeless shelter somewhere in Hollywood. 

Later in that very dream, Cheryl Burke (who appears to have recently had her nose slightly pared down near the tip) and Katrina Smirnoff beat the crap out of newcomer and last year's winner, Peta, just for, well, existing.

Then my things morphed and shifted and....

Last night I dreamed...

 ...that there were two men in dark suits pirouetting around each other on a small stage. It may have been a continuation of my DWTS dream since they got very close to one another at one point but never seemed to touch. In the dream, it appeared they were being led in some sort of verbal competition by a strange looking man named Candy who had a head full of unfortunate hair extensions and wore an ill-fitting suit jacket that may have stolen from Rush Limbaugh's dressing room.

Crazy hair, bad jacket.

There was a lot of brow-furrowing and a few sneers while several very nervous people stood up and appeared to ask questions.  By this time, I finally went into some deep, dreamless sleep but not before two tall women in very expensive designer dresses came out and kissed the two men in dark suits.

I awoke, refreshed, this morning.

I do not wear eyeliner. I am just naturally beautiful.