Fiction is sometimes stranger than truth.

“I dreamed about Ray Charles last night. He could see just fine.”

- Joan Osborne, “Spider Web”

I was in the Academy of Music in Philadelphia, getting ready to watch a show that featured (among others) Ringo Starr, Paul McCartney and his wife Linda.

Before the show began, each of the principles emerged from a place in the audience, “excuse me"-ing their way across the aisles and onto the stage. Linda was groped by a couple of guys and she politely laughed it off, and seemed to enjoy it. The show began and they started to play some unrecognizable music.

I could hear the music, but I couldn’t see very well because the people in front of me had giant heads that I couldn’t see around. At one point, a child decided to move and the man in front of me moved into the child’s seat. “Thank you,” I thought. Now I can hear and see.

At one point in the show, a man emerged from a few rows in front of me playing some sort of giant guitar with an extremely long neck and a tiny body. Maybe it was a Sitar. He was dancing around and singing in gibberish, and quickly exited.

Through all of this, the people sitting next to me continually got up and down, moving in front of me and coming back with all manner of food and drink. Even though there were only three of them, it seemed like ten times that many, and their continual leaving and re-entering had begun to annoy me to the point that I couldn’t concentrate on the show.

After the man with the giant [Sitar] finished playing, I looked to my left and saw that their seats had been removed and there was an empty space next to me. They returned (food in hand), wondering where their seats were, I shrugged and told them “I don’t know,” and smiled quietly to myself.

The show continued on for a bit, with a lot of singing and some odd cavorting by the musicians and the audience, when suddenly, we were summoned outdoors.

When we got outside, we were instructed to look up. What appeared were an untold number of F-15 fighter planes, flying in a formation that looked like about 12 jets in 3 diamond patterns - one group in front and two in the back - perfectly spaced and moving very quickly. We were amazed as they roared overhead, and we applauded wildly.

Then, from the left emerged two huge helicopters. They were each carrying the fuselages of six other helicopters, dangling them like a bunch of grapes and (presumably) transporting them to another location much in the way a truck carries cars to a dealership.

Suddenly, one of the helicopter shells dropped from its “Mother ship” and crashed into a house below. The stunned neighbors ran outside to see what had happened as the two helicopters continued on their way with one less fuselage to carry.

Just as suddenly, I found myself embracing a woman (who strangely appeared to be my ex-wife) up against a vehicle in a passionate kiss. From behind, I felt the ominous presence of her parents, and one of them said to the other, “Boy, that’s exactly what you wanted to see today, isn’t it?”

Then I woke up.

I’m not sure whether to blame the Dulcolax or the Advil PM or both.