I dream of Vo-ox in the fuzzy re-ed suit.
I have indulged in blog-reading for too long. It is starting to take a toll on my "Zs".
Your Aardvark dreamed that he was invited to Vox Day's winter retreat for Christmas.
The feel of the dream was that it was in Switzerland, where I arrived at a down-at-the-heels chalet that looked more like a renovated double-wide, with unkempt trees very close to the house. Vox greeted me with joy, and and came across more like John Kricfalusi than the Italian-loafered imbiber of umbrella-festooned drinks. Spacebunny was slender and brunette, and there was an indeterminate number of children around. About this time, I began to get the impression that I was there less as a Christmas guest, and more as an extra, because I was introduced to his uncle, who was very clearly Ben Stein. This was having every appearance of being an economics holiday special, Rudolph's Red-Ink Christmas or summat. There was a fair amount of unmemorable homina-homina, but five things stand out: 1) Vox had a tendency to spontaneously break out in song. 2) Someone broke into the house, and Grinchily stole the Christmas tree, leaving a trail of ornaments down the front path. I got out of bed, went downstairs and looked out of the front window to see Vox, SB, and the indeterminate number of children hurriedly picking up the ornaments from the snow, and wearing Santa / Santa's elvish outfits. When they realized that someone was watching them, they scurried and hid under an evergreen. 3) While I was looking at painted wooden toys under the table, Vox popped up and asked if I wanted to call home with Skype. He rummaged through the toys and pulled out a cell phone apparently built from yellow and clear LEGOs, with an LCD display. 4) At no time did Ben Stein say "Wo-o-o-o-o-w" or "Buellllerrr". 5) There were no Viszlas in evidence.
Very odd, very memorable. Oh. Vox never broke out a flaming sword, either.