“What’s that?”
“Horse.”

Later that night I dreamed that I’d been invited to Ted Nugent’s wedding.

Ted’s wedding (Yes, “Ted." We were on a first-name basis.) was not too frightening. A typical outdoors affair on his ranch. His bride was wearing a gown made from deer pelts that Ted had shot, but that was as odd as it got. The really scary part was the reception.

To feed everyone a set of festival tents had been set up (those big white ones made of canvas) to house tables of meat. All kinds of meat. Huge chunks of still dripping meat, other huge chunks of meat so cooked it was black. None of it was labeled and there was nothing whatsoever for vegetarians. Awkward conversations were heard through the various tents:

“What’s that?”

“Horse.”

“... Oh. ... Really?”

“Yep. I hunted it myself.”

“... Oh. ... And what’s that?”

“Dog.”

Then the afternoon activities started. The only one I clearly remember was one of Ted’s ranch-hands chaining together a bunch of SUVs (bumper-to-bumper type of arrangement) and then slowly towing them back and forth across an open meadow while the drunken guests “hunted” them with shotguns.