In last night's dream, I was following some folks to Ocean City. On foot, though I was making pretty good time. I was getting hungry, and passed a McDonalds I knew was on the way. Sadly, though, it was abandoned. Fortunately, I saw that this was because they'd relocated to a brand new and spectacular glass-fronted facility down the road. But McDonalds was not to be for me, since just down the road a bit, I saw a small mall wherein there were far superior vittles to be had. When I arrived, I was first drawn to the chinese food kiosk, but quickly decided I'd rather go to the deli. At the deli counter, a man and his wife were discussing the special offer. For an extra dollar, you could spend fifteen minutes gathering as many knick-knacks from the shelves which covered a far wall as would fit in a small basket. The man and wife were convinced that there was some kind of trick, with the size of the basket or the time limit being rigged to prevent you from getting anything useful. As the vendor assured him there was no trick, I inspected the far wall. It was full of neat little arty knick knacks and oversized books. So I had put my dollar down even before the man ahead of me had, begrudgingly, gone over to the wall. This means that my decision was uninformed by what happened next: the wall retracted to reveal this amazing alcove of toys and wonders, essentially a large toy shop, guarded by a free-standing fireplace.
A satanic Santa-like fgure guarded this wonderland, and explained, in stilted, poetic language, how the game worked. My understanding came to be that he and everyone else inside had fifteen minutes to gather as much stuff as they liked, but they could only keep it if among his take was one particular object.
I am caught in the throng that moves toward the alcove, and forced up a staircase to the top of the fireplace. But the density of the line is such that the fifteen minutes expire just as I reach the top, where I would otherwise have been expected to jump down the fireplace to enter this alcove. Of course, as I have paid my dollar, I am now next to play the game. When I reach the contestant's enterance, I find a coin gumball machine, which, I now understand, delivers a tiny little brass model of the particular object I must find. I insert my token and an given a small brass model of some kind of model train freight car.

At this point, the dream shifts slightly, and I am a mere spectator in the holding area; playing the game in my place is the boy Goku of Bragonball fame. As he searches for the freight car, I notice and point out to my companions how amazing is the motion of the toy Optimus Prime robot I can see jumping about and doing kung fu outside of the holding area. It is now that I come to understand that the game is somehow rigged, as there would be horrible otherworldly consequences for the demonic plan of the game's organizers should anyone win. To stop me revealing this, the organizer, a Corrupt Corporate Executive type, and his henchman, Peter Lorrie, try to kill me. As I fought him off, twisting him into various pretzel configurations, Goku finds the freight car, but is barred access to the holding area to turn it in. He instead pitches it at the organizer, who ignores it, so it bounces off of him and disappears.

This is a problem for me, since Peter Lorrie is still trying to kill me, and while I've got the advantage over him for the moment, as I can't actually do anything to hurt him, I'm going to have to struggle with him pretty much until one of us gives up. Young Goku is forcibly ejected, and the organizers rejoices, since now he's just got to kill me and let the clock run out, and their evil plan will be safe for another day. But I know better, and Goku returns minutes later in his adult SSJ4 form, sure to use his instant transmission and super-speed to re-find the freight car and force the organizer to accept it in the time remaining.

Will he? Well, I might have found out had I not been awakened by a wrong number call.

Such is life.