Last night I dreamed that you were managing an enormous Burger King in a shopping mall, and brought me into an unoccupied section of the dining room in order to perform a root canal. Though your use of novocain was very skilled, your use of humor to alleviate the boredom of the procedure was in poor taste and would have been alarming had I not been so heavily sedated. You definitely made the better career choice in waking life.
As far as guest spots in my dreams, you vastly out-weirded Mel Gibson, who made a cameo appearance about 13 years ago at a pot-luck luau held by pirates ("Argh!" pirates, not Somali pirates), in which all he did was eat copious amounts of a dip that nobody had told him was made with smoked human brains. Although that might explain his subsequent real-life behavior. Kuru is an ugly disease.
Oh -- and what was up with the group of bikers at Table 13 who entertained the other diners by melodramatically lip-synching to The Alan Parsons Project's "Limelight" while gradually morphing into poorly costumed robots and space aliens, and why were they so intent on killing the winsome little girl who was fleeing them through a post-apocalyptic wasteland on a makeshift Segway?