The Jungle, the Bigfoot, and the Fan Man Cometh

Last night I dreamed I was deep in the jungle—not metaphorically, mind you, but the kind you’d find on a Nature Channel special narrated by a vaguely concerned Brit. I wasn’t alone. Beside me stood a woman zookeeper in full khaki safari cosplay, complete with binoculars and a steel gaze. We weren’t observing wildlife—we were at war. The prize? A sprawling jungle compound. The opponent? A hulking, glowering Bigfoot-like brute who looked like he’d crawled out of my Neanderthal ancestry with unresolved issues and a gym membership.

It was a reality show, naturally. Cameras everywhere. High stakes. Death possible. Maybe probable.

What shocked me wasn’t the premise—it was me. I watched myself morph from suburban dad into a primal tactician, a creature with cunning in his marrow and bloodlust behind his bifocals. The zookeeper and I didn’t stand a chance physically, but we were shrewd, dirty-fighting strategists. While the beast snorted and stomped like a sentient linebacker, we set a trap—an elegant, jungle-engineered booby trap. And it worked. Bigfoot fell. Cue commercial break. Cue confetti.

Victory was ours.

But I, ever the responsible homeowner, sold my half of the prize to the zookeeper in exchange for a wad of cash and a sense of capitalist purpose. I left the jungle compound behind and made my triumphant return not to glory—but to shopping.

I hit the beachside bazaar with missionary zeal, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring with sea air and consumer ambition. My quarry: fans. Tower fans. Desk fans. Oscillating fans. Fans with remotes, timers, and multi-speed whisper motors. Each vendor pitched their product like they were auditioning for Shark Tank. I nodded sagely as an assistant loaded box after box into a truck like I was provisioning for the end times—but with superior airflow.

I had ventured into the heart of darkness, found my inner beast, won the battle, and returned not with enlightenment or moral clarity—but with high-performance climate control.

In the dream’s strange logic, it made perfect sense. I had confronted the savage within, and now, armed with cutting-edge ventilation, I would cool the tempers of suburban life.

This, apparently, is my idea of spiritual integration.