I just had an interesting set of strange little dreams, here I will present then together in the order I had them. Interpretation welcome.

=== Act I: Mayonissius ===

I am going to see an epic play with some friends. A classical epic, that is, with a new twist on the traditional Greek storytelling: everything is made of deli sandwiches. The actors are wearing sub costumes, and the whole set is cleverly made of deli items. We arrive late and the play has already started. The main character is looking for a way to kill someone and then he looks up an sees a large round piece of bread, hold up his arms and says: "ah, gnocchi". At this point we all know that this is to become a gnocchiotine (read: guillotine). Having found the answer to that which was troubling the man looks up to the stars to give thanks. The stars too are sub sandwiches hung from the ceiling with clever puns on real star names that sounds like sandwiches. The only one I remember is Romulobeefus, but rest assured, they were funny. So funny, in fact, that I chuckled and woke up. (Fun fact: gnocchi is pasta, not bread. Silly subconscious.)

=== Act II: Gotta knit 'em all ===

In this dream I am a woman. Stocky with brown, fizzy hair, light complexion, and freckles. I am entering a rather unkempt house to seek out the owner. Suddenly, I am ambushed in the living room by a foreign woman. She does not speak English, but she does attempt to subdue me using her pokemon-like creatures (which are clothing items). Lucky for me, I have been training my clothing and easily defeat her. On my way towards the back bedroom I defeat another woman easily, and then I encounter the head of the house. He and I become locked in an epic, three part clothing-Pokemon battle. First, he defeats my jean-ray by just a thread (literally, his thread remaining was longer). Next, my tube-sock-snake bests his by a similarly small margin. But wait, where did he go? Oh no, he has started the last battle in the other room without me! I run in there to discover that the battle of the t-shirts has ended in a perfect tie. This is completely unheard of, and leaves the whole battle at a draw. We are unsure what to do, but neither of us has ever respected another trainer so much. We instantly start making out. He speaks to the other women in his house in a strange language, telling them they must return to the homeland. (Apparently they were his mother and sister.) He kicks them out promptly and we live happily ever after in the dingy-looking house.

=== Act III: Al Pachino and the Magic Casino ===

Before I start this one, let me just say that I don't really know what Al Pachino looks like, and I haven't seen the godfather. (It's already on my to-watch list).

This dream is styled like a documentary on the mafia. "One of the key players in the mafia," says the narrator, "was Al Pachino, well known for his creative ways to dispose of bodies and for his casino." Now we are watching a reenactment with Pachino polishing glasses at a bar, a badly beaten man on the floor, and one of Pachino's lackeys over him with a shotgun. "I don't care what you do, I'm not leaving here until I get my money." The beaten man insists.

"Are you sure about that? You know, that isn't going to work for us."

"I don't care, I'm not going until I get my money." The man on the ground crosses his arms and puts on his best poker face. The lackey looks to Al, Al gives him the nod, and the determined man's head is blown clear of his body.

"Well, that's a shame." Al is now brewing some tea.

"How are we gonna get rid of this one, boss? Another car crash?"

"Naw, we got too many of those. Too many plane crashes too." They both sit and ponder a bit over tea until Al gets an idea: "aha! I ain't ever heard of anyone's head gettin ripped off by a movie projector! That's what we'll do."

So the two go to the movie theater and hide in the back by a giant old-style reeled projector. Al takes the cover of to reveal some gears and then gives the signal. His lackey throws the head towards the audience and they both split. Comically, it was a really bad throw, and it just barely makes it to the last row of seats. A Nicely dressed man with a waxed mustache and long wooden pipe turns around and exclaims "well, I say! Who threw that? Belligerent hoodlums!"

=== The End ===

right. So... Wtf?