The Dead Dwarf Theory

We interrupt this riveting play-by-play of our vacation to bring you this commercial.
(Well. It's not really a commercial. But I thought you could use the break.)

We had to drive to the airport to pick up a good friend.

Whilst (love that word) driving in Raleigh traffic, another driver casually pulled DIRECTLY over in front of us (almost ON us) without a signal. A rude hand gesture would even have been helpful.

I said, "Thanks fella! Sure... come on over."

The boy said, "Use the horn, Momma. That's what it's for."

I said, "I know what the horn is for, son." (I was thinking, "It's for waving and signaling to friends." But I didn't say it out loud.)

The boy said, "If you don't use the horn, then the little dwarf who lives in there will never get to blow his trumpet."

"Huh?" I said.

He said, "There's a little dwarf in there, and when you press on the steering wheel, a pin pokes him in the booty. The pin hurts him and scares him, so then he blows his horn."

(Now I'm worried. Not about the traffic, but about my son's sanity.)

I said, "Did someone tell you this or did you make it up?"

He said, "I made it up just now."

So playing along, I said, "What happens when people try to blow their horns and it doesn't work? What does that mean?"

He said, "It means the dwarf is sick or dead. He has to be taken out and given antibiotics or some medicine. If he's dead, then he has to be thrown away."

By this point, we were almost at our exit. Thank goodness.

I am a fan of his creativity.
He says he wants to be an author when he grows up.
I'm glad he can entertain himself by using his mind.
I just can't stop thinking about the dwarf in my car.