Why was Mort in my head?

I just had a dream that went in reverse. We (Me, a few unknown people, Mort Shuman, some strippers/models, a rich writer) were having Christmas diner at Mort Shuman’s house. Then we were walking up to the house. Mort Shuman was wearing a bathrobe. One of the stripper/models was talking about how fabulous the mansion was and how she wished she owned it. A reality lady came out of nowhere and said it was 4.7 million dollars. I think she was Halle Berry.
Then Mort said to the rich writer, “It’s not all my money or my big house that makes me.”
And right then Mort stops, reaches up in his bathrobe and pulls down leopard print underwear. With his underwear around his knees like a flag he reaches his hand back under his testicals and pulling his hand up triumphantly smelling his fingers he says.
“It’s the sweat on my nuts that makes me...Mortimer.”

At this point I woke up, and wished that it was a movie so I could sample it for a Mort Shuman compilation.

Ilona and I spent the majority of yesterday on a rowboat out on Lost Lake. We attempted to catch some fish. It was fun. We both caught fish so big that they snapped thru our lines. And after 5+ hours decided to go make a fire. Ahhh, the good life in the woods.