adventure with the clown head superweapon

"Chicken" pot pie, cream puffs, water.

(Could this dream be any more Freudian-ly obvious?)
We're teeneagers. Our little clan is on a quest through the suburban landscape, skirting neighborhoods across playing fields and up and over dams & such. One of our group has a new, powerful weapon that glows blue when the light goes down, looks a lot like a trident but rounded at the corners. Another gang, to whom the weapon belongs, begins to hunt us down. We have a lead on them, but they'll be upon us soon enough.

And then the showdown. Their best heaves a javelin at me, but I duck and roll and evade. We have them and they submit. We proceed to intimidate them. There's a faint sexual element to it, some inference that I'll make this kid my bitch if he doesn't watch his step.

I examine the great trident weapon. It morphs in my hands to the size of a dolphin. The interior opens to reveal the Fun Fountain clown head as the power source. Reality/realism declines at this point in the dream and I begin to think that I might be able to get a new head/had for our fountain by ordering another of these weapons off of the internet.