Al Gore, Spanky the Clown and Cooties
I thought I would dream last night about the new house crumbling down around me, or being lost in a maze at Home Depot. But no. I had to dream* about Al Gore. Probably because as I downed my third celebratory/stress-relief Captain Morgans and Snapple, I collapsed on the couch mumbling, this man was almost our president! In my dream he was wearing a clown suit and and his name was Spanky, but I knew it was Al Gore by the way he was yelling that the cicadas were coming to get us and it was all Bushitler's fault! So there was this clown, trailed by thousands of cicadas wearing Hitler mustaches and they were chasing me through the streets of New York City, which were covered in snow and ice, due to the global warming effects brought on my too many viewings of The Day After Tomorrow. I finally found sanctuary in a bomb shelter, where I was greeted by Cheney, Rumsfeld, Rice and Bush, who had just resigned from their posts and were sitting in this safe haven waiting for the inevitable bombs to fall because it was really a silly thing to make the president and his staff step down during wartime. Oops, here comes another dirty bomb! Can you smell that poisonous gas? Mmmm.... I love the smell of cowardly defeat in the morning! So eventually - I'm talking months here - we leave the bomb shelter and swim through the city, which is now hot as hell and flooded with melted glaciers and we're just lazily swimming away, talking about the good old days when Bush was president, before Kerry sold the Statue of Liberty back to France in exchange for some hair product, before Kerry decided to invite all the world's Imans and Shahs and clerics over for tea, before those same people took advantage of Kerry's appeasing demeanor and started bombarding our cities. In front of Madison Square Garden we meet up with Al Gore himself who is no longer wearing a clown suit, but still quite resembles a clown. He now carries a megaphone and a soapbox around and every so often he stops to address a crowd of young schoolchildren, explaining about the American gulags that exist because of Bush. The children laugh, as children are wont to do when confronted with crazy people. As we stand around watching Al with amusement, this ghost of a guy comes along and says he is the Spirit of What If and he wants to show us, just for shits and giggles, what would have happened if Al Gore was president on 9/11. So we follow this spirit guy to the nearest movie theater, where he projects his vision on a big screen. Comfy theater. Nice, reclining seats and extra big cup holders. Al tags along and sits next between Cheney and myself. I give one look to Cheney and he knows what to do. We exchange cootie shots. There, much better. We never do get to see the movie because Gore freaks out and starts tearing up the theater, like metal fans at the last Guns n Roses concert. Stuffing flies out of the seats, the screen is ripped down and all the while Gore is screaming that Bush is Hitler and George Soros is King. We feel sorry for him at this point and Condi tries to calm him down while Rumsfeld loses all patience and kicks Gore in the balls. Gore cries even louder. Then the damn birds woke me up. I would really like to know how the movie played out. Maybe one of you can finish it for me? _____________ I am off to a celebratory lunch that will consist of giant Bloody Mary's and little else. I will then make my way to the new house to clean it up a bit and then I head to the Little League field for the exciting finale of the 2004 regular season. So, until tonight.
*Unlike all of my other long-winded, heavy-plotted, convoluted dreams, this one is purely made up. Why? Just felt like entertaining myself today. That's why.