I had a dream recently. It goes like this . . . I am in a house, supposedly my
house,but it is a house I do not recognize. In this house there is a gigantic
party going on,with full on catering-tables and tables, even L-shaped tables all
covered in crudite and cold cuts, chips and onion dip, and soft drink bars-bright
lighting further shapes the atmosphere in a somehow unpleasant way.
This house of mine is completely unfamiliar, and stock full of people I do not
know, all enjoying themselves to the fullest.
I start to look for Fernando, thinking perhaps he has something to do with this
unexplained and soon seemingly Republican extravaganza. Cant find him
(naturally-its a dream). Nonetheless, I continue searching for someone I know,
climbing the various HGTV staircases until I eventually find, really much to my
overwhelming annoyance and horrible chagrin, a familiar face: Mitt Romneys.
And then I realize Mitt is this vast partys host-he is actually having a Romney
fundraiser in what seems to be my home.
I approach him sitting at a table, his back to me, and in a blustery fashion
I say assertively and somewhat demandingly, "You cant just go into peoples
houses and have a fundraiser without their permission!!!" Romney turns and says,
"Well you can, if you pay for it . . . . And I did!". This infuriates me further.
But against all my political and territorial impulses to kick him out of the house,
I notice the reason Mitt is seated: he is injured-his right foot is very bruised,
barefoot, resting on one of the many, many tables, while a lackey attends to the
lame foot injury. Not to be a total jerk, I simply ask, "What the hell
happened to your foot?" He explains, "Well I was mingling with my guests,
and while garnering votes and telling people how I will cut taxes, I happened
to wander into N Syncs practice session and got tangled up in their dance moves."
Do you believe him? I HOPE not, but well know by the time this issue of
zingmagazine is out.
This dream sucks. . .