THE STRANGEST DREAM
By Peter Fredson
January 18, 2006
Last night, retiring after having a glass of warm milk, I had the strangest dream.
I was standing on a tall platform, from which I could see most of the world, and was wearing a purple robe, a shining halo, and holding a silver cane with a miniature ivory head of Barbara Eden (I DREAM OF JEANIE) star on it.
The ivory head spoke to me: "Because you are of irresistible personality, and very petulant, the powers-that-be have decided to make you Emperor of the Universe. Your slightest wish will be our command and will be immediately executed. Now go, and rule wisely."
Being intolerant of criticism, I immediately filled a Superdome Stadium with people of the Bush Administration, after emptying it of water, food, and toilet paper. I then called the people I found most offensive and pronounced sentence on them. Most of the common poor people I simply drowned and got rid of them quickly, as being irrelevant to Imperial designs. But I paid special attention to a few executives.
I immersed Donald Rumsfeld in a huge vat of water suspended over a fire and slowly raised the temperature to boiling. As Donald began screaming I leaned over and said, "There, there, things are getting better soon." Soon he expired, and I had a chef cut him into small pieces and dispensed it to the starving bureaucrats lying about the auditorium.
I called Karl Rove to the court, where a bailiff slit his throat and pulled his tongue out through the slit, while I commanded him to tell me a fairy tale of knights in shining armor, riding on dragons, and shinnying up a tower by the shining tresses of Katie Couric.
When Dick Cheney appeared I fastened a small iron cage around his genitals and put a hungry rat in the cage to eat his way to freedom. His high pitched screams did not last long as the rat was very hungry.
Then Condi Rice appeared, complete with new black patent leather shoes, and I commanded her to repeat all of the lies she had accumulated. After what seemed like several hours I had her sit on a sharpened stake, 4 foot long, which protruded from her neck. She died well, still babbling about democracy, liberty, and sovereignty.
Then George W. Bush came before me, all smiles, swaggering, holding out his hand, staring intently at me while gesticulating frantically, under the illusion that he was going to receive a medal for bravery. He was wearing a uniform of a Knights Templar, a large pink cod-piece, holding a cross of gold, with a paper sword, ready for a photo-op. I gave him a sandwich and a pat on the head, while he gibbered in gratitude.
I then had him lie down on a soft blanket while he cooed in delight until the guillotine blade came crashing down. I then put his head in a glass box and suspended it atop the Capitol Dome, while thousands of fundamentalists prayed, blubbered, praised his legacy and chanted Hallelujah.
I then passed out thousand dollar bank-notes to the rest of the administration people, and had them stand against a shiny white wall, while a firing squad sent them to have a personal encounter with supernatural entities. Unfortunately, none survived the encounter.
The scene shifted to the red carpet of the Golden Globes awards where an aging female comedian and her rat-faced skank daughter commented on tin-foil garments worn by simpering idiots, who all seemed to be either over-fed or famelic.
The alarm clock then went off and my dream state was shattered, left to face the morning reality in pajamas, by myself. Ah, how the mighty must fall. Now I must choose, Corn Flakes or Oatmeal?