The Maitre d's Political Dream

The Maitre d'

Some time ago a crazy dream came to me,
I dreamt I was walkin' into World War Three,
I went to the doctor the very next day
To see what kinda words he could say.
He said it was a bad dream.
I wouldn't worry 'bout it none, though,
They were my own dreams and they're only in my head.
I said, "Hold it, Doc, a World War passed through my brain."
- Bob Dylan, "Talkin' World War III Blues"

Yeah, I know I'm not Jimmy the Squid, but I'm sure he won't mind me putting this in Blasphemous Whisperings, because this might just be a dream he implanted himself.

Ia! Ia! Jimmy ftaghen!

Sorry, I just blacked out. Did everything just taste purple for a second?

Anyway, this is an actual dream I had. I swear that every word of it is true... well, it truly happened in my subconscious.

As the dream begins, I'm scheduled to speak at some Republican gathering that's being held one evening at an elementary school or something. Apparently I'm supposed to stump for McCain or something. I don't know. Already I'm waist-deep in dream logic because, while I'm technically registered as a Republican somewhere, my current political stance is "I'm really f@#$ing tired of hearing these morons on the right and left argue issues they'll never agree on without even attempting to understand the other side."

So, I'm up in front of a small crowd. There's some moderator or group leader or something on hand. He's sitting at a desk; I'm up at the chalkboard. So I place a couple of books and magazines in the chalk tray--I'm using them to make some point or another--and start my discussion.

(Parenthetically, I should also mention that for half of the presentation, I'm not wearing a shirt. As in, I took it off right after I arrived. I'm not sure why. I don't remember any women being in the room, and even so, I imagine they'd be scared off after just one look, so I wouldn't really be helping things. I guess it's the old "dream you went to school/work in your underwear" syndrome.)

Before I can get more than a couple of sentences out, in walks Obama. No, seriously. He's got a couple of men escorting him, and he just steps in the door, and walks directly in front of me and my presentation. He sits down at a desk on the far side of the room, and just stares at me. Smirking. Yes, smirking. With a knowing smirk that's just taunting me to screw up.

I look over at the Republican group leader. He's not visibly shaken, so I continue with my presentation.

It's at this point that I come to a horrifying realization. I'm at a Republican group, and the essence of my presentation is this: both candidates seem like really nice guys. OK, they're politicians, so there's a good chance they're unethical, self-centered bastards. Actually, there's a good chance that their campaigns are being run by unethical, self-centered bastards. And their followers are a bunch of narrow-minded fanatics. Especially on the Obama side. Some of his supporters are so on the fringe as to be truly scary and fanatical--I mean, nothing like Ron Paul's cult, but close. So maybe that should tip things in favor of McCain. Maybe.

I look over at the moderator. All I can think is, man, they're going to be so pissed when I give this speech that says the opposition is just as good as their candidate. Crap. Why was I even asked to come speak? (Dream logic strikes again.)

So, the only thing I can do now is water down my presentation, and try to make it pro-McCain. I start doing so half-heartedly. And I eventually get to the point where I need to make reference to one of the books I placed on the chalk tray. So I step back, shuffle the books that are there around, and... not a single one is the book I need. In fact, they're all books that I didn't bring. Crap! It becomes apparent that one of the guys with Obama pulled a dirty trick on me.

No matter. I finish stumbling through the presentation, and hand it off back to the group leader. It suddenly hits me that the group leader looks really familiar. Like maybe he's not just a volunteer, but an actual politician. Like a representative or a Senator or something. Hmm. I can't place him, but...

... holy crap, the group leader is McCain.

Hmm. This doesn't bode well, but he hasn't said anything yet, so I let him take the floor. As I pass him to sit down, he sidles up to me and says he needs to talk to me in the hall.

Holy crap, I think. This is it. I'm about to be chewed the hell out because I gave a wishy-washy analysis of the facts rather than a clear vote of support. Preparing to receive my punishment, I shamefully follow him out into the hall.

"Check this out," he says once we're out of the room.

The man hands me a photocopied form. I can't make it out exactly, so I stare at it quizzically for a moment. Suddenly, through dream info dump, I magically understand that it's some sort of legal government form that Obama had to fill out at some point. My dream wasn't specific enough to tell me what form--for all I know it could have been taxes or a business license or a car registration. All I know is, it was a form, and it was critical that it be filled out correctly.

"See, I took this photocopy of the original form, and then I made a couple of fake copies with inaccurate information on it, and I cut them up," he said, like your grandpa does when he's excited that he just figured out how to connect to the Interwebs. "And then I photocopied them again so it looks like it's the original form. And I'm going to release these to the press."

I remember seeing a flash of photocopied form. Again, I couldn't identify it, which is probably for the best. Thankfully, my internal logic saved me from the incredible stupid that I had just created by waking me at that very moment.

There's so much I wish I'd known. Was Dream Obama pleased that he'd unnerved me enough that I'd screwed up the presentation? Why would he care, since it's unlikely a bad presentation would make a die-hard Republican change their mind about who they were voting for? And did Dream McCain actually pull off creating a trumped-up scandal around Dream Obama with nothing more than the use of a Xerox machine?

The world may thankfully never know.

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