Bushy Dreams

Back in the good old days, I had dreams about Bill Clinton. And I have to admit, they had a bit of a sex tone to them.

He was my rogue, my president, my gray fox smartypants in the White House.

Yesterday, I took a day off from reading the newspapers, etc. It was very interesting and something happened in my dream state that would have never happened had I been completely soured toward the world because I had spent the day filling my head with the newspaper.

This is the truth. I had a dream about George Bush last night. It was on a beach that seemed like Eastern Long Island. He weighed about forty more pounds than he does in real life. He was quite bloated in the face, tired and beaten down in a sack-like black outfit. He had the skin texture of a man who spends a lot of time drinking. Upon the beach were revelers walking in many different directions up and down and across the beach. Most of them were young or middle aged. They were all white, smart, aimless Democrats. George felt out of place on the beach (for a while, he was even riding a pokey horse). He had no where to turn, except he saw me and decided, somehow, that I was the bridge between the Left and the Right and he wanted to speak with me in confidence and ultimately talk me into his side of things and then have me go to all these people on the beach and recruit them for his cause, to let them know that he was an okay guy. I didn’t retreat from his interacting with me. Being a people-pleasing type actor person, I went along with what he had to say, trying to pay attention to whatever humanity he was showing me in his very vulnerable state.

I listened courteously and even felt oddly flattered that he asked me to help him out. And interestingly, I had more pity for him than anger. It was apparent that he knew his reign was over and he was also sorely aware that he would go down in history as one of the biggest losers of all time. His current situation on the beach and as president of the country was that of an alienated bully who was sad to have realized that everyone else had graduated from High School and matured into nice people and he somehow missed the boat. His fat, red, frowning face had the look of someone who was thinking, "I'm always a loser. My mother hates me. Why do I always screw everything up? Where's the bar?"