In Your Dreams!

While nodding off in my cubicle with my head knocking into the wall every 10 seconds, I suddenly came to the realization that yes, in fact, Trix really are for kids. Silly rabbit, when will you ever learn?

That lucid moment between dreaming and waking led me to a second realization, namely that for the past two nights, Barack Obama, POTUS B-HO himself, has appeared in my dreams. And no, these were not dreams of the illicit variety that leave me lying in bed wet and covered in shame. These were the typical atypical dreams that weave together many strands of consciousness, creating a new reality that is both familiar and wildly insane. Kind of like when you're high off absinthe and find yourself making out with your best friend's girlfriend, only she's later revealed to be her mother and not actually her.

In the first cameo by our President, on a Gran Torino-like lawn, he was sadly gunned down by the same Asian thugs that took down Clint. "You bastards! You killed Barry!" I yelled. I then remember my mind's eye, omniscient as it is, following Hilary Clinton as she scrambled into the house trying to find cover. Only it wasn't exactly Hilary. She looked more like Marilyn Monroe with a goldilocks afro. And even more frightening, I percieved her as the First Lady. I never felt so emotionally distraught over a Clinton before.

The next evening, again 'Bam the Man snuck into my dreamscape. This time he served as some sort of guide at what I think was a museum. Or maybe it was a church. Or a White Castle. I really don't know. In any case, his main role that night was to speak very condescendingly to my office's most condescending, know-it-all employee. He layeth the smack down on her, belittling her while explaining a map on the wall. I think my subconcious was telling me that next time I need to talk back to a co-worker and cut em down to size, just call El Presidente (translation: The Presidente) and he'll take care of it. I wonder if he's also available for family reunions.

As cool as it initially was hosting the POTUS in his guest roles as assasination victim and tour-guide asshole, I am disconcerted by the fact that this guy's face is truly ubiquitous. He shows up everywhere. On people's chests, on shirt lapels, in store windows, on magazine covers, framed on walls, on my boxer briefs, on the boobtube (the word "boobtube" is a lot awesomer than what it signifies btw; c'mon, a tube full of boobs!), and now you can see him 24-7 since he haunts your dreams too. Kim Jong Il, Fidel Castro, meet your match. B-HO puts the 'brother' back in Big Brother, and now he's the biggest brother on the block.

I used to be overly concerned and paranoid about the PATRIOT ACT enabling the government to look at what books I borrow from the liberry, but this is on a completely new level of surveillance. Barack Obama isn't just checking my liberry records, he's actually in my mind checking my fantasies! It's like he appointed Rick Moranis to the head of Fringe sciences and had himself shrunken down to the size of a lego. Then he crawled into my ear canal while I was sleeping, and now the sly bastard is wreaking havok in slumberland. It's only a matter of time until he starts invading my waking life consciousness and starts controlling my actions. It's like the opposite of Being John Malkovich--Barack Obama Being You!

Next thing you know I'll be talking....gasp....professorially! And I'll start giving loved ones....gasp....fist bumps! And ohmygosh I might actually start....gasp....being a productive member of society!!! The end is nigh, folks, the end is nigh...