vrijdag 15 juni 2018

To have a dream or to have had a nightmare


“Can I ask you a question please?”
-“Sure.”
“Why have I been detained and brought here today?”
-“We have decided to detain you due to some suspicious posts
on your Fbook page.”
“Oh, really? That is a suprise to me.”
-“Nowadays we have to take any sort of threat posted on social media as
a possible real threat. That is why you are here.”
“A threat, how am I a threat? And to whom? And what post on Fbook could you have possibly interpreted as a threat?”
-He opened a white folder on the table in front of me. My hands were of course in restraints.
-This post dated April 15th, 2018, you wrote…


“I have this dream where the president and I are eating nachos together at a Taco Bell, and I use a spork shaped like a cross that I got with my order of nachos bellgrande, to remove every finger and toe from the presidents hands and feet. Then I force feed them one by one to himself while the chihuahua sitting next to me with the face of Mickey Rourke and the body of Paris Hilton sings the American National Anthem while on one knee. When I ask for a refill on my Sprite, EPA boss Scott Pruitt who is workng behind the counter says in a thick Mexican accent – sorry no refills for white people today. And I say, shit man, I ain’t white, I’m a Jew. We’re as vilified as the latino’s, Muslims and the blacks. Ok not really, but I just wanted more Sprite and Pruitt eventually acquiesces. He fills my cup with too much ice and on purpose pours me orange soda instead. Then Pruitt turns into a pile of refried beans before my very eyes. A flock of crows swoop in through the drive-in window and devour him. One crow stops to ask me if there was any sour cream. I tell the crow that I don't work there but maybe check in the fridge. I return to the finger and toe less president who I now find face down in a pool of guacamole. There is no secret service around to save hime. Nobody else offers help. The presidensts first exwife sits in the corner of the Taco Bell playing Tetris on a Gameboy, oblivious to everything. The president eventually suffocates and dies. A mariachi band begins to play. And right before the vice president is to be sworn in at the Dunkin Donuts just down the road, Jesus Christ himself, decides to come back from his retreat in Northern New Jersey, hijacks the brand new private jet paid for by the practioners of Jesse Duplantis and crashes that learjet into the double D where the VP is buying a box of munchkins to pass out along the way back to the White House. Cause well, even if the VP hates the gays, he still does believe in sharing with whomever shows up to see him blush. That is when I think that I woke up.”


-“Now we found this post to be somewhat alarming and generally disturbing. It raised a number of red flags in our system and that is why we have brought you in today.”
“Does that transcript of my post say that I HAVE a dream about eating Taco Bell with the president, removing his fingers and toes with a spork cross, asking Scott Pruitt for a soda refill, and Jesus Christ kamikazeeing into a double D to take out the VP? or does it say that I HAD a dream eating Taco Bell with the president, removing his fingers and toes with a spork cross, asking Scott Pruitt for a soda refill, and Jesus Christ kamikazeeing into a double D to take out the VP?”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is semantics man. That there is a bit of a difference between saying that “I HAVE a dream of doing something,” and or “I HAD a dream about something.” I can honestly say that I do not have a dream of doing anything with or too our elected officially. But if my subconscious wills my dreams one way or another while I sleep, well, no harm no foul right?”
“Why post this sort of nonesense on Fbook then? The authorities will get the wrong idea.”
“The authorities always have the wrong idea, that is why they are called authorities. Am I free to go?”
-“Not just yet, I am afraid.”
“Why? What now?”
-“Now we will help you get back to sleep and we, we will then check to see what you are dreaming about. Then you might be able to go home. When the crows stop laughing, that is.”

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