Tuesday, November 4, 2008

I had a a pre-Election Day dream, and it left me defecating in my pants (figuratively)

This election is far from over, of course, but it's looking good for our boy Barack. And let me be the first to say, I love you, people of Ohio. Scholars, gentleman, upstanding women, and bright youngsters in the Buckeye State, you Democrat-leaning-in-'08 residents are.

To think, I actually woke up this morning a bit scared, stricken by this unavoidable fear that McCain was somehow going to pull this one out of Sarah Palin's fine ass. This sense of presidential dread made its debut around 3:00am in the morning, of this fine Election Day 2008. I'd been laboring through an otherwise whatever dream, where I was casting my ballot (technically speaking, "pushing the button") in the humble Fair Lawn, New Jersey voting booth, positioned inside Warren Point Middle School's gymnasium. Which is exactly how my right-given Obama-selecting went down earlier today, so this dream was basically a broadcast of events to come.

Nothing spectacular, and quite coincidental. What are the odds, of having a voter-pegged dream the night before today? Rarely do my mental-nocturnal-movies coincide with present-day happenings, so this struck me as odd off the bat.

I knew something was off, in the dream, though, when I first was asked to show my driver's license. Flipped it out, showed it to the elderly fella working the booth, but his facial reaction was anything but normal. Sort of a screwface, followed by his nudging the Barbara Bush-looking chick to his right, who also responded curiously to my ID. "What's wrong?" I ask. "Son, would you please explain what the joke is here?"

ID passes back to me. I peruse, and strangely see John McCain's crusty old mug, next to Matthew J. Barone. And not just that generic headshot being used by CNN as I type to distinguish which electoral-vote-tally is his; but The Mack himself (what a dumbass fucking nickname to give himself, by the way), winking at me as if he were Nailin' Palin.

[bizarre how I was able to find a picture that pretty-closely resembled the McCain mug from the dream....as Shaggy would say, "It's like weeeeirdo!"]

Then, my head---spinning internally and filling up with acid like a being-prepped bubble bath---peers upward, notices that the elderly fella has morphed into McCain, as well as the Barbara Bush-looking chick, and every other person inside the gym. I turn about-face, immediately, and sprint back to my car. Fumbling my ketchain at first, I clench my fingers around the Buick-lock picker and jimmy the driver's side door open, bringing me back into my bedroom here, not on the Fair Lawn side street.

"Shit, that was one vivid fucking dream," I thought, lying face-toward-wall in bed. And normally, I can't remember my dreams. I wake up, and whatever stories were told in the dome wash away into oblivion. That's the routine. The drill. So the fact that this Twilight Zone episode of a dream registered so visually, so potently, had me shook.

"Damn, what time is it," I wondered.

I turn over, now facing the room-space, only it wasn't what should've been an empty four-walled-area. Instead, what can only be described as a "the love child of a wizard and the grim reaper" was standing over the side of my bed. Think the Tall Man in Phantasm, if you're a seasoned horror movie head. The Tall Man would've been welcome, though....my hooded-dealer-of-doom had a sickel in the air, ready to sweep clockwise into my stomach, to turn my clean, comfy mattress-sheets-and-comforter into a crimson-soaked, organ-covered slab of slaughter.

[replace the orange background with my bedroom, and I'd shit a brick right now]

And this Grim Wizard was real. Real, I tell you! At least real-looking-and-feeling enough to send ice-cold shivers down my spine.

But in a flash, Grim Wizard was vapor. Unlike my near-paralysis, though. Took a good five minutes to erase the frozen heebie-jeebies. And needless to say, the rest of my night's sleep was far from cozy. Maybe a total of two hours slumber, cume.

Walking to the train hours later, the only notion that sprung to brain was, "That has to mean that McCain will win, and this country is fucked, now overseen by the Grim Wizard himself and his Wicked Witch of Wasilla." Unpleasant, at best.

Fortunately for the lot of us, however, Obama/Biden seem to be tag-team-pimp-slapping their opponents like they owe them money. Meaning, I can chalk my bad dream as further proof that I'm a wee more tetched in the head than I'd like to fess up to.

Do dreams really mean anything, in the big picture? Can they predict a person's future? Serve as unexpected allegory to encapsulate soembody's fears, happiness, wishes, etc.? Or, are they just momentary amplified imagination, and nothing else?....who knows, really....for so many, though, tonight, one of life's biggest dreams has an intensely-strong chance of becoming reality, thanks to a certain Barack Hussein Obama.

Thank our lucky stars for that. Keepin' fingers crossed, only 63 electoral votes away from victory as I post this....

Hell motherfucking yeah. "President Barack Obama," I can definitely get used to saying those three words. Kick rocks, Dubya, and please-do let the door hit you on the ass on the way out, then send you tumbling down the hallway where a bag of pretzels awaits you to stuff a handful down your mouth and choke mightily.

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