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Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Foolish me. I actually believed for a bit there that if I ignored him, he may just go away. So I extended my hiatus, turned it into a sabbatical and even considered dropping out of this silly blogging game altogether. But then, last night, the smirking bastard crept back into my subconscious, showing up in a dream that quickly became a nightmare. I woke up in a cold sweat, caught somewhere between a sob and a scream.

The hazy fog of my Nightmareland.

The particulars of my night of terror are too frightening for me to fully recount but I do remember dancing with Pickles in the East Room (I'm pretty sure she was six drinks in the tank... or hopped up on Thorazine... or both), watching Preznit McNumbnuts flip burgers on the White House lawn, and an unfortunate incident involving comedian Jay Mohr, a video camera and a presidential meeting in the men's room. Please, don't ask.

My only interaction with Dubya occured as he was holding court over the barbecue, flipping these massive squares of ground beef packed with olives (his 'speshilty') and chuckling at his own lame anecdotes. At one point he slobbered, "on Sundays, I get to dress up as an astronaut!" He was very excited about this, as I imagine he would be. But it was then that I couldn't contain myself any longer and launched into the following mini-rant:

"That truly terrifies me sir. I mean, it's good to know you're not strapping electrodes to the ball sacks of staff members you've forced to dress up as Arabs, which is sort of what I assumed you did... But still, shouldn't you be working on something important? I don't know, signing some treaties, making some diplomatic calls, maybe working on a way to get our troops the fuck out of Iraq right quick?? I mean, you could keep one eye on the Cowboys game if you want, but really... an astronaut?"
Space Cowboy.

What I'm taking away from this nocturnal horror is the simple fact that I have some serious issues that only get worse if I don't work them out right here on DAYS. That, plus the fact that I can bring my shampoo on the plane again, is ending my self-imposed exile from Blogistan. Also, Chewie has been kicking my ass in posting lately, and I just can't let that happen.

'Seriously, who invited that imbecile?'

DAYS is back y'all. Come and get some.

I suppose he actually flips the burgers right on to the lawn, then picks them up and puts them back on the grill. What an asshole. Dancing with Pickles, too bad you didn't just slap her on Bush's burger and let those two go after each other while she's tanked up, but you aren't in control of your dreams.
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