"Only" a Dream

Gerry's Corner: Oh my God, you guys! I just woke up from several days of hibernating and whoa, what a dream I had! Many of you may know that I have a two-point self-longevity plan:

(a) Have birthdays closer together.
(b) Hibernate for much of the winter.

The only problem with step (b) is that I won't be able to blog as often or as cogently as I would like. To resolve this issue, I've appointed a commission to search for possible guest bloggers so that the long, cold darkness (of winter, not death - geez!) is not quite so long and cold and Gerry-less.

Anyway! Back to my dream! When you hibernate, your dreams are incredibly lucid and complex. It's another reason why I assume squirrels and bears will slowly infiltrate our government and then take over the world. Last year during my hibernation, I learned Urdu. I was so excited a few days ago to find out what my first hibernation dream of the season would be that I had trouble going to sleep. Eventually, though, my eyelids drifted southwards, like a stage curtain, but opposite, because the show was just beginning!



So here's the dream. I'm in a dank basement, cuffed to a table. The table is metal, and I'm lying on it on my back - it's cold, and I realize I'm only wearing a hospital johnny. There's a drip somewhere, and a bare light bulb swings above me, hypnotically. I rattle my head around as I typically do to get my brain to kick in, and I become aware that I'm wearing some sort of hard hat that I can't shake off - it's attached to me somehow. The temperature in this basement is comfortable.

Suddenly, there He is. He places a warm hand on my bare arm. His fingers are thick, like juicy, hairy sausages, and I get lost in His smug, closed-lipped smile. "How are you doing there, buddy?" He asks me. "You ready for this?" His voice is like butter melted on velvet and lost in a baritone fog. It resonates through me as though I am a tuning fork and he's just struck me on the table on which I lie.

I am going to become Hannitized. That's what all this is. Now I remembered - Not-Betty and I had planned to attend Sean Hannity's show in the auditorium upstairs, and then a man approached me and asked if I would mind going backstage to meet The Man Himself.



Would I!

And now, here I was and there He was. So close that our knees could probably touch, even though we'd have to get in awkward positions to do so. I got lost in His sparkling eyes as he stared at me. Did I detect a hint of Binaca in the air? I could swear it was coming from Sean's beautifully-flared nostrils. I couldn't believe he'd chosen me!



There was something so patriotically strong about him - he must have known what I was thinking, because he took my hand and placed it on his chest, and I felt his heart thump out the rhythm of Hail to the Chief. "During the Clinton administration, I had it changed to God Bless America," He said. "Thank God for Bush, because Hail to the Chief is a bit more vigorous."

"Sure," I said, dreamily. He told me all about the company that installed the beat: Great American Pacemakers. I decided that I must invest all my money in this product, and get it for myself and for my whole family.

"It's like a ringtone," Sean explained, "except it's your heart instead of your phone, and it's constantly pumping out red-blooded American music." Then, He looked at his watch. "It's about time to Hannitize you, sir."

Sean went to the corner of the room and flipped a switch - my body shook and coursed with electricity. The pain was blinding and brilliant - I have no idea how long it went on. When it was over, Sean applied to a washcloth to my forehead as His assistants worked to remove my helmet and dress me. "There," He smiled like a champion. "Now you're conservative enough for me."



Just before He turned to leave, He said, "Hey, do you have any event planning experience? I could really use a 90-something ex-president to organize my tours and peel bananas for me."

"I have LOTS of event planning experience!" I practically shouted. I was shouting. I was shouting with pride, but not gay pride. (Damn those homosexuals for stealing our words!) Sean taught me a secret handshake and instructed me that my home phone was in the process of being wiretapped. "Just to make sure you don't backslide into terrorism. I have my own phone tapped." His voice was a Slip'n'Slide lathered in oils.

I went back to Not-Betty and watched the show, which was great. Everything Sean said was absolutely true - there are weapons of mass destruction all over the place: Iraq has them, Iran has them; hell, Nancy Pelosi and John Murtha probably have a couple nukes stowed away. And MoveOn.org is full of Commie pinko spies who control the newspapers, like The Traitorous New York Times.

And then I woke up, emboldened with an idea: I think I'm going to form an exploratory committee for 2008. I'm going to get myself elected president!

I'll admit, though, it's hard to concentrate on my grand plans when dreamy Sean Hannity occupies so much of my mind. I can't wait to get back to hibernating so I can spend more time with my sleepytime friend.

There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,
Gerry