Sometimes a Dick is Just a Dick

I dreamt that the Vice President was in drag. Yeah. The Dickster. Doing a little J. Edgar Hoovering. Hold all the petty psychological ramifications you can come up with for a moment. For now indulge me.

He wasn't pretty (at least not by my standards). He had a touch of Bella Abzug to him (large brimmed, flowery hat) with a dash of Tugboat Annie (massive bust resting on cinder block hips). A large string of costume jewelry pearls swung 'round his pink wattles. He wore a "Come and get me, suckers!" smile, his eyes wild and daring, peering over his trademark rimless glasses. And the coup de grace: thick, beige stockings wrinkled at the ankles and rolled to mid thigh. He grasped the hem of his flower-print shift like a deranged can-can girl and didn't sashay so much as strut, with more zest than he'd ever been known to exhibit while in his "straight" garb.

And that was essentially it.

Almost up there with the other dream I once had wherein I was Hitler's adjutant, standing next to a lectern while he was giving a speech in which he kept mispronouncing the name of Wotan, the Teutonic god of war ("Wooten", he kept saying, much to my consternation. I remember the feeling in the dream that he was always doing crap like that), and I looked down to discover that the Führer was wearing robin's egg blue espadrilles.

Now: what does this add to The Discussion? Well, I could argue it suggests that with the advent of the recent election and what is certain to be a mountain of long overdue inquiry, the mighty, the imperious, the bullies are now vulnerable. That the people who have swaggered about as if impervious to the elements, inured to the suffering their own actions have caused, indeed even harboring delusions of their own immortality are nearing the end of their painful and disappointing tenure. And it suggests that we may be ready to realize our part in the ongoing survival of this country, that The People need not be afraid of standing up to the mighty, the imperious and the bullies, to the seven years of threat levels, obfuscation and lies.

I guess I like my despots all silly and frou-frou. Or maybe I just ate something too soon before going to bed.