Monkey Dreams

I had a strange and disturbing dream last night. After a violent sexual encounter with Debbie Reynolds, I found myself standing half-naked before a tribunal in a large atrium that had been carved out of stone. Chimpanzees and spider monkeys filled the seats behind me, and gorillas guarded the entryways. Six orangutans sat in front of me, asking difficult questions about my political views. The fat orangutan with a nasal voice — who somehow reminded me of Michael Moore — asked particularly difficult questions about national deficits, fear-mongering, pre-emptive invasions based on manufactured intelligence reports, and condoned torture, among other things. I tried to defend myself, but a throat injury kept me from speaking. When I said nothing, the panel of judges went ape on me.

"Guilty! Misprision of justice!"

Two gorillas bound my hands with twine and led me out of the auditorium. I karate chopped one gorilla with both hands, kneed the other gorilla in the stomach, and fled. Dashing through the stone city, I searched for another human being. I saw no one but shouting apes and menacing gorillas. I was scared and alone. I wanted a gun, but there were no guns in this hell-town. As I ran through the cobbled streets and ducked into a bright alleyway, I saw another human being at last — President George W. Bush.

"Mr. George!" I shouted. He wore haggard clothes and a beard covered his face, but it was Mr. George all right. He stared straight ahead and didn't answer my call. "Mr. George!" I shouted again, and turned his face towards me. I nearly reeled when I saw the lobotomy scar high on his shaved forehead. "Oh, Mr. George!" Just then, a net was thrown over me from above, whips started cracking, and two gorillas grabbed my arms. To my surprise, I was no longer mute:

"Take your paws off of me, you damned, dirty ape! We need strong leadership during times of change."

That woke me up.