Discouraged not to have yet made the Enemies List, a dream I had last night has given me an idea. I’ll pen an autobiography: “Dreams From My Dreams.” (or “Father From My Dreams”)
Here’s an excerpt from my time as a skipper:
(nautical laced prose…)
My boat came upon the survivors of a sinking cruise ship, the U.S. America. I could only fit a few of them in my small craft.
“Who did you vote for?” I asked each drowning passenger.
Obama voters floated away, before the sharks or “the earth” they so wanted to save, swallowed them up.
I spotted John McCain in the water, but I pretended not to see him.
An earlier excerpt from my college days:
I chose my friends with no particular care. Ahmed was a medical student addicted to heroin. Ono was a Lesbian Marxist Performance Artist. There were the Chicano Marxists Performance Artists, who I bought pot from. I sold it to my Marxist Professors who I was also quite friendly with.
When the tide came in, I would sit on the beach with Muhammad. (If you weren’t a Marxist, you had to be a Muslim to be friends with me.)
We would smoke heroin and discuss all the injustices around the world. He would blame the Jews. Being born into that tribe, I would tell him it’s only those lousy religious Jews. Most of us are ‘Down With The Struggle.’
This is only a rough draft. I plan to give it to Ayers (or Jack Cashill) to work on.