Therapist's Chair - Vol. 3

Big shout out to Brito, who seems to really get how this is supposed to work. And to the anonymous hater in Boston, who gets it but it too scared to own up.

The prize this time is one box of authentic African tea. I will say that after both parts of this dream, I woke up laughing. And I'm really thinking I need to find a way to keep taking these drugs after coming back to the States.

* * * * *

Act I - Picture a warm summer afternoon. I am sitting at a table drinking tea with Bill Clinton and Jimmy Carter. Bill passes me the sugar. I put in one spoonful, then pass it on to Jimmy. Bill looked at me incredulously. "Is that all the sugar you want," he asked me. I told him it was.

Then he looks across the table at Jimmy. "Well," he says, giving Jimmy a wink, "us country boys like our tea suh-weeet." They both laugh like drunken rednecks for a good spell.

(Haw Haw Haw. Dango Boy)

Act II - Now I am riding in the backseat of a white Ford Focus, which is apparently what passes for Presidential transport in my subconscious. The car breaks down, so a huge Secret Service guy gets out of the front seat to look under the hood. While out in front, the midget who is driving the car behind us gets out and starts yelling at the Secret Service guy. They get into it for a while, before the midget turns around like he is making to leave.

Then, as quick as a cobra, the midget spins around and hits the Secret Service guy with a sucker punch below the belt.

(Not impressed)


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