I had some trouble sleeping last night. My subconscious was taken over by an angry alien with violence in his eyes and what looked like orange cotton candy sprouting from his head. He was on a tirade, waving his arms and yelling, “We’re going to make them pay! Everybody’s gonna pay!”
Then this sweaty little person with humongous ears started imitating the alien, jumping up and down and waving his arms and yelling, “You’re repeating yourself, you’re repeating yourself!”
The alien shrieked, “I do not repeat myself! I do not repeat myself! I do not repeat myself!”
“Win, win, win!” he repeated.
His skin was getting redder and I was afraid he might explode and get that orange stuff all over me.
“We’re gonna grab and grab and grab and bring in so much money and so much everything. We’re gonna make everybody pay. Except Israel. I love Israel.”
Ah, an Israel reference. Perhaps I was just having a run-of-mill apocalypse nightmare, and the orange guy was the Anti-christ.
“Everybody’s gonna pay. Everybody.”
Yup, sounds about right.
Some grandfatherly guy started talking about how they should all get along, and maybe everyone should go into a room somewhere in Ohio and lock the door until they calmed down.
The orange Anti-christ and the guy with the flapping ears ignored him until he tried to speak again, and then Orange said “I’d like to punch him in the face. In the old days, that guy would be carried out on a stretcher.”
A crowd started jeering and cheering.
I got worried about the grandfatherly guy and felt panic setting in. People could get hurt. I could sense the beginning of the end of the world, and there was nothing I could do about it. The only weapons I had were Facebook and Twitter.
Then an African-American guy who had been tangled up in the curtains finally freed himself and bounded into the chaos. I suspect he may also have been an alien because he didn’t seem to have full command of the language and he appeared to be listening to voices in his head. He extended ten super-long appendages that might have been fingers and said we should all hold hands and celebrate “the fruit salad of our lives.”
Well, why not? Makes about as much sense as anything else in the dream.
Please note: if you have not been watching the Republican debates, this will make no sense whatsoever. Just like the debates, actually.