Last night I dreamed that Obama, dressed impeccably in his usual suit, collapsed into my arms, weeping. “I’m overwhelmed by the Forces of Evil!” he sobbed. We were in a golf cart at the time. (Michelle was busy watching “The Aristocats” on TV.)
Pre-bedtime, I’d been reading the New York Times article about how the BP-inflicted chaos might affect the presidency, which was, no doubt, the trigger for my midnight vision. If that oil keeps a-spillin’, my dream may become reality (although perhaps without yours truly and the golf cart.)
But that might not be such a bad thing, if the King of Cool were to show a little more spill-related rage, sweat, tears and teeth-gnashing. I know Maureen Dowd would like it, and she’s not alone. It wouldn’t hurt for us to see real evidence that Barry is feeling at as frustrated, saddened and helpless as we feel when we see the dead pelicans on TV every night. I mean, we know he feels the pain, we know he cares completely. But knowing is like dreaming. It’s a little insubstantial.
Misery loves company. So, come on Barack. Yes, you are being overwhelmed by the Forces of Evil. Go ahead. Make my dream come true. Let’s see some tear stains on that suit.