In which my usually supressed snark emerges via the subconcious circus we call dreaming:
While wearing a wire (for some reason), I found myself in a conversation with Michelle Bachmann. Actually, the fact that I was having a calm discussion with Shelly B. instead of going red from yelling at her smug, righteous, durp-eyed face is what keyed me into the fact that this was a dream rather than reality.
So anyway, while we were chatting like life-long gal pals, Shelly B. admitted that she was in “this whole presidential race thing” (she actually did the air quotes) for the money and the fame, and that she didn’t believe any of the right-wing bullshit abstinence-only education/anti-choice rhetoric/marriage is between one man and one-woman crap, but that it made a HELL of a commercial spot and brought in some sweet campaign donations.
She also told me that she had no idea that she was staring at the wrong camera during her Tea Party response to the last State of the Union address. It was just that she couldn’t understand the directions from the Spanish-speaking Mexican immigrant cameraman who she had illegally shipped into the US to work for her campaign for $2/hr.
And she told me that was having an on-going affair with Amanda Marcotte (that’s what I get for reading Pandagon right before going to bed). Sorry, Amanda.
And that she had a love child with Mark Dayton, but had never told Dayton and had shipped the little shit (her words, not mine…well, technically mine since it was my dream, but Dream Shelly B. totally said it) off to Uganda to live with Mormons (and that would be me watching clips from Broadway’s The Book of Mormon right before bedtime).
And then the alarm went off.
I was never so sad as when I sat up and realized that I hadn’t just had this conversation with Michelle Bachmann in real life while wearing a wire.
And then I shipped that little shit off to Uganda!
Photo via The Examiner