Cynical Nation

God, my brain!! Too much beer and brownies last night (and those round, tubey things). I'm getting too old for this. I feel like my head could be made out of Reed Richards' "unstable molecules."

And Hack, you were in a dream of mine last night. I dreamed that a group of bloggers was going on vacation to the beach in this big-ass rental van, and you and I ended up in the back seat together (well, we couldn't have been completely in the rear, because I remember Oliver Willis kept kicking the backs of our seats.) This was kind of a funny thing for me to dream, considering we've never met and I have no idea what you look like. As a result, my subconscious had to fill in the gaps, and in my dream you looked a little like Macy Gray, except, you know, white.

The metaphor doesn't escape me, Hack! Where are we headed in Andrew Sullivan's rented Aerostar? Where do we go from here? Hell, you can write about Bush for four more years, but what about me? John Kerry has gone back to the Senate (although he'll probably require an intern at first, to remind him of important things like where the men's room is). Well good for him, but there goes my prime source of material. Look at me, I'm reduced to documenting my hangovers and strange dreams.

In the past, whenever I'd encounter a creative dry spell, I could always fall back on the latest photos of Kerry windsurfing, or in a bunny suit, or throwing a football like a girl. But yesterday, I was almost reduced to posting this picture of Bush pardoning the White House turkey and making some lame "choke the chicken" joke.

Yes, it's come to that. How long can this continue? How long before I become Wonkette? (Who, now that I think about it, really pissed me off in my dream last night! Since she was riding shotgun with Sully and we were stuck in the back, we asked her to bring us some Cheetos during a pit stop. She brought us the crunchy kind when we had distinctly asked for the puffy ones. And she didn't bring us any napkins either. How can you eat Cheetos without napkins? I was sure that Avis was going to charge Sully extra because of all the orange shit on the upholstery, and that would have meant another fund-raising drive, and Ace would make fun of him, and it would just get ugly. Tempers were on the verge of flaring, but Stephen Green had brought a Thermos full of Stoli and Red Bull, and that helped calm everybody's nerves.)

So that's where things stand now. Condi Rice is Secretary of State, and her teeth are spreading farther apart, and I don't have a thing to say about it. Meanwhile, I'm sure you're blogging up a storm. Envy! That's what it comes down to, Hack. And that's why I was so impatient with you in the dream. On the surface, I was merely frustrated with your seeming inability to grasp the fine points of "cow bingo" (you kept conveniently "forgetting" the cemetery rule!), but you and I both know there was more to it under the surface -- pure, naked envy. (Or is it avarice? I suspect there's sometimes a fair amount of overlap among the Seven Deadly Sins.)

Well, these are my issues, not yours. And I will deal with them. Inspiration can come from the most unlikely places (if seldom from the bottom of a Jack Daniels bottle.) We live in interesting times, for good or ill, and I'm sure that inspiration lies just around the corner. I will be ready for it.

So blog on, Hack. Perhaps one day we'll meet and swap war stories at the Old Bloggers' Valhalla for Blogger Burnouts. May that be many successful years hence.