I had a fever dream of being in a space craft orbiting earth. It was made out of a rigid, fibrous plant based material. I was nervous of its ability to remain pressurized and airtight but was told that this was a prototype for a craft to Mars. Perhaps the plant technology could provide a source of oxygen. Perhaps I had a really high fever.
I am feeling better today. I always seem to get sick around the changing of the seasons. What is up with that? I have to admit it doesn’t fell all that unpleasant, almost like dipping into a hot tub of warm blood circulating through your body. Was that too gross?
Since I’ve been feeling ill, I’ve been trying to steer clear of dairy, sugar, and spicy food. I think it’s working.
The body’s a machine, I think, and every so often it gives itself a tune-up by taking the immune system for a spin. That’s my theory.
From what I can tell, these aren’t sounds as our ears might pick them up, but their different waves emitted from space that have been converted into audio waves for us humans to hear. Who knew space had so much to say?
Well, Senator Edwards had certainly impressed himself but his chances of being seen as a hero by anyone beyond his own perception may have been brutally reduced to a couple low digits hanging out on the wrong side of a decimal point.
He had out maneuvered a couple of the alien space craft and rammed into another, causing a total of three space ships to be knocked out of the sky. As he ashed his cigar in victory, he wondered the whereabouts of the cameras and the talking pie-holes who were so quick to appear when he had a shit day. But being a cowboy had cost him the farm. All that banging around the sky damaged the Polaris space station’s guidance system.
He fell out of the heavens towards an impending inferno. And it got worse. As Edwards tried to disable his on board nuke which he had been hoping to use against the space aliens, he realized his weapon’s controls weren’t responding.
He frantically tried to read the Czech user’s manual in the dash. He was going to crash. His only hope now was that he wouldn’t take a city with him.
Wouldn’t it be ironic, John Edwards thought, if once dead he spoke to people through that crap Psychic, John Edward with whom people always confused him.
Aha! He found it. Buried in all the Czech tech jibber jabby was a picture of a parachute and an arrow pointing to a corresponding button.
Now all he had to worry about was an unstable thermonuclear warhead.
Dick Cheney had been rolling around the War Room for a while. Nobody could see the wheels under his robes but everyone was in agreement that whatever was under there could have used a little grease.
The former Vice President’s out of style spectacles hung from his face as he gave a villainous monologue detailing humanity’s hidden history. For the first two minutes of this unwelcome speech the President constantly tried to interrupt Cheney but is was useless. Obama slumped in his chair, resigned to enjoying a couple smokes. Nobody could challenge Cheney’s strange super powers.
A toilet flushed and Henry Kissinger entered the War Room, picking up his notepad.
“What did I miss?”
“I was just telling your colleagues how Eisenhower found the Arc of the Covenant under Stonehenge then offered it to the alien grays in exchange for–”
SLAM! Obama had had enough. He slapped his hand on the table.
“I GOT AN OIL SPILL! I GOT TWO WARS! I GOT A COUNTRY WITH NO MONEY! I GOT ALIEN ROBOTS INVADING THE PLANET! I don’t have time for Battlestar Galactica!”
“Actually, what Cheney is talking about is closer to Stargate: SG1, Barack,” Rahm Emmanuel added, popping in a stick of gum he had found in a pack of baseball cards. He was saving it for when the world needed him the most.
“Either way!” Obama exclaimed, “I want this mess cleaned up.”
“You are under my control for the time being. You will only be able to accomplish that which I command,” Cheney calmly reminded the War Room.
“Mr. President,” Kissinger interrupted, “I believe our only hope is to flee to Mars. The Washington monument can be fueled and ready for liftoff in 15 minutes.”
“Flee to Mars? What about the American people?”
“We need to focus on continuing the species.”
“Me and you?”
“And it’s you and me. Humanity might perish but let’s try to preserve a little bit of grammar,” Kissinger added after a beat.
“You know, you always have really bad ideas. I don’t know why anyone ever listens to you.” President Obama tapped his cigarette, glaring at Kissinger.
“I beg your pardon! That hurts my feelings!” Kissinger spat herbal tea all over the War Room.
“Has anyone heard from Nader yet?” President Obama looked around the room.
“Bup-bup, recess is over.” Cheney motioned his hand. The shadows of the room came alive and grasped hold of President Obama. “The consumer advocate is part of my plan. He will bring me Aykroyd. Now, my pretties, the story continues. Where was I, ah yes… In exchange for the Arc of the Covenant the alien grays agreed to the following.”
Cheney took out a list of handouts and thumbed through them as he took a quick headcount of the room.