Me dreamed the people gathered to annoint a leader, some choice or something, and the people wanted one leader, but the loser's brother hijacked ballot boxes, and prevented "colored folk" from having their votes counted, and the brother's girlfriend, or perhaps she was a whore, judging from the plaster mask she wore, proclaimed the outcome before there was an outcome, prompting vast hordes of rats to leave a harbor that looked like Miami, and secret assemblages of Viagra-addicted men and unorgasmic women met to take these colored documents they dug up from the rotting caskets of the Founding Fathers, and tear them up into little pieces, scattering them into the cauldron around which they danced, copulating with goats and drinking the rarest champagne from patent leather goblins, belching smoke and ashes and cackling with abandon, and the cauldron bubbled black tar, rising out over the lips of iron, flooding the land with a hot sickly ooze, causing everyone to stick to each other like bugs in a web, while the leader, all skull and bones, quaking in fear as the richly-suited one who owned his soul walked down the gangway of that huge yacht, fell to his knees, opened the gold-zippered fly of, i can't really remember this part so visually, of some, well, he looked weathered from the desert, and turned into a giant camel, a camel in a neon suit, the loser fell to his knees, grasping the camel's huge hairy cock, and began to suck this rich black ooze from the camel's cock, swallowing, and shaking in ecstasy, camel cum dripping off his chin while his flailing hands rubbed every precious drop into his white, naked skin, turning him so black he disappeared, as walls of flashing pastel laser-guided explosions formed an undulating wall of black light fire reaching to the very heights of heaven, surrounding the camel's home.
    Man, me must have breathed too much fumes at work yesterday.
    Or not enough.


"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage." - Anaïs Nin