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Posted on 10/09/2001 2:57:23 PM PDT by Focault's Pendulum

Having taken some time off from Free Republic, earlier this afternoon, I decided as is my habit, to take a well deserved nap at my desk at work. I have this ability to sleep with my eyes open, holding seemingly important documents in my hand, giving the appearance of being deep in thought.

I had been hard at work all morning, lurking, posting replies, and generally basking in the glow of the companionship that is Free Republic. Unfortunately, my eyes could take no more, and blissfull, company paid naptime, beckoned. I directed my secretary to take messages no matter how important, as I would be deep in serious somnambulatic contemplation.

It was to be a troubled sleepy time. No sooner had my head tilted slightly, indicating that I was in fact, fast approaching R.E.M. sleep, did my subconscious thoughts of the morning rear their ugly heads.

Anthrax! Sarin! Smallpox! Chemical delivery systems!

Then suddenly into my dreams the agents of mass destruction appeared before me.........

Alec Baldwin!......Rosie O'Donnel!...... Peter Jennings!..... Barbara Striesand!...... All, standing in front of me holding their resumes as we were suddenly transported, my desk and all,to a peace rally in Berkely CA. Some also came equipped with headshots, as if their very appearance in my dream didn't already shake me to the core. I was quivering as one does after great sex, with none of the benefits.

Each of them clamoring for my attention the way a petulant child cries for more ice cream when he's already had three bowls. "We don't need any more violence" Baldwin cried!!!..... "We need more understanding of the issues that makes them hate us!" Striesand chimed in. Rosie was mumbling and cursing, while attempting to release the trigger lock on her newly acquired pistol.....saying something to the effect that she wished she still had her KMart discount. Peter Jennings was unusually quiet as he had just found a mirror and was looking at his reflection, adoringly, and whispered I'm not a Canadian dropout....I'm not a Canadian dropout.

While not usually cowed by celebrity, I found myself clicking my heels together rapidly,in the insane thought that Shirley McClaine would pop by and she could channel me to Kansas! They would never be caught dead in Kansas, I mused.

By this time, Striesand was looking askew at Rosie and asked, "Rosie, where did you get a gun?" Rosie replied "At Sears, it's their own brand!" A Kenmore??!!? I thought somewhat incredulously.

Their clamoring, whining, and self righteous monosyllabic thoughts were reaching a fevered pitch, and I thought, I had better wake up soon, or my secretary would be calling 911 for, "a seizure in process" (and could you please expedite the ambulance please, he's frothing at the mouth....she's polite that way)

Each in their own way were thrusting their bios at me, full of acting and professional broadcast credits, as if to prove to me the absolute correctness of pacifistic behavior. Jennings waved his at me only slightly, as he was trying to avoid any breeze upsetting his hair before the evening broadcast.

Suddenly!!! Silence.....

I looked, as their faces changed from one of indignance, to the very same fear I had experienced, moments before. Behind me, I felt a prescence....a shadow growing.....their faces, now taking on the sickeningly pale appearance, each of them has every morning before sitting down at the makeup table for two hours.....in Striesand's case three...no make that three and a half.

What was it, I thought, that could shake the bravado of deeply entrenched liberal denizens and republican critics?

Suddenly, I heard my name called out in the gravelly voice of the late George C. Scott. "Focault.....Focault!" (Not my real name, mind you, I was dreaming in FR Time) "Turn around, Focault!"

Slowly, I turned away from my fear, and was met with a glorious light! As I peered through the light, I could make out, almost indiscernibly at first, two figures, standing side by side. As my eyes, no longer tired, adjusted to the white bluish glow...I could make out Ted Nugent, handsomely attired in Mountain Camos complete with archery gear...and no less than the larger than life figure of General George S. Patton, dressed as...no I must correct that...transformed into the American Eagle, replete with wings, sharp talons, and the somewhat hawkish beak of emulator, George C. Scott!!!!

I fell to my knees in abject humility, thanking the God I believe in, only when I'm in deep, deep, doo-doo, for the salvation I knew, would soon be mine.

With lightning speed....Patton whupped Baldwin up one side of his head and handed him a visa, with all the appropriate certifications, to France.

He then, just as deftly, undid Rosie's trigger lock, and proceeded to shoot her in the foot, commenting, "that shouldn't feel any different then what you do every weekday morning." To Barbara Striesand, he simply handed her a business card, and she promptly walked off, smiling.

He then quickly took Jennings by the hair, with his talons and flew off. I could hear in the distance Jennings whimpering, "But I don't want to go to Bamf!"

Ted and I were alone now, and as my fears abated, I felt a curiousity rise up from me and asked, "Wassaup with the Striesand thing?" Nugent replied "That was a business card from the foremost plastic surgeon in California. He guarantees his work will last as long as your ex-wife's fruitcake. No one will ever unwrap it...and they'll just keep passing it around!!"

Ted and I were walking towards the light, when I stopped and asked him, "Ted, what exactly are you doing here?" He gently caressed his bow and said, with a wink..."Just in case any of them decided to make a run for it!"

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