I get pretty involved in arguments with birthers and spend a lot of time here discussing the subject, but I don’t dream about birthers, until last night. Most of it is gone, but I remember snatches.
I was in an attorney’s office and we were on a conference call connected to a birther hearing somewhere. I was acting as a consultant to the attorney. One of the more obscure birther image “experts” was testifying, I think. I don’t remember the name. We had a laptop computer and I was holding up a copy of the birth certificate in front of its video camera. “Can you see this OK?”
The argument was pretty intense when all of the sudden music started playing. I thought that something had gone wrong with the conference call. The music was something like one might have heard at Ricky Ricardo’s club. Then judge interrupted, “we’re going to stop for a minute and everybody sing along.”
That was the end of the hearing. A fellow walked in and I mistakenly thought he was one of the attorneys. I said “why do they keep doing this after losing 150 lawsuits?” He said, "oh, I’m not one of the lawyers; I’m with the Berkeley Ambulance Service.”
Then I woke up.
> but I don’t dream about birthers, until last night
Same here. What a strange coincidence. Maybe because I was pondering some birther issues before falling asleep, whereas usually I invent science fiction stories in bed.
two words doc:
That sounds more sane than any of the real Birther court appearances.
What a perfect dream!
Your story reminded me of the dinner party scene from Beetlejuice! LOL!!
I call Poe’s law on your dream. It’s neither more nor less surreal than a birfer ordeal in the waking world. 😉
Who doesn’t love a singalong?
I might add that the title of the article comes from the last verse of the song Oh Suzanna by Stephen Foster”
I was taking a fire safety class a year ago and the instructor was a tall thin dapper Latino guy that looked and dressed like one of Ricky Ricardo’s back up dancers.
It was so strange it may have well been a dream.
Ricky: Orly, I’m home!
Orly: Waahhh! Ricky! My case got dismissed again! Can’t I sing at the club instead of trying to be a dentist/real estate broker/lawyer?
Ricky: No, Orly! You talk worse than me, I can’t even imagine how bad you’d sing!
Orly: It can’t be any worse than I write legal papers!
I had a dream the other night,
and as the dream unfurled
I took a trip in a rocket ship
And crashed on Orly’s World
They told me about their Orly
And I said “No freaking way”……
Since Cel3 and He, Lucas Smith were mysteriously raised from the dead, I have been having this vision of Orly as a female version of Rene Artois in Allo, Allo. You know, the one who is always being caught by his wife just before the act of nookie with one of the servant girls.
Cell3: Oooooorrrrlyyy. You are hotter, wetter, tighter than any nympho I ever met. Hold me, crush me to you!
Yosi entering the cabinet: Orly, what are you doing with that male mail clerk in your dental chair?
Orly: You stupid man! Can you not see this poor ball does not have standing, and I am providing him real material damage to cure legal defect and make him plaintiff in my world shaking suit against Kenyan Usurper with stolen Madonna and big zibits?
Yosi: But why is he wearing flippers?
Orly: Poor guy is so simple thetic to my course of human rights dispenser that he soon as possible want to go to Hawaii to surf my soup pinners on Mrs Fukino.