Actually, I think it was the guest house, but it was pretty palatial. Mitt was super nice, remembering my name and treating me like a member of the family—even asked if my mom was coming—and I was thinking I’ll feel guilty not voting for him, but I’m still not going to. I’m a Democrat, right?

There were several teenage boys there, who I assumed were Tagg’s sons. They had been at church, which I figured must be a Mormon church, because they looked Mormon. I wondered why they all had bad teeth.

They invited me outside to kick a football, but first I had to change my shoes. One of the boys handed me a hot pink and black print platform sandal that wasn’t very different from the yellow and black ones I was wearing. I said my shoes were fine—it’s a Nerf football, right? But the boy was insistent, and I was flattered that I’d been asked to participate in the Romney family football kick. I wanted to do a good job and wear the proper footwear, whatever it may be.

I was a little worried that, given the excellent kick I was going to give this football, I would hurt my toes wearing sandals, but I was determined to impress. I decided this particular sandal would fit me.

While picking through the pile of similar but different sized sandals trying to find the mate, I realized I had to go to the bathroom and asked where it was. It took me a while to find it, and when I sat down, nothing came out. And I still hadn’t found the other sandal. I became concerned they were going to kick the football without me, but I really had to go.

Still, nothing came out.

I was wearing shorts, too, by the way—men’s board shorts, thanks to Beth and a picture of Richie Sambora—and while sitting on the toilet realized I’d forgotten to shave my legs. Good grief, what was I thinking? I had terrible whiskers. And not only that, but there were all these pieces of fluffy white yarn sticking out of my lower left leg, like shag carpet. This is what happens when you forget to shave your legs.

I started picking the yarn out from among the whiskers, hoping no one would notice I hadn’t shaved when I kicked the football. But I knew they would, if they hadn’t already.

A little boy came over and started helping me pick the yarn out of my leg. That’s when I noticed the room filling with people—boys, girls, women ... everyone but Mitt, milling around, apparently not caring what I was doing.

One of the boys asked, “Munchy, are you having a conversation?” (meaning was I gonna get off the pot and go kick the football).

“Hello, I’m on the can. Get out of here! Get lost!” I tried to shoo them all away, but they wouldn’t shoo. Then I noticed the music playing in the background, realized I was dreaming, woke myself up, and went to the can for real.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 12/27/2011 10:32PM by munchybotaz.

He was a really great guy, and we were up half the night wringing our hands and doing evil laughs.

Sounds like a fun evening! Who else but you would think to put hand-wringing and evil laughs together?

Was it the basement apartment at Tagg's house in Massachusetts where he pretends to live to maintain his MA voter registration?

Or was it the $12.5 million mansion in La Jolla, CA where he really lives?

I only caught a glimpse of the outside. It was huge, white, and ornate, with multiple wings and gold leaf trim. Much more than $12.5 mil. It belonged to someone else when the dream started, so Mitt must've bought it while I was inside. It wasn't that fancy inside, just basic very nice. For some reason I decided it must be the guest apartments. I was impressed that they had this whole setup for guests, and extra shoes. A lot of extra shoes.



Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 12/27/2011 09:28PM by munchybotaz.

I went to college with a nephew of Mitt's, super nice kid, ex-mo who has been essentially shunned by his family for lapsing; I never talked to him about it much but it was clear that things were tense with his family. I'm sure there are nice kids in the family but a lot of the smarter ones probably get out and are subsequently shut out.

He was very sweet. :)

From facebook tonight:
Mitt Romney
This is an election not only to replace a President. It is an election to save the soul of America.

That's because it's been possessed by an evil black spirit. Thank God we have MR to trim off the excess and sell the remains to his rich investor friends, all of whom are as righteous as he is.

Dude! You talking 'bout me? Are you talking about me?

Next time, bring your cleats and kick the shit outta that thing! Bet the placeholder pulls a Lucy on your Beth-blaming ass.

:-P y :-*

Thankfully, I didn't do the full-on Sambora and go topless.

The topless thing would have been a hit, though...

You were asleep, you needed to take a Mitt, and your mind chose something appropriate to your predicament.

Now got take a Mitt, shave your legs, and come out and play with the rest of us!

when you went for real? or were you having a tough time like in the dream? haha!