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In my attic, I prefer bats…

Words from the waking world: Where does this shit come from?

The entrace to the attic is in the garage. Pull the rope, the ladder swings down and up you go…

except this time.

This time we have George Bush hiding in the attic at the top of the ladder.

I am unnerved that this man is hiding in my attic and I fire off questions as fast as I can. Why are you here? What do you want?

The questions keep coming but I am getting no response. I am here to get up into the attic but now I can’t, George has become an issue that I must deal with before I can get back to what I had originally come here to do.

He is arrogant and refuses to give me any information.

I keep up the questions and he finally agrees to provide some answers but he will only give them to me on dinner platter from our best set of china (which, as soon as it was mentioned, was already in my hand). I start up the ladder and as I reach up to hand it to him, I see his ass and realize that the president has been hiding in my attic with no pants on.

What started out as concern over how to solve the problem of George in my attic has changed to annoyance. He made me go and get a platter to receive answers to simple questions. This was my attic and he was hiding in it with his ass showing. How dare he? Who did he think he was?

Words from the waking world: I woke with a sick feeling – like my brain had vomited. I really would have liked to have washed it off. Or at least given it a breath mint.

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