I dozed off earlier and dreamed I had somehow been spliced into a phone call from Donald Trump in Atlanta, to Vladimir Putin in Moscow. It went something like this:

Trump: “Hey, Vlad, I’m just calling to say I’m really sorry about your lunar landing . . . and that other plane crash thing too.

Putin: “Thanks, Don. It hasn’t been my best week.”

Trump: “You know, I’ve had a rough couple of days here, too. That latest indictment is a bitch. But what did you think of my mug shot? Did I look stern enough?”

Putin: “I think you looked great. You were having a really good hair day, if nothing else.”

Trump: “Thanks. But I’ve been really down lately.”

Putin: “Hey, don’t worry, bro. Things are pretty chill here, with that Wagner thing being more or less settled. Why don’t you move on over to this side? I’ll pardon you, and there are a couple of really nice palaces that have recently become available; you can have your choice. Come to think of it, Russia could use a big ‘MRGA’ campaign about now, and you’re just the guy to get it rolling.”

Trump: “Hmmm . . . thanks, good buddy. That sounds like a real possibility. I’ll give it some serious thought, and maybe discuss it with Ivanka. Let’s talk soon.”

Putin: “Sure thing; just let me know. You know you’re always welcome.”

Both hang up . . . and I wake up.

Me: “Holy crap!”

*. *. *

Brendochka
8/25/23