Ever have a nightmare? Well, I had a doozy the other night, or it might have been coronavirus hallucinations, who knows.

Anyway, the unimaginable happened. President Donald Trump became permanently incapacitated before the election. The folks suffering Trump Derangement Syndrome were ecstatic.

My dream got worse, as I will recount.

In wake of Trump’s condition, Vice President Mike Pence became the 46th president of the United States. Pence was left to deal with a media-manufactured pandemic, plummeting oil prices from OPEC’s attempt to destroy our fracking, Russian meddling, China being China, Little Rocket Man and efforts to bring troops home. All this, and running for president against Joe Biden. (Bernie votes were not counted by the Democratic machine — voters were instructed to go home to start plotting for an AOC presidential run whenever she was old enough.)

Now, to me, Pence seemed to be a great guy and had been an effective, loyal second-in-command to Trump. He had been a pretty good governor for Indiana, too. The trouble was, Pence had all the personality and charisma of a stump. With Trump out of the picture, Pence got beat by Biden in a landslide. Democrats and never-Trumpers danced in the streets. Barack Obama statues were ordered.

So, much to my horror, we now had Biden in the Oval Office. It got embarrassingly worse.

Two days after his inauguration, Biden was discovered in the middle of the night, dressed in a presidential nightshirt and cap ensemble, sitting at the Resolute desk, fumbling feebly with the codes of the nuclear football. When thwarted by the secret service, he babbled incoherently about taking the Ukraine out … “We have to do it for Hunter, you know,” he shrieked.

Upon the advice of the new vice president, whom I could not make out in my dream, Congress enacted Section 4 of the 25th Amendment — the same amendment Andrew McCabe and Rod Rosenstein pathetically deliberated about Trump after the disgraced James Comey was fired. Biden was quickly diagnosed as disorientated. Regrettably, McCabe and Rosenstein weren’t.

Sleepy Joe went back to Delaware to live out the remainder of his life in an expensive nursing home, spinning fairy-tales to the residents, expounding on his exploits to save the world. The staff would roll him to the main dining area every morning in pajamas and aviator sunglasses. Folks just wandered in and out to hear Joe bluster the day away.

Before the vice president was sworn in as president, there was a battle waged between Nancy Pelosi and Hillary Clinton to see which one deserved the Oval Office. Lawyers and lots of taxpayer money were brought in. At one point, the two women scuffled on the steps of the White House, losing their tiara’s in the process. Two secret service men had to separate them. Neither one of them had claim to the title of president, but, again, as we lived in the Age of Wokeness, it just seemed like another day in the Swamp. It took a week to get the two women calmed down and put back in their place, delaying the inauguration. The news media ate it up.

At this point in my dream, I just couldn’t envision who the soon-to-be-sworn-in president was by either name or sight. It had been well known in the Age of Wokeness that men would not have been applicable for the VP post this time around — it was going to have to be a woman, particularly since everyone knew Biden was well into the process of checking out.

You see, I had been under the impression the vice president would have been Amy Klobuchar, as it would have been the only explanation for a quick exit from her presidential run and subsequent endorsement of Biden. She didn’t have the baggage of a Kamala Harris or Pocahontas Warren either.

The problem for me foreseeing Biden’s vice president candidate, as per the political machine, was that us common folk usually weren’t in on the back-room shenanigans of who the VP candidate was going to be. (Who ever heard of Sarah Palin before picked by John McCain? She turned out to be a better candidate than McCain.) So, my guess was as good as anyone else’s in this regard.

I knew good, qualified candidates might be Congresswoman Tulsi Gabbard, of Hawaii, or even better, Rhode Island Gov. Gina Raimondo. But the fact they were both qualified candidates removed them from any logical contention.

Ultimately though, it became clear, the 48th president became Klobuchar, who, by reason alone of insanity became our first female president. That’s how the Democrats finally got it done.

When I awoke, it was in a pool of sweat. I grasped for the clicker to turn on Fox News. They were showing clips of Trump’s news conference on the coronavirus. I sighed. All was right with the world again — Trump still was in the Oval Office.

Alan Webber is a local businessman, author and blogger. He can be reached at editors@daily-journal.com or directly at packerbacker1957@yahoo.com.

Local columnist

Alan Webber is a local businessman and part-time author. In addition to his blog, he has published a novel entitled “Whipping Post,” putting a human face on the life of an over-the-road truck driver.

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