WinneroftheSAT Pretends to be at the Democratic National Convention - Day 1
You’d never believe who just got invited to the Democratic National Convention. It’s me! Leading democrats from around the country said, “Git over here!” I now have a bus ticket to Boston and a VIP pass to all the coolest cocktail parties. Anybody else wanna come? Psych! Sorry--seat’s taken. There’s only room on the bus for me and my imagination.
Oh wow. This is so much better than spending the week in my 6’x6’ studio apartment with no closet space and a slop bucket for a toilet. From my sheets I have laid on the floor for a bed, I close my eyes, and instantly I’m whisked away to a magical world--the Port Authority Bus Terminal! I walk around in a moonstruck daze. So much is going on. Bums fighting. Bums peeing. Bums trying to kill me. Oh no! It’s 12:15 and I have a 12:20 departure! I better run.
Whew. Just in time. These seats are so comfortable. You could tell that Greyhound really cares about the spinal alignment of its riders. The bus pulls out of the dank cellar of the terminal and the riders erupt into peals of ‘whoos’. Within minutes we’re in New Jersey and the bus erupts into a chorus of ‘boos’. Oh boy! I’ve dreamt about driving through Jersey all my life and here I am driving through Jersey. I think I’m going to take a nap.
When I wake up, i rub the sleep from my face and look! There’s that famous Boston baseball field! Over there is that place where they had the Boston Tea Party! Oh my! To the left is Ben Affleck's house. And to my right are a bunch of colleges! Beantown is so beautiful. What a place. Our bus pulls right up to the front door of the Fleet Center and as we unload we’re greeted by a slew of angry anti-abortion protesters. “More Babies! More Babies!” and “We want fetuses! We want fetuses!”
I walk in the convention center and boom! It’s just like that scene in Dazed and Confused when that one guy enters into the bar and Bob Dylan’s “Hurricane” is playing in the background and suddenly the audience sees his whole life thrust into context. Except here, “Dancing in the Street” was playing and this joint is filled with fat broads in power suits.
There’s so much fanfare and so much confetti. A guy runs up to me, “How faa away did you paak the caa?” I just ignored his silly Boston speak and continued on towards the inner arena. Some old lady at a table asks, “Would you like a John Kerry poster?” I reply, “No, idiot. I want a poster with your stupid name on it. Just kidding. Yeah--gimme one of those!” She gave me an insincere look and unwillingly handed me a Kerry/Edwards sign. Then she dropped it before I could clasp it. Then I slugged her in the gut and ran away.
In just a few moments I'm going to be in the same 30,000 person seating arrangement as Howard Dean, Dick Gephardt, Al Gore, Joe Lieberman, and a myriad of other losers. I can't hardly wait! But first I need to use the bathroom. I open my eyes and I'm transported back to my 6'x6' NYC studio again. Where did I leave my slop bucket??
Be here tomorrow for the gripping conclusion!