King Interviews Mrs. McCain

Welcome back, non-Kotters and hopeful Democrats. It’s been a while! When I interviewed Mrs. Obama we ran out of time and I promised to return soon. Well, I got kind of sidetracked. Before I reveal this next interview I should briefly explain my absence.

You may or may not know this, but I have a kid. King Junior is going through a rough patch in his life right now. You see, he thought it would be cool to smoke some weed. And smoke some more weed. And before long that wasn’t enough to get his buzz on, so he stole six of my beers and had a little party with himself. I knew this day was coming, but I thought for sure he’d puke up his guts and learn the hard way to just stick with the porn. Boy, was I wrong or what?! Anyway, he’s out of rehab now. I sure hope he can stay clean, but I have my doubts. After all, he’s five. You know what little monsters those kindergarteners can be! Whew. It’s gonna take some tough love in the form of shock therapy for this one.

But enough about the King’s problems and suches. It’s time to let you in on a little secret. I may seem pretty gay. In fact, I’m often misjudged by my extensive Barbra Streisand collection. Unfair! Barbra deserves to be loved! Truth is, I also have a huge crush on John McCain’s wife. Don’t believe me? I think a restraining order is proof enough. I know she often looks much older than her birth certificate states, but I still get goose bumps whenever I see her. Well, here’s the interview, for what it’s worth. And it's so short we didn't have time for any commercials...




Hiiiiiiiii, Mrs. McCain. Hiiiiiiiiiiii. Um, Mrs. Obama had to leave. She has kids, you know, and has apologized for not staying here to attack both you and your husband to your face. The network is disappointed, but I’m sure you’re relieved to hear it, and don’t really care about ratings either.




Um, hello?

Yeeeeeesssssss, welcome to the… the… showww.




You’re drooling all over your robe.




Ahhhhhhh, I see. Do you like robes?




I don’t see what that has to do with my husband’s candidacy.




Do you like my robe? I can remove it, if you’d like to try it on. Or, you know, if you want to have a peek at some prime beef.




What the- this is not what I expected!!!!




I’m out of here! Vote for McCain - because I’m filthy rich - not because you want to sex me up.




Can we continue this in private? Where are you going? I have a room. It has a star on the door! That means something, dammit! Oh goshes, I’m sorry! Come back! I’d like to make out - er, make it up to you!!!




Oh shit.

So, stay tuned and maybe next week we’ll reveal the final and extremely pointless interview with Mrs. Clinton and a surprise guest, which was recorded shortly after Barack Obama’s huge victory, when he won the nomination of his party and made history for being black. I mean, made history for- you know what I’m trying to say. Geez, why am I still here, anyway? It’s about time to go rescue the nanny from my five-year-old. Laters!

Sex Dream = Nightmare

Unfortunately, I almost never have an awesome dream without it ending in a terrible way. The dream in my post “Sick of Dreaming” was mild compared to this one. But the one I’m talking about today I had quite some time ago, which gives you an idea of just how memorable it was.

So I’m having the best sex dream I’ve ever had. It’s so real I don’t even know I’m actually dreaming, so it’s normal and no big deal. It’s when I’m rubbing my man’s head of hair during and after the big O that I start to realize something isn’t right. My man didn’t have a balding gene so I was puzzled, and looked down at his head. Then I thought, Shit! This isn’t my man! Um, what the hell is going on here?

So that’s when I realized I was dreaming. And as I’ve said before, it’s at that point when things get really crazy.

I couldn’t wake up, as badly as I wanted to… I tried to push this stranger off of me, but he was terribly heavy. He wouldn’t budge and his weight was crushing my chest. I couldn’t breathe, and nothing freaks me out like that! The dream had definitely evolved into a nightmare at this point. I tried to tell him to get off of me but I couldn't talk since my lungs felt like they were caving in. So I kept at it, trying to push him off until he finally got the hint and rolled over. That’s when I saw his face, and jumped out of bed in shock.

Wait for it…










Um, alright, this was the guy:

Jim Belushi.


I still couldn’t wake up, as badly as I wanted to… It only continued on a downward spiral from that point. I looked at the TV facing me at the end of the bed, and guess who was on? Oprah, that’s who, and she starts talking directly to me through the TV set like she is God or something. She tells me to go check on my kids. So I put on my panties, bra, robe and slippers in a hurry because Oprah said so (it was a nightmare after all but I don't think she could actually see my nakedness) and went down the hall to a staircase that scared the crap out of me. It was supported by ropes bolted into the ceiling, and the stairs were just wooden planks connected to all of these ropes. I’m also afraid of heights in my dreams because I could barely walk down these freaky stairs. Talk about scary shit! I thought I was going to fall and break my neck. After what seemed like an eternity I get to the floor which is in a dining room, and my kids are all seated around the table. My mother is there too, and I’m suddenly made aware that this is her house. I immediately hate my new step-dad, who is giving me dirty looks, and wonder why I’m a grown woman living with my mother. And having sexual relations in her house?! Oh my god, did they hear me?!

Then she starts grilling me about the guy in my room, and the moment she asks me if we’re going to get married, I wake up in a cold sweat.

Okay, well… the nightmare had a good beginning. I like to fondly remember the part before I nearly died with flattened lungs and pretend it was not that guy.