IN a PARALLEL DIMENSION

Earlier this evening I sat down at my computer to write some fantastic editorials and articles but try as I might nothing came forth. I had many false starts but everything sounded to me like ridiculous drek. I just couldn't get the creative juices flowing so I did what any good writer would do. I got disgusted and went to bed.

While asleep I drifted off through that endless ocean of bad television reception and into a crystal clear parallel dimension. Immediately upon arriving I began having all sorts of great ideas and themes for editorials running through my mind. My fingers flew over the keyboard at blinding speeds. I could hardly keep up with my thoughts and before I knew it I had written hundreds of pages of content.

I was so excited I could hardly wait to get back to this dimension with my great body of work. So I began saying my goodbyes to my friends and my beautiful wife. This took quite awhile as over there I am extremely popular. I also had to put away all of my piles of money and my fancy sports cars. And of course, locking all of the doors on such an immense house took some time as well.

I was on my way out the door when the president called with some important question about international diplomacy or something. That Bushie is such a joker, (That's what we call him over there). Sometimes he can be a real pest. But we just pat him on the head and for the most part ignore him.

I finally got him off the phone and I had my housekeeping staff pack some of my best designer suits into my matching Louis Vuitton suitcases for the trip. I then began the arduous trek back to this dimension. Once again I traveled across that great sea of bad television reception and before I knew it arrived back in this dimension. I was stunned to find that somehow all of what had previously been a vast library of unparalleled stories, articles, editorials and content in that other dimension had somehow been
transformed into mere farts in this one.

Oh, there were still hundreds and hundreds of them, (according to my wife), but now they were just so much bad air. My designer duds had converted themselves into a single pair of holey urine stained underwear my mansion to a run down mobile home in a bad neighborhood. Over there I was rich beyond my wildest dreams. Over here the electric company owns my soul.

Try as I might I was unable to transpose, translate or transport my myriad of farts into the brilliant musings I had garnered from that other dimension. The only thing I now have to show for the trip is this woe begotten story of personal tragedy and loss. Strange though, in this dimension my wife is still beautiful and we still have that pesky Bushie, (Only here we call him Dubya).

I do take some comfort in knowing though that somewhere out there in some strange parallel universe I am busy pooping out story after story. And I am currently trying to figure out how to get credit in this world for all of my hard work in the other. After all who knows? Maybe like Clarence the angel in It's A Wonderful World where every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings, in my world every time I fart a new story appears in the other.

One can only hope…………