So, we went out for dinner last night at Tommy’s–an unfortunately named restaurant that consistently serves up some of the best food in town–and after two hours of butter-soaked, crabmeat-stuffed delicacies, followed by a heaping bananas foster and copious amounts of vodka, I was ready for bed.
As you might expect, my dreams were somewhat flamboyant.
I found myself at an amusement park with John Kerry, Dick Cheney, my uncle, and Kevin James. The park, of course, was just as unusual as our group. Sure, there were roller coasters and hamburger stands and all, but it was a sex park, which, like Disney World, was divided into little mini-parks–in this case, based on carnal habits: there was a straight section, a gay section, one for bisexuals, and squillions of fetish areas.
That, however, wasn’t as weird as the costumes everyone was wearing, which were very reminiscent of Logan’s Run, with tunic-like things for the women and full-body, Star Trek-esque jumpsuits for men. I can only hope we checked our street clothes at the door.
Anyway, somehow Kevin and I got separated from the group and ended up in the bisexual area of the park. He was obviously nervous and started stammering something about how he’d “never done anything like that before.” Then along came a fembot–not one as real-looking as in, say, The Stepford Wives, more like Irona in the Richie Rich comics. And she started feeling Kevin up, and the next thing I knew, the three of us were in a cozy boudoir, and we were all rolling around in the sheets, and…well, I won’t go into details–never one to dream and tell, me–but afterward, Kevin was in no particular hurry to get back to Queens.
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