Optimism

I wake at 5AM this morning from my nightmare (Obama signing the Spending Package) to our alarm Destructo, whom, like any good alarm, gets louder until you answer him. I take him from his crib and put him in bed with us, hoping that God is awake at this hour and can miraculously help him go back to sleep. All is quiet until I feel his fingers gently massaging the inside of my nostrils. His hands are like spiders in a horror flick, amazingly nimble and strong, as I sputter and push them away. A calm ensues, and I am hopeful. I begin to drift back to my dream--I am urging Obama to tighten his belt and curb his own spending as a way of setting an example to the American people. I tell him to have Vice President Biden ride on Air Force One with him occasionaly, saving tax payer's money and the environment, instead of taking extravagant separate flights during a time that many citizens are struggling to pay their mortgage. Suddenly I hear Destructo performing the Chicken Dance beside me, and I wish that Dart Guy had taught him something a little more soothing. I try to calm him, but he stands, feet perilously close to my head, and pounds passionately on the head board, rallying the people. Dart Guy rouses up from beneath the pillow he has jammed onto his face.
"Don't you two have a home somewhere?"
This excites Destructo. He bounces up and down, continueing his speech. He seems to be calling for Optimism, as he strikes his hands down with gusto, slinging my glasses onto the floor. I sigh, reaching to retrieve them. Not a bad idea. Hey, I'd vote for him.