Reasoning with Madness
"This is a barbaric yawp, and it will be sounded over the roofs of the world."
I had a dream last night that I was riding shotgun with Lil Wayne, who was dressed as Hunter Thompson. He was smoking a huge blunt and we were listening to underground Public Enemy bootlegs at full volume that he said Chuck D gave him. No one had heard these, he said. He was the only one. He wanted me to hear them. He said I NEEDED to hear them. They were going to change the world.
We were following Donald Trump's limo along the 101 up California, the sun setting along the Pacific. Wayne told me to take the wheel as he looked at me smiling like the Cheshire Cat, his gold grill gleaming in the sun.
He leaned over and pulled a small .380 revolver from his waistband and said, "look at this chamber." Inside was a Roger Rabbit-esque chamber of bullets, each with more bullets inside the bullets, and so on like Russian Dolls, and they were seething, laughing, shaking around the chamber like a rave party. It was a sight to behold. I couldn't take my eyes off it.
Wayne took the gun from me, and said, "It's time, Carlos. We gotta shut that motherfucker down."
And he fired a round through the windshield, which opened up instead of exploding, and flew out the window, the bullet laughing, and flying around maniacally screaming through the air, everywhere, like a wasp and then just before it hit the limo, it spread out and became a giant cartoon hammer and smashed the limo's trunk like something out of a Bug Bunny episode, but as it happened the whole scene became graphically similar to Grand Theft Auto, and Lil Wayne fired round after round into Donald Trump's limo, all the bullets becoming something different, all cartoonish, all righteously doing their jobs as Lil Wayne laughed louder and louder, crying and drooling uncontrollably, yelling, "This Motherfucker!! Look at THIS MOTHERFUCKER!!"
Who Am I?
I am Ahab.