Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Seen at a No-Kings protest on June 14, 2025.
Dreamed my wife and I went car shopping. I found a sleek new silver sports car. Turned out that it was a Chevy Camaro but it was completely unlike any Camaro previously produced. This car was low, wide, and fast. I didn’t see much of the exterior in the dream except that it was so brightly polished, its silver surface hurt my eyes.
I instantly like it and wanted to sell my wife on it. “Here, babe,” I said. “Take it for a drive.” I had to coax her because she doesn’t trust her driving skills. Finally relenting, she entered the car and got behind the wheel. The car was electric and made little sound. She was amazed. Then she began driving it. After a bit, she said through a big grin, “I really like this.” So we bought the car with dreamlike ease. The whole time, she remained behind the wheel. When I asked if she wanted to keep driving, she replied, “Yes. This is fun.” That pleased me.
We went to a parking garage. As she pulled the car into a slot, a group of young men came up and began hassling us. Annoyed, I told them to go away. At that point, I discovered that my wife had the car’s roof retracted. As I told her to put it up, one of the young men reached into the back and took out a brown folder of papers. I asked him to give them back. He mocked me and walked away with his friends. They began throwing the folder around as they would in a game of keep away. Getting angrier, I found a large orange and a large green papaya. I wrestled with what to do with them. As the man who first took the folder caught it, I hurtled the orange at him, hitting him in his ankle. He went down with a cry, complaining of pain. The rest didn’t know what had happened.
I went over and picked up the folder. A second man threatened me. I threatened him back with the papaya. Another guy laughed and said, “That’s just a papaya.” I hit him in the face with it, knocking him over. As he sat on his ass in pain and astonishment, I returned to the Camaro and my wife drove us away.
Sunda June 15, 2025 has taken off. It remains chill in Ashlandia, mostly sunny but clouds are clotting. 74 F now, the high will see us ten degrees warmer.
First, a shout out to the anti-King contingency and their nation-wide and world-wide showings. Millions showed for the cause. Meanwhile, PINO TACO and his minions endured a dour, sluggish, pitiful parade. The Army and its members deserve better; little TACO does not. MAGA and its orange chief should understand now that TACO’s attitude and lackadaisical treatment of people and rights is not appreciated. They won’t, of course. TACO lives in a bubble, as do the MAGAts. Trumpettes reinforce the positive and shield him from the negative. His delusional thinking does the rest. TACO and his support nachos will blame the fake news media, AI, etc — anything except the truth — to pretend that it was a fabulous parade, probably the GREATEST AND BIGGEST MOST BEAUTIFUL PARADE EVER!
Anyway…
It’s Father’s Day, a holiday begun when fathers said, “I’m tired of working. I’m taking the day off.” People responded, “How ’bout a tie? You’ll look good with a tie and that’ll make you feel better.” And so a tradition was born.
Called Dad today. He remains hospitalized. Surgery is planned for tomorrow. Although 92, he’s never been through surgery and he’s scared and nervous. I’ve been through a few surgeries and helped reassure him. As we spoke, he began remembering all the injuries I’ve experienced and joked about them.
Later, reflecting on our relationship, I went through how much Dad and I are alike. He’s much different from his father. I had a great relationship with that man, because my grandfather and I both liked building models. Grandpa has been gone fifty years. I still miss him.
Dad conveyed bad news. His younger brother was hospitalized Saturday night, and the brother’s son-in-law died suddenly of a heart attack while on a walk. Meanwhile, Dad’s sister, my aunt, celebrates her 91 birthday today.
Papi surprised me today by showing great delight in playing with a bright pink shoestring. I’d make the string wiggle and Papi would attack, nail it with a paw and then spin and race off. Returning a few seconds later, he’d get down into position for another go. This went on for ten minutes before he dashed away and out of the house.
Thinking about the flopped DC parade, The Neurons pushed forward a past song called “The Soft Parade”. “The Soft Parade” is by the Doors. I enjoyed listening to it but my friends found it strange. Well, yeah, that could be the Doors. My wife also disliked the song, telling me that she didn’t understand why I liked it. It’s another case of the old maxim, different strokes for different folks.
On to coffee, on to other things. On to Sunda. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 