Success & Processing: A Dream
Young, I dreamed I was in the military, except it seemed more like I both was and wasn’t. As the dream unfolds, you’ll see what I mean.
I was at my house, in uniform. It was this house where I live in real life, but located somewhere else. I was going through the house, thinking about what I needed to do when I received a phone call. An agent said a publisher was interested in my book and wanted to talk to me — could I come up next Tuesday?
Hell, yes, was basically my response.
Giddy with excitement, I shared the news with my wife. Then I was informed that the general was arriving for a briefing. Scrambling, I put together a PowerPoint slide presentation, finishing up just when the doorbell rang. The cats ran off as the general and his staff entered.
The general was tall, friendly, white, quiet, and very hands on. As I began the slide show, explaining things, he asked for the controls. Then he tried to take over but didn’t know how to work the controls. I showed him. He then ‘left’ the slideshow app and started going through the material.
At one point, the general stopped. Watching him reading the slide and working the controls, I guessed that he wanted to print something. I showed him how, which he quickly understood.
Noticing the television, the general asked if it worked and requested it be turned on. I turned the TV on but with the sound down. The general took a remote and tried changing the channels. This was an odd-looking remote that was like an old-fashioned television dial on rectangle. He turned the dial but nothing happened. I explained that we didn’t use that remote — it didn’t work with this system, and gave him the correct remote. He then turned the channel.
I took the laptop with the presentation on it to the printer area to retrieve the general’s printouts. Another general was there. This one was younger, less rank, chunkier, white, with a balding head, brown hair, and a thick brown mustache. He was also very gregarious.
I saw that this general was trying to make copies of something. Chuckling, he was saying, “I was ready to retire. I can’t believe I got this assignment. It just fell into my lap. This is wonderful.”
He walked off. Glancing at what he was copying — coupons — I discerned that he’d not done them right. Adjusting the machine and settings, I copied them for him, speaking to my wife as she came up. “Look, hon, he’s copying coupons,” because my wife used to be a coupon hound. She left and left that area as the short general returned.
I showed the short general the copies I made, telling him, “I think this is what you were trying to do.”
He thanked me, agreeing that I’d fixed it for him. Then he took a fat marker and circled something on the page. I didn’t see what and didn’t feel it was my business to look.
Suddenly, he said, “Will you go down and sell my house for me? I need to sell it but I don’t have the time. It’s next Tuesday. I’ll give you $10,000 to do it.”
Seeing me hesitate, he cajoled me into helping him out. On my end, I reacting to him but not saying anything. First, an extra ten grand? Hell, yes. Second, next Tuesday? I have something planned then. I’d need to do both. I also thought, look at all this great stuff happening.
Everyone left. I went around, thinking about all that had transpired. While seeing the guests off, I’d noticed that the yard was weedy and trees needed trimmed. I decided to take care of those things. I went into the house first to tell my wife about the short general’s deal.
Back outside, I discovered that the weeds had almost doubled in size and numbers while I was in the house. Well, I needed to take care of that quick, so I went in and got the equipment. Coming out, I began working on a tree. My wife came out and said something that I didn’t catch.
Dream end.
The Price of the Prize
In an old news story — two weeks ago, ‘old news’ in the smash and grab Trump news cycle — María Corina Machado, 2025 Nobel Peace Prize recipient, gave her prize to Trump.
I suspect she was secretly paid to give her prize away.
An effective front man for the executive branch’s growing lawlessness, keeping him placated is paramount. Otherwise, he began obsessing on losing the 2020 elections again.
Frustration was high. Nothing seemed to lift Trump’s mood. He wanted Greenland but Denmark wasn’t selling, even though he’d threatened more tariffs. His ballroom’s construction was mired down. ICE’s growing violence was driving his popularity and approval ratings to new lows, and the issue about affordability just was not disappearing. Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos were calling almost every day, ranting, “This is not what we paid for!”
“We need to meet,” Vought hissed to Trump’s cabinet. “Something needs to be done before senators and representatives start growing some balls because they’re going to lose an election.”
“Well, I’m out,” War Secretary Hegseth said. “We already abducted President Maduro from Venezuela. I thought that would make him happier.”
“I know,” Noem said. “We’re doing everything we can over in Homeland Security but now judges are growing a spine. Who do they think they are?”
“I agree,” Miller said. “I thought adding Trump’s name to the Kennedy Center would make him happier.”
“I have an idea,” Bondi suggested. “Let’s approach Machado and see what her price is for giving Trump her Nobel Peace Prize.”
Vice President Vance nodded. “A Noble Prize, yes! That sounds like the perfect pacifier for him.”
Feelers were put out to Machado. Their pitch was basic. “We’re in charge of Venezuela now. We can put you into office. Support you with the strength of the U.S. military. Fund your campaign. All you need to do is give Donald Trump your peace prize as a gift. Come on, what will it hurt? You said that you thought he deserved it. And the record will always show that you won. It’s a win-win.”
Officially, they said Machado came up with it on her own, perhaps in an effort to gain Trump’s support.
As far as they could tell, it worked. Other than another diatribe at Davos about losing the 2020 election again, Trump stayed on track.
“It’s still early days,” Miller reminded the rest at the next meeting. “I think we need to do something bigger, something to really put a smile on his face.”
Everyone’s shoulder’s slumped. “Think,” Bondi encouraged. “What can we do? Doesn’t anyone have any idea what will make him happier for a little while, at least until the midterms?
“Arrest Biden?” Miller said with wide-eyed eagerness.
“Too much,” Hegseth answered.
“What about this?” Bessent said. “Let’s have a Trump coin minted.”
Trump’s cabinet and advisors held their breath in thought.
“That’s more tangible,” Miller said.
Eyes bright and large over a grin, Hegseth exclaimed, “No living president has their name on a coin.”
Vought reached for the phone. “I’ll call our legislative lackeys and get them working on it.”
“Make sure it’s gold,” Bessent said.
Vought sneered. “Of course. We know that Trump is a fool for gold.”
“Okay, I think we’re done for today,” Bondi said. “Americans are getting angry. New polls will probably show that.”
Miller scowled. “That’s because he’s so great, misunderstood, and underappreciated.”
“Anyway,” Bondi continued. “We need to get ahead of the curve.”
Vought smiled. “Of course. Let’s get to work on those memorial gates he keeps going on about. We need some kind of TrumpCares program, too. Doesn’t matter what it does.”
“I’ll take that on,” Kennedy replied. “I know how he thinks.”
Relieved, the group filed out, feeling happier about the future for the first time in days. “It’s good to know to have a direction,” Vought said to Kennedy.
Kennedy nodded. “I just hope it makes Elon happy.”
Vance piped up. “By the way, has anyone seen Trump today?”
Michael Seidel, writer 