This week, Dr. Mike has a dream! But instead of being a dream where men are judged by the content of their characters (one can understand why Dr. Mike would consider that a nightmare), Dr. Mike dreams about smelly college students who don’t like him very much. And the twist is … [spoiler] … it really wasn’t a dream!
Dr. Mike tells the story as only he can (in a manner apparently designed to make you want to kick him in the crotch), but we’ll just focus on a few selections from it, so as to not give anyone a Dr. Mike overdose. (Warning: your tolerance for Dr. Mike may vary, so you are advised to consult a Dr. who isn’t Mike before reading any further.)
Planet U-MASS::By Mike S. Adams
I had a dream that I was invited to give a speech on feminism at The University of Massachusetts-Amherst. And in the dream I accepted the offer, largely because I wanted the money to buy another gun.
Sure, it’s not as gripping a beginning as, “I had a dream that featured talking penguins, skeletonizing lasers, and a dozen sexy cheerleaders, all of whom were Trent Lott, and they were doing naughty things to Jonah Goldberg,” but Dr. Mike has learned from experience to dream small.
Oh, and before we go any farther, let’s learn more about what Dr. Mike’s part-time job as a third-tier speak for the Young America’s Foundation. Interesting enough,while Ann Coulter costs over $20,000 a pop (I guess she can charge more because she doesn’t advertise her 1.8 GPA), Dr. Mike can go for as little as $1000 for a speech on “How to Win Friends and Irritate Feminists.” Thus, we can see that Ann Coulter’s gun collection must be at least 20 times better than Dr. Mike’s, which must be rather galling to him.
But back to the dream . . .
And in my dream I arrived at the student union to give my speech. Immediately, I saw droves of gay students marching by wearing dresses.
They were arriving to protest my appearance.
The dresses were arriving to protest Dr. Mike?
(And on a side note, is it really possible to march by merely wearing a dress? If so, wouldn’t that be a big labor saver for the army?)
Others wore black masks and marched in unison – much like the Hitler Youth in Nazi Germany. Still others wore the communist Red Star upon an outer garment.
Okay, I’m a little confused here – is it the dresses who are wearing black masks, or is it the droves of gay Nazi commies?
And in my dream I walked into the room some twenty minutes before my speech was to begin. But I could not stay. The stench of body odor was too great for me to bear.
Another annoying speech squelched, thanks to Ban anti-deodorant!
But wait, Dr. Mike isn’t done recounting his dream, as apparently the body odor didn’t actually keep him out of the auditorium, because he really, really needed that $1000.
When the speech began, I told a story about a racist who referred to blacks as “coons.” Though condemning racism, the radicals and self-described communists began to hiss and interrupt my speech.
Uh huh. Those commies hissed at you, Dr. Mike, merely because you condemned racism. Do go on.
When I spoke of a drug raid – one I participated in nine years before – members of the audience booed and asked whether I had ever smoked pot in high school. I suggested that if they allowed me to finish a sentence, they might determine that I shared some of their libertarian beliefs on the drug war.
While we can’t actually be in that audience with the smelly commies, the dress-wearing Nazis, and the scary feminists, you can read the story for yourself. And as you do read it, watch for Mike’s stated libertarian beliefs about the drug war.
Some years ago, one of my so-called colleagues heard me tell the story of a drug raid I went on in a working class neighborhood in Wilmington. I approached a crack house with a law enforcement officer who had instructed me to purchase one crack rock from a man in a wheelchair who was on parole. Just before we got inside, someone drove up to buy some drugs. We circled the block until the transaction was completed.
Halfway around the block we decided to cut through two houses and watch the place for a few moments before entering. When we did so, we were able to see two lookouts jumping out of a tree that we had been standing under just a few minutes before. They were young and did their jobs poorly. The second they realized there was about to be a bust, they ran towards their homes in the nearby projects.
When the coast was clear we went inside. Before long, the drug agent was given consent to search the parolee’s room. Needless to say, he was in possession of numerous crack pipes, some used recently. And so the agent cut a deal.
In order to be spared from a trip back to prison the parolee had to provide information leading to a bigger catch before the evening ended. Because of the constant influx of prostitutes, users, and other dealers that wasn’t hard to do. In fact, it was a small time heroin dealer – a friend of the parolee’s – that intervened and led the agent to an amount of heroin sufficient to divert his attention from the handicapped felon.
I had hoped it would only be a few minutes that I was left there in the crack house while the agent went to check out the lead. But I sat through an entire HBO movie while the crack heads drank and smoked everything in sight – but not any crack as they assumed I was an agent. I couldn’t figure out how they managed to pay the cable bill while the doors were falling off the hinges and the cockroaches crawled up the walls.
By the time the evening ended the drug agent had what he wanted.
So, nine years ago (back when he was a liberal), Dr. Mike acted as a narc, planning to buy some crack from a parolee in a wheelchair. But apparently that plan didn’t work, and the cop left Dr. Mike in the bug infested, run-down crack house with the lazy, good for nothing, HBO-watching crack heads while the cop nailed the friend whom the crack dealer had given up. A truly inspiring story that teaches us a valuable lesson about how Dr. Mike’s colleagues are all racists (well, that’s the moral that Dr. Mike says we should take from it.)
But anyway, you can now see why some of the students in the audience might have booed Dr. Mike, and why others might have wondered about his own use of drugs.
But back to Dr. Mike’s dream, which is in smell-o-rama!
But then a young radical shouted “We aren’t libertarians!” She didn’t know how to use the terms “libertarian perspective” and the “Libertarian party affiliation.” Nor did she know how to use soap or deodorant.
Since this is just a dream, we’re going to assume that Dr. Mike learned all about the young radical’s personal hygiene later, in one of those sexy moments that often occur (in soft porn movies, at least) when sparks fly between a middle-aged dork and a feisty coed. (Because even Dr. Mike couldn’t expect us to believe that he could ascertain the bathing habits of one student in the crowd from his position on stage).
In my dream, a Muslim student seated in the rear of the auditorium shouted “you’re an asshole” and left the speech without giving a reason for his anger.
However, I find this part of his story entirely credible, and imagine that similar incidents happen to Dr. Mike on a daily basis.
At another point in the dream, the subject of homosexuality was broached.
You’ll notice the lack of clarity about just who broached the subject – this kind of fuzziness is typical in dreams. (Especially dreams about hordes of Nazi dresses.)
A student shouted “Jesus was a bisexual, read the Gnostic Gospels!” I still thought that it was merely a dream.
So, maybe Jesus was the one who broached the subject of homosexuality (it’s just a dream, remember).
But let’s skip ahead to the thrilling conclusion.
When a physical altercation broke out, I slipped out the back door between two body guards. [Note: in future recountings of this tale, we imagine that Dr. Mike breaks up the altercation singlehandedly, thanks to his many guns and his manly competence.] After the microphone was reclaimed, they were about to resume the Q & A. But, in my dream, the speech was over.
I could hear the chanting of “racist, sexist, anti-gay; right-wing bigots go away” as I walked down the hall away from the room. Later, when I woke up in the Lord Jeffery Inn, I realized that it had not been a dream.
I was in Amherst, Massachusetts – a place somewhere in America. Or so they say.
Nice try, Dr. Mike – but my dream about rescuing Brad Pitt and Katie Holmes’ baby from a cage at the pound was a lot more interesting, and offered many more lessons about life and stuff.
Anyway, that was this week’s Storytime with Dr. Mike. But if you happen to have been one of those smelly U-Mass students who chanted at poor Dr. Mike (or if you just happened to have dreamed about it — or had any interesting dream that might be relevant to anything Dr. Mike had to say), we’d like to hear from you. After all, that’s the fair and balanced way.
Sounds like someone got wasted on Target’s Orange Wine Cube and passed out in front of a scratched copy of “The Wall”.
And, really, Dr Mike *always* makes me want to kick him in the crotch.
Left by D. Sidhe on November 22nd, 2006