Congratulations Literal Straw Man!

When you awake you’ll be strapped to a table, writhing.  Your bristles will feel somehow – each one will provide sensations that will distribute through your body, into your bones, as if you have bones.  It will feel vaguely itchy, but not so itchy that it will cloud your thoughts completely.

You’ll open your mouth to ask where you are, but instead of a simple question a statement will emerge.

“Obamacare is an attempt to provide medical care to the masses and corporations should feel privileged to foot the expense.”

Your vision will focus.  You’ll, standing just to the side, a man in a white coat, a doctor, your brain will scream, making check marks on a clipboard.  He’ll be curling his lips up, smiling.

You’ll open your mouth again to ask what you are, existence’s meaning rapidly dawning on your mind, sunrise in fast motion, but instead of that most basic of questions you’ll moan:

“The federal government is taxing small businesses into the ground.”

The man with the clipboard will make a few more marks and nod at a mirrored pane.

“Looks good,” he’ll say to the pane.

A voice will crackle through the air, occupying the entirety of your consciousness.

“Excellent.  We’ll dispatch him immediately.”

You’ll be removed from the table, bundled into a suit and crammed into a taxi cab.  You’ll want to ask where you’re going, but instead you’ll say something stupid about affirmative action and ponder the sensation of your straw-quills pushing through your suit.

When the cab stops you’ll be lead by the arm into a studio, through the studio to a chair, a chair in front of a camera.  A fat old white man will be sitting across from you.  He’ll ask you ponderously:

“Well, how do you respond to allegations that the United States is presenting a stonewall to Israel’s defensive interests in the region?”

You’ll open your mouth without will or want and speak.  You’ll wish you could scream, but your voice will not be your own.

Congratulations Literal Straw Man!