Dreamed 1999/6/1 by Chris Wayan
I win two free games of Kick the President.
You play it in a tank, where remote-controlled grayscale effigies of dead presidents kick a ball or a hockey puck around--and kick each other.
I inherit George Washington and I kick everyone. Enjoy it so much I pay a dollar for an extra game, and just practice till I'm adept at maneuvering old George to kick ass.
Then I switch to a higher denomination, the one I really want to play with--Tom Jefferson. I want to see what happens between him and women, especially his slave lover, Sally Hemings. Think I can learn from this--how not to behave, at least.
But I can't see him! My puppet president's behind a cement column, and I can't maneuver him into my line of sight. I can make Jefferson lash out powerfully at whoever's near, but I'm running him blind. Don't know who or what I'm kicking.
I can't learn a thing from this! I walk away disappointed from Kick The President.
Because what's the point of kicking, what's the point of winning... blind?
NOTES ON WAKING UP
"My right to swing my foot ends where your ass begins."
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