I’m sorry, but I find this hysterical.
Voicemail 15: Paul. John. Man, that voicemail message. I’ve got it memorized now, ha! Ha. I just want to talk to you. Can’t we just talk? About, you know, dreams and stuff? I have a lot of dreams. Last night I had a dream. I dreamed that I was a goatherd and I lived in a deep dark tunnel where there was no regular order and the goats were very critical of my performance. But I was finally going to get to stop. I was climbing up out of the tunnel, up toward the light, where I would never have to see another goat again. I felt the breeze on my face. I saw the sunshine. And then they pulled me back. (long silence, sound like ice cubes clinking in a glass) They pulled me back, Paul. Just when I thought I was out. Just when I was reaching for the light. They pulled me back. But I can’t go back. Paul. I. Can. Never. Go. Back.
Then again, as you all know: I retain a certain rough sympathy for John Boehner. Which is no doubt a flaw in my character, and/or a sign of my being infected by the Beltway – still, there it is.
PS: Dang straight I’m a goat. When it comes to political analogies… better to be a goat than to be a sheep, pig, cow, or chicken. Better by far.