MAGA Dreams, Freudian Nightmare
Things get real while you're sleeping. And absurd after you wake.
Based on a true (slumberous) story:
Everyone’s there. JD Vance is there. Pam Bondi is there. Kristi Noem is there. Or at least their approximations are. The big boss himself is not there, far as I can tell, though his presence is metaphysically everywhere.
I’m not sure why I’m there.
The conference room is like the Cabinet Room but surprisingly muted. We could be in a Motel One business center. Or a DB Lounge.
There’s non-specific cause to celebrate. The energy is manic, frenetic, euphoric. Everyone and everything is in constant motion.
There’s probably booze, but the inebriation is coming through the air. Vance, or his likeness, is shouting. Some other MAGA Bros are bro-ing. Bondi keeps coming onto me, like she’s watched Basic Instinct too many times. Noem isn’t far behind.
I keep to myself on one side of the room, trying to figure out where we are, what’s going on, and how I ended up here. Before I can—scene change.
It gets weirder.
We’re outside. It’s a wintry cityscape. But we’re not in a city. We’re on a movie set or in a video game universe or an amusement park built to look like a European city—as they exist in the American Imaginary.
There are Jews about (or actors cast to play Jews). Old World Fiddler Jews.
Like the MAGA group, they’re also in endless motion, but for decidedly less festive reasons.
Their role is clear: To be hunted. Maybe it’s only make-believe—like when Zionist organizations stage reenactments of Nazi deportations because that’s totally normal. The whole area has taken on distinct safari vibes.
The hunting party rolls up in their game vehicle. It’s The Beast, but even more pimped out than in real life. Vance, or his likeness, is hanging out the passenger side window. Bondi and Noem are in the back. There are more MAGA Bros coming out of the sunroof.
The limo whizzes past me on snowy ground like a party bus. Trashy spinning hubcaps catch my eye. In the center of each: a big, bold, unmistakable swastika.
Fortunately, this is just a dream.