Monday, October 06, 2008

A Twain Wreck

Last night I dreamt that I was playing billiards with Mark Twain.
But, things were not going well with Mr. Samuel Clemens on this day. He was beating me like a rug at eight-ball and wasn't in a particularly good mood.

"Uh, Mr. Twain?" I asked.

"Yes, son?"

"Was Tom Sawyer a metaphor for society's mistreatment of the young?"

"No, son -- it was a reason to get paid. I started writing it hungover and was drunk when I finished it." He blew smoke in my face as he said it.

"Was Huckleberry Finn the devil?"

His cue froze mid-stroke. I could tell it was not a good question.

"Son, those are some of the most ignorant questions I have ever heard. You must have had a really terrible American Literature teacher. Either that or you were dropped as a child. Now, are we here to play pool or talk? Because I have a date with Mae West in about an hour."

Please let me wake up, I thought to myself.

But, just then he sunk the 8-ball.

These dead celebrity pool tournaments were not going well. Maybe it was time to take Bing Crosby up on his invitation to play golf.

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