I have a dream that a ruler with orange hair wakes up in the year 1649. He hears a knock on his palace door. He opens it and sees standing on the threshold Oliver Cromwell. He's there to read off a long list of the orange-haired man's indiscretions. It takes a while. (By the way, one of his indiscretions is his appearing in public with orange hair.) Cromwell invites him to go outside, using as bait a hamburger which he knows the orange-haired man likes, thanks to the dying, meat-packing workers, subjected to the raging plague, who continue to serve his needs. The orange-haired man tells Cromwell to hold on. His wishes first to take his morning dose of Hydroxycholoroquine and inject himself with a disinfectant. "To prevent the plague," he says.
"Is that so?" Cromwell says.
They go outside. The orange-haired man is pleased to see the sun shining. "Feel those sunbeams," he says, "the plague doesn't stand a chance today. I'm glad you're not one of those who practice that stupid protocol called social distancing. Who needs it? I won't do it today, and I won't do it tomorrow. You hear what I'm saying?"
"You won't need it tomorrow," Cromwell says, "that I can promise you."
"Are you saying it'll be over? The plague will end on account of me?"
"Yes, you will end the plague that has ravished us the past four years."
"Four years? I thought it was just the past few months. Funny how everything becomes distorted when you're a ruler."
Cromwell shows him a finely constructed wooden platform. The orange-haired man wishes to know if he is to be honored on the platform. "You know," he says, "for all my achievements, which you were nice enough to read to me."
"You will be honored appropriately for those ... achievements, as you call them."
"Hold on," the orange-haired man says, "I want to tweet this. I want people to know, so they show up. Is it okay if they bring their weapons? You never know if an illegal is going to show up to disrupt the ceremony."
"We don't tweet here," Cromwell says.
"You don't tweet? How do you spend your time?"
"I fix things that are broken."
"Oh, so you're a handy man."
"People say I come in handy at times."
"Will there be a band playing when I appear on the platform?"
"Most definitely, afterwards."
"Will people come out to celebrate?"
"Most definitely, afterwards."
"What are we waiting for?" the orange-haired man says. "Let's do it. By the way, have you seen my children?"
"Yes, I've already paid them a visit."
"Were they pleased to see you?"
"Yes, except that son-in-law of yours. He ran away, dressed as a woman, trying to sneak out of the country."
"Funny, I thought only the family knew about his liking to dress as a woman. But why would he sneak out of the country? Why would he want to do that when this country is the greatest country in the world, and now that I am to be honored, appropriately as you say, now that the plague will be gone, the future, despite what my enemies say, is bright."
"Yes, the future is bright," Cromwell says. "Now, if you will just step up on the platform."
"Glad to," the orange-haired man says, "Who's that man wearing the mask? Doesn't he know we don't wear masks on my palace grounds? He looks really stupid, especially holding that hatchet. What does he think it is, Halloween?"
Cromwell tells the orange-haired man to lay his head on the block.
"This is a funny way to be honored. Will people talk about this day three hundred years from now?"
"History will probably refer to it as one of the most significant events of all time," the orange-haired man says.
The masked man approaches him from behind.
"I'm certain of that," Cromwell says.
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