Ooooh, Mitch!
[tossing restlessly in fevered sleep] Who is it?
I am the author of "Atlas Shrugged."
[thinking to himself] It's that babe Pamela Geller! God, I can hardly believe it.
What do you want?
May I come in?
You want to come in my bedroom? Why? I mean yes, of course.
Thaank yoooou.
[in the dark, Mitch sees a form at the foot of his bed; he peeks out from under his sheet and addresses the form] What do you want? Can I get you something to drink? I think I have some Mogen David.
No thaank yoooou. But I need you, Mitch.
You need me? [Mitch is thinking a little more strategically now] Why don't you come a little closer so I can see you better?
Aaaaall riiight, but first you have to promise to help me!
[help Pamela Geller? I'm on it, thinks Mitch; maybe she wants a backrub] Of course I'll help you!
Promise? You'll do what ever I want?
[Mitch's mind is running wild with the possibilities; he says, practically panting] Oh God, yes, whatever you want! Come closer!
All right. [the form shuffles forward; Mitch thinks it is an odd gait for a woman a score of years his junior]
Pamela, are you all right?
Pamela? Pamela? I'm not some trollop Pamela; I'm the spirit of Ayn Rand.
Ayn Rand? But you're dead!
Of course, I'm dead. How do you think I got through the three deadbolts and the security system?
You mean you aren't Pamela Geller, the author of the blog Atlas Shrugs?
Her? The author of that drivel? It is deeply embarrassing to me that she is ripping off the franchise. I wrote the conservative feel-good classic "Atlas Shrugged."
What a horrible mistake! Get out of here, now!
You made me a promise, Mitch.
But that was when I thought you were somebody else.
That's your problem, Mitch. It's still a promise.
Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it? [as he starts to speak, Mitch feels a strange constriction in his throat, as though he was being strangled]
[with eyes bulging, he manages to squeak out] Okay! Okay!
[chuckling] That's what I thought. I want you to do a series of blog posts about a dystopian future with the liberals in charge, kind of like "Atlas Shrugged."
That sounds kind of sophomoric. [Mitch feels the constriction again] Okay! Okay!
[the spirit winks at Mitch and departs]
(And that, boys and girls, is the only way that Spot can figure out why Mitch wrote his 2050 series, the penultimate installment of which can be found here; apparently the blockbuster conclusion has yet to be written.)
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