I had a dream last night: I had to fire Donald Trump.
I practiced the night before. Donald, I said, you represent the old world order of bomb shelters and big cars with tailfins...this penchant for nostalgia, which seems to be your unique selling position, just won't do.
The words sounded pretty good to me, and I thought they had a chance of getting through to Mr. Trump if presented to him from a position of supplication: I decided I would kneel when I spoke.
When I arrived at his residence, making clear to his security team that I'd prefer to walk up the 43 flights of stairs to Mr. Trump's penthouse, rather than take the gold elevator, having been trapped twice in malfunctioning elevators, I was denied admittance and the meeting was canceled.
When I woke from this dream I made this vow: to either resist current events or engage them for the purpose of change.