Literary Agent Orson: I Had a Dream

Orson stared.

“What? Why do you stare?”

“I can understand what you say. It’s just a little weird.”

“This is a dream, dumkoff.”

“Is that a little dream humor?”

“You’ve got about twenty seconds left in this dream cycle. Move on.”

“I can see why you didn’t win Germany’s man of the year for 1517.”

Silence.

“I need your help,” Orson said. “There are some who feel that I, a humble literary agent, am uniquely qualified to save the planet. I don't get it, but there it is. Currently the world is threatened by hegemony. We’ve tried everything. In your day, you changed the world. I was hoping for some ideas.”

“Me?” he pointed to his sunken chest. “I’m a poor priest. What can one man do?” He held a gather of his simple, burlap tunic in one hand, turned up his other hand humbly. “I just spend my days trying to kill Jews and arguing with my boss.”

“Amazing how little things have changed,” Orson observed.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s your dream. Ten seconds. Quit mumbling and get with it, beknackt.”

“One man can make a difference. You took on a corrupt hegemony which sought complete world domination. Of course it cost you your job and nearly your life, but if you hadn’t succeeded, we’d all be speaking Latin. We face a similar situation in our time, and I’m too old to learn Farsi or Urdu. I’ve got to do something. Forgive me if I digress for a second, but I’m fascinated by your view on Jews. You are a priest, and yet you sanction the murder of other humans.”

“No, certainly I do not, but Jews are not human, they are devils. Kill as many of ‘em as you like. Five seconds.”

“That sounds eerily familiar.”

“You babble. Two seconds.”

“Okay, how can I save the world?”

“How should I know? I am but one man.”

“But you did it; you stopped the train dead in its tracks!”

“You’ve mistaken me for someone else, young man. Time's up. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m on my way to mail my grievances to Albrecht. I’m thinking of posting them some place where everyone can read them.”

“How about the castle door?”

“Great idea, kamuffel! Bye.”

Brilliant, the castle door was the ‘Letter to the Editor’ of his day. As soon as I wake up, I’ll write a letter to the editor and mail it. It’s worth a try, Orson dreamt.

Oh, no. I can’t, dammit. Today’s MLK day and the post office will be closed.