I have a dream.
I have a dream that some day in the not-too-distant future, little white children and other, slightly larger white children will hold hands and sing in unison Huey Lewis' "Power of Love." But not the part about love being "stronger and harder than a bad girl's dream," because that's not really suitable for the littler white children. Maybe we would change the lyrics to something more family-friendly, like "cooler and faster than methamphetamine," or "smoother and slicker than Vasoline."
Allow me to start over.
I had a dream.
I remember it as clearly as if it happened Monday night, although in reality it was early Tuesday morning. In this dream I was at the mall, waiting for Huey Lewis to arrive. Evidently I had won tickets to a Huey Lewis and the News concert, and part of the prize was getting to meet Huey himself. I stood there in the mall, wondering when Huey would arrive. I was not wondering
if Huey would arrive, because Huey always follows through on his commitments. That's the kind of stand-up guy he is. Not like that f---ing flake Godot.
Sure enough, he showed up right on time. He definitely isn't as spry as he was back in the 80s, but he looked trim and neat in a casual button-down shirt and jeans. I shook his hand and introduced him to my son, Climber, who had appeared next to me, as people sometimes do in my dreams. "This man's name is Huey," I told Climber. "Just like Huey, Dewey and Louie."
If Huey took offense at that, he didn't show it, although he seemed to be more interested in getting something to eat. We stopped in at one of those nice family restaurants in the mall, like R.J. Blannigan's or whatever. Huey spoke briefly with the manager, securing a nice, out-of-the way booth for himself and his sizable entourage. I said
entourage, you pervs. Anyway, his entourage was so large that by the time everyone sat down, there was no room for me. I think Climber got in, but I had to sit at another table.
I don't hold it against Huey -- a man has to put his entourage first. I knew that was how it had to be. And that's where the dream ended.
The next morning, while I was still pondering all of these things in my heart, I went to my computer and was met with a fateful comment from Elasticwaistbandlady, in which she claimed to be the
Anti-Huey. Coincidence? Surely not.
No, friends, I'm afraid that we are entering the End Times, during which we will witness the final battle between the forces of infectious light rock and the forces of evil. Elasticwaistbandlady, also appropriately known as the
Smiling Infidel, has thrown down the gauntlet.
----Semi-related interlude----Mrs. Diesel and I were sitting at the kitchen table. She was reading the newspaper.Mrs. Diesel: It says they're going to switch over to digital TV signals in 2009, so you won't be able to get any channels with an analog TV.
Diesel: I'm not buying it. They're not going to take away people's TV.
Mrs. Diesel: They're going to give people vouchers to buy converters.
Diesel: See, they can't just take away TV. People wouldn't stand for it.
Mrs. Diesel: Yeah, that's probably what would make people outraged enough to march on Washington.
A few minutes later...
Mrs. Diesel: Hey, they misspelled 'gauntlet' in this article.
Diesel: Without the 'u', you mean?
Mrs. Diesel: Yeah.
Diesel: That's an alternate spelling.
Mrs. Diesel: That's stupid.
Diesel: I know, I don't like it either.
Mrs. Diesel: There's clearly a 'u' in it. It's not GANT-let.
Diesel: I know. It's stupid.
Mrs. Diesel: There's no respect in this country for vowel blends.
Diesel: (Looking skeptically across the table) Really?
This is the cause you've decided to fight for?
Mrs. Diesel: Well, it was either that or the TV thing.
----End semi-related interlude----Frankly, the Elastic Infidel strikes me as the sort of person who would throw down a "gantlet" just to spite me. But as for me and my house, we'll stick with "gauntlet," thank you very much.
And now is up to me as the preeminent defender of Huey in the blogosphere to throw down my gauntlets as well. Although, come to think of it, I might just leave mine on. Because, you know, if you're going to fight, you want your gauntlets on. Otherwise what if you hit your knuckles on something? She's going to be kicking herself for that little dramatic flourish.
My dream was clearly prophetic, foreseeing the time when Huey would gather his entourage together at the family restaurant of his choice to prepare for the metaphorical Concert to End All Concerts. The fact that I was not permitted to sit at Huey's table clearly means that I, like Moses, will never see the promised land. But weep not for me, my friends. It is enough for me to simply be Huey Lewis' tool. Heh, heh. I said tool.
Last night the Infidel's seconds called upon my seconds, unaware that at that very moment my thirds were calling upon her fourths. Her fourths cleverly pretended not to be home, but I am hopeful that we will eventually be able to work out the terms of an internet duel with the help of our respective fifths. Mine being Jack Daniels.
Friends, this promises to be the greatest internet duel that I know about. Seriously, this is going to be big. Bigger than
From Justin to Kelly. Bigger than
Cop Rock. Bigger than Hands Across America, which everybody still remembers as the event that singlehandedly wiped out the problem of there not being much else going on that day.
This, friends, is Huey-pocalypse.
Or maybe Huey-geddon.
No, Huey-pocalypse, I think.
Huey-caust? No, definitely Huey-pocalypse.
Anyway, check back tomorrow for more details.
When things get hectic,
Humor-Blogs.com is electric.
Labels: Huey-pocalypse or Maybe Huey-geddon