… But I Dream About Stephen Colbert

No, I really did. And I have so few remembered dreams, too — my psyche generally keeps its nighttime workings locked up. Lord *knows* who else I’m having strange erotic experiences with, without remembering them.

And it’s not like I even watch Colbert all the time. I watch him a lot, but not always. When I woke up from this dream of him I knew I had had an important visitation, but what does it *mean*? Feel free to throw a little interpretation my way, if YOU can make heads or tails of it.

I was onstage MCing something. My next person to bring up was Colbert, and I intro’ed him with the same inflection Jon Stewart uses at the end of almost every Daily Show when he spends his minute with the other comedian: “… our good friend Stephen Colbert at the Colbert Report… STEPHEN!”

But Colbert, unbeknownst to me, was going by another name at this show. He was SO not happy at being mis-introduced. And I, for the life of me, could not remember what his pseudonym was supposed to be. He hung around the margin of the stage, angry, for quite some time. This was at some sort of atmospheric brick comedy club, and the audience didn’t seem to notice anything amiss except, perhaps, me being off my MC game. I finally called an intermission to try to deal with it.

I don’t recall how I got into the pantyhose. I never wear them. I know certain fetishists (1, 2)just adore them, but I’ve always hated them. But there I was when intermission was over, wearing the pantyhose, the kind with the little cotten panel sewed in (because with cotten crotches you’re less likely to develop vaginal infections, right? UNLESS the cotten is covered up by the less breatheable nylon, you idiot pantyhose manufacturers!). I know about the cotton crotch because my next exchange with Colbert was like this:

He approached the stage, pushed me down, and grappled with me in a way that was vagely but not clearly sexual. But he wanted to get at the pantyhose! He ripped the crotch open! (OK, so this is what can be GOOD about pantyhose. I’ll admit my bias has been dented a bit by this dream experience.) And written on the white cotton panel was his proper pseudonym! I could introduce him! The show could go on!

Then I woke up.

Two other things. You may be wondering why I didn’t just ask him his dang pseudonym. I did try to do that, but he was in a snit and wouldn’t reveal it. Nor do I remember it now. It vanished with the dream. Probably the key to the whole thing, huh? And gone with the wind.

Finally, reading the paper this morning I’m struck by the resemblance between Colbert and Dennis the Menace’s father. Is this why America immediately took Colbert into its heart? Probably not.