So I should write this down before I totally forget: Last night I dreamt that me and Barack Obama got kidnapped by a couple of Filipino gangsters working for the Triad. (Don’t ask me where Secret Service was.) We managed to outsmart the gangsters, but had to steal a limo to get away. For some reason no one recognized the POTUS at all.

We somehow ended up at a house party somewhere in the Inland Empire and had a discussion about how post-colonialism and rap and hip-hop intertwine while chain-smoking cigarettes and drinking bottles of wine. Somehow during all this time, no one noticed the POTUS was missing. We stayed up all night, and when the sun started coming up, we went back to the limo and started driving towards the Mexican border.