Tony and LaFlamme have been arrested for a crime they didn't commit. At least they don't think they did. One of the prison guards is an American and during the long night this prompts an unusual dream.
I had no sooner drifted off than Mitt Romney was asking me to assist him in his presidential campaign. I told him Republican Party races were just about who could oppose abortion and gay marriage most vociferously and that he didn’t need me for that. But Romney insisted.
I knew Romney’s body had been taken over by body-snatchers and that he was a dangerous threat to civilisation. Unfortunately, in my dream this was also the case. He was trying to convince me I paid too much tax, his wide eyes and fixed grin reminding me of a cryogenecised Ted Danson. I told him it wasn’t so much that I paid too much but that he didn’t pay enough and that if he really wanted to give something back to the country he could start by contributing more than the paltry 13% of his ludicrous investment income he did at present.
But it was clear the real Romney had left the building years ago. This Mormon husk was all that remained and you could no more have a conversation with him than an eggplant. Not that that has stopped candidates in the past. There is nothing in the constitution to prevent eggplants taking office, as was demonstrated by the 43rd president.
Romney persisted, telling me that although socialised medicine was considered the red menace, he had an idea for a national health service. Rather than be paid by the government through collected taxes, it involved individuals paying large multinational insurance companies for cover. I said it sounded interesting but was clearly in its early stages.
Before I could ask for more detail, he was handing me a gun, saying: “Welcome to America.” It was at this point my dream became a nightmare. I was greeted by a marching parade as I stepped off a ferry. Somebody presented me with flowers, and a garland was draped around my neck. There were calls for a speech. I panicked.
“This is all happening a bit fast,” I said in a terrified whimper. “I love your movies, but I’m not sure I’m ready to live here. I think you’re probably all quite nice, but whenever I see any of the people you vote for and the insane things they have to say in order to get you to vote for them, I feel frightened.”
The crowd began chanting: “One of us, one of us.” I turned and tried desperately to get back on the boat. Unfortunately Romney had me by the legs and was clinging on for dear life. I was frozen to the spot, probably an extension of the cryogenic process that fixed his grin.
“Are you having a seizure?” said LaFlamme in her caring way, waking me in our cell.
“Oh, thank god I’m in prison,” I said.