I am the president of Namibia

The country is in very bad shape. People are starving. I sit down in a conference room located in a hotel and casino complex. My friend is sitting across from me, and she seems angry. She says she is hungry. She says her money is worthless. Others at the table listen to her closely and offer suggestions, but I am feeling dizzy. Bill Clinton arrives. He says he is a special envoy from the United States, sent to help Namibians create wealth. He starts talking but I interrupt him. I say that I am the first white president of Namibia, and it is only a matter of time before I am deposed by a coup. I suggest that we start printing even more money. I say, "sometimes in order to get rid of a hangover you just need to keep drinking." Clinton thinks this is a good idea. The problem, I continue, is that our currency was overvalued. Now it is being undervalued but we need to print more money in order to stimulate investment. Then once the economy picks up again, we will raise interest rates and return to a stricter fiscal policy. I have no idea what I'm talking about, but everyone at the table except for my friend seems to think I am a genius.

I get up to go to the bathroom. On my way there I am met by Joe Biden and his wife. He tells me that that he heard Namibia had a white president and he had to see for himself. He then invites me to his private room to watch a satellite feed of a boxing match. I agree to join him. I walk back to the conference room and tell the others that I must be departing, as I have important state business to attend to. They wish me well, except for my friend, who is silent.

I go to find Biden's room but get lost. I stumble outside and find myself in the middle of a four-lane highway, with cars zipping past me in every direction. I dodge the cars to cross the street. Completely lost, I find a service station and go inside. There I am grabbed by three men who tell me that I must now be a contestant in a special game. I stand by a podium and look at a shelf that holds three dishes filled with food. One man tells me that I must pick a dish. Two out of the three dishes are poisoned, he says. I win the game if I pick the dish that has not been poisoned.

From the three dishes I choose a hamburger and fries. I start eating. The man comes over and tells me that I have chosen well, as that was the dish they were not going to poison. But then he explains that they decided to poison that one too, so that all three were poisoned. So, he explains, I have won the game but I am still going to die of food poisoning. I start throwing up and can barely stand. He says he is going to go get my prize but instead I stumble outside the service station, my clothes covered in vomit. I continue to throw up. I want to find Joe Biden's room but I am having trouble standing, and I can barely see the gravel of the pavement at my feet.