The Dream Palace

Yes, there I was, in my simple, homelike palace by the sea. El Jefe's tastes are basic: the words "simple" and "homelike" mean what they say, describing a sort of rustic, humble residence like, maybe, Versailles.

All was well with the world. El Jefe's millions of vassals were toiling diligently, happily and profitably, my liveried servants scurrying about their appointed tasks, my security detachment of heavily armed but well-dressed goombas hovering menacingly but protectively in the background. I, El Jefe, was sitting on my verandah, or scenic overlook or whatever, by the sea, being served my morning cocktail by a comely blonde half my age, as I took my conference call

W ,Vlad Putin and whoever runs Italy this week were on the phone, all enthralled with my luminous logic, and my dazzling repartee. W, Vlad and Don Whoever outdid themselves expressing their gratitude for my thoughts: "Yes of course, El Jefe." "Brilliant idea, oh marvelous El Jefe." "The world is in your debt El Jefe." Just normal observations from El Jefe's auditors and admirers, mind you.

Then, the phone rang. . .but I was on the phone already. . .

No, it was the alarm clock ! "But wait for me !" I mournfully wailed, as the dream palace, the telephone, the servants, the good looking blonde, and the Cosmo on the silver tray roared away down the dream memory hole, and I awoke to contemplate yet another day as an average, somewhat corpulent regular guy in the legal profession.

Good morning !