Ward Churchill is after your girlfriend

A while ago I had a dream where I was attending a get-together at a good friends house back in North Platte. Ward Churchill was there. I saw no reason why not; I associate myself with the beautiful people. There was a train wreck along the tracks accross the street. In the real world, my friend lives half a mile from the railroad. Never mind. The men in the house organized ourselves into a rescue party. Mr. Churchill did not come.

As I recall, none of the victims were dead. As a matter of fact, no one was seriously wounded . They just needed us to move debris out of the way so that they could walk out themselves and go about their business. The rescue mission took most of the day; but this was only because we would take long and frequent coffee breaks back at the house; an hour at the wreck, an hour back in the dining room with our Folgers and Camels, that's how it went. Keep in mind, we wern't leaving anybody to bleed to death. All the victims were perfectly fine, just stuck is all. You should try moving twisted metal sometime and see how ling you can last without needing a break.

Anyhow, it came to my attention that Ward Churchill was spending all of this time hitting on various women in the house. I thought nothing of it, he's a man just like the rest of us. Later still, however, I noticed that he was only hitting on other mens wives and girlfriends, while ignoring all the single girls. This was simply low down. It was bad enough that he wasn't helping us free the mildly inconvenienced train wreck victims. He had to go and steal all of our women while we were out. Quite deliberately mind you. He was intentionally ignoring the single women just to show his contempt for polite society, and I know for a fact that he stole at least three of my cigarettes.

I am not a mystical person by any means. I am a heartless journalism major in a godless university. Normally, I would tell you with perfect conviction that the human brain has only two talents; logic and empirical knowledge. There is no common sense, there is no intuition, there is no revelation, there is no third eye. Normally I would say this. But I woke up that morning without the slightest doubt that I had met the real Ward Churchill. I've never really met him, of course. But if you ask me what he's like; I could tell you with upmost certainty that he is a total bastard who will steal your woman and your cigarettes.

(Stay tuned for a slightly more relevant and coherent take on Churchill tomarrow)