Whew, it's not just me

Slate has been inviting readers to chime in about their dreams about Sarah Palin. She's having some weird effect on Americans' sleep patterns. This was one of my favorites:

"Sarah Palin's standing over me (I'm naked, she's not) and shouting, podium style, through a pair of great, floating glasses, 'And you know what? I'm going to cut it off. I'm gonna CUT IT OFF.' I hear cheers. Are we onstage? I don't see it, but I feel the presence of TV camera everywhere. She continues, 'And you know why? Because, well why shouldn't I? If you're good, I know God will put it back.' I look down and realize I have the biggest pot plant ever growing up between my legs. I mean, the thing is beautiful. I think something happens next, but I can't remember what. All I know is we are in a field, and Sarah Palin is kneeling over me decked out in hunter gear. She cradles her rifle pragmatically and smiles pathetically as if to say, 'You silly bear,' and ruffles my stomach. The plant is gone, but I am now covered in fur. And blood. And bits of grass. And as much as I want to bite her face off, I can't be angry at her. Or rather, I can't argue it. I've got nothing. And she knows it too. Her triumphalism is effortless."—Joshua Mensch