LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
Cliff's Notes: I Had a Dream |
Can it be? It's over? Really? It seems like some twisted dreammare that goes something like this. The first thing I recall I was at a swimsuit competition with my girlfriends Shayna and Shannel at Cloud 9. Then, oddly enough, I was dressed as some sort of oversized, freaky birthday present. As I pawed at myself through layers of paper hats and tissue, Gloria Gaynor popped out singing I Will Survive. I dashed to the mirror only to see my hair suddenly turn the color of polished concrete and grow to the size of a VW Bug. The next thing I knew I was dancing the polka at my pregnant daughter's wedding. Later, in ancient Rome while bringing a little freshness to every coliseum with some 'Glade," I was met by Auntie Mame and whisked off to Vegas via the Blue Moon for a fabulous floor show by some gorgeous goddess, Gillette Roulette. Pleasure turned to panic when horns sprouted from her supermodel-like head and thick fur from those mile high legs. As I began to awake from the dream I recall running round and round the Renegade to escape the devilish creature then some sort of presidential assassination and a horrid metallic taste in my mouth. I came to with mouth abrasions the size of Texas and the smell of ketchup hanging oddly in the air. It must have been something I ate. It's tough being an illusionist. You have to look in the mirror to see who you were last night and then decide who or what to be today...Mary Poppins? Mary Wilson? Flip Wilson? A flip top pez dispenser? It really matters not. The whole goal is to have fun and laugh. I don't care if you laugh with me, at me or with me at me. We're here for a good time, not a long time. And that's the twuth. I just want to thank everyone for a fantastic experience this Summer. I had soooo much fun it should be illegal (no comment, please). I really do think it's important to make every day or event a little special, a little different, a lot of fun. I get just as bored as the next guy and it's amazing how a little hot glue, a wig, a cordless high speed carbide bit percussion drill and a few feathers make the ho-hums go away. I know there might be one or two souls that are tired of seeing and hearing my name over and over and over and over, and that's O.K. It was almost embarrassing...almost. Just don't hate me for being Cliff. If you do, you'll really hate me next year! |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 10, No. 13, Sept. 22, 2000. |