By Bernard Weiner, The Crisis Papers
"I'm with my closest colleagues at the top of Mt. Everest. Below us on the snow, or maybe it's white sand, are thousands of bloody bodies. Suddenly, I see a line of approaching figures, armed with pitchforks and clubs, coming up the mountain. At first, I'm happy because they're carrying an American flag, but then I realize they're coming after me, led by a Toy Soldier wearing black. I turn around to figure out a counter-attack strategy with my key aides, but I'm all alone. I hear myself shout: 'A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!' And then I wake up, sitting bolt-upright in bed, trembling and covered in sweat."
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