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Rob Reiner's Wilderness of Mirrors


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Sasha Stone Substack

A Christmas Carol Story -- Part One - The Ghost of Christmas Past

Sasha Stone

Dec. 13 2023

(Click  On Link to Listen)

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Rob Reiner holds his phone in front of his face, and doom-scrolls Twitter. One after the other, all about the coming apocalypse, Donald Trump's potential win.

The monster. The fascist. The BEAST is outpolling Uncle Joe - how is this happening? He’s indicted for felonies, a twice impeached crook, conman, and dictator. He waged an armed insurrection to attack the Capitol to overturn the election; he’s worse than Hitler, worse than Mussolini. Who are these people that support him? Why do we have to share a country with them?

Reiner was getting triggered by those he trusted and followed on Twitter, like the Lincoln Project, Liz Cheney, Marc Elias, Occupy Democrats. And Call to Activism:

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(Snip)

"Meathead, Dead from the Neck Up"

That night, Rob Reiner hits the pillow hard. Some vodka and a documentary on Trump and Hitler helps him sleep like a baby. It isn’t until after midnight that he begins to stir.

He smells something like cigar smoke. What is that? No one in his house smokes. And then, an image in the corner of the room shocks him awake. He blinks several times. Hard. Is that…No, it couldn’t be. He’s been long dead. Yet, there he is, in his favorite armchair.

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“WAKEUP, Meathead. You lazy bum. GET UP. It’s time we had a talk.”

Reiner jolts out of bed and fumbles for the light.

“That light won’t work. None of the lights will work, dummy. I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past. We don’t like things shining in our eyes.”

Reiner splutters, “What the Jiminy Chrismas?”

“No, the Archie Bunker Christmas. Remember me? Remember our show? Remember what life was like before idiots like you destroyed all good things?”

(Snip)

Rob Reiner feels himself back in his bed, he reaches out for his wife Michele and holds her tight.

“What’s wrong, honey? Bad dream?”

“Yeah, it was a really bad dream.” He shuts his eyes tight and tries to make it all go away. But even as he drifts off to sleep, he knows something — or someone — else will wake him. It is too dark and too quiet.

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