In which I have a nightmare about James Taranto, opinion editor of The Wall Street Journal

Friday 5/8/26

I had a nightmare last night about James Taranto, opinion editor of The Wall Street Journal.

Oneiric Taranto said to me, "I'll show you! I'm going to lash out at you for starting an email by asking how I was doing!"

To which I said, "You already did that."

Then he said, "Damn. Okay, then I'm going to bully you by telling you how awful you are at writing op-eds as I publish many of them but I'm just going to keep saying this and saying it."

To which I replied, "You already did that, too."

Then he said, "Okay, how about I assign a piece on Buster Keaton's The General, and then after you turn it in, I'll tell you that I've never even heard of this film, which as it turns out could be the best film ever made in this country, and with the horrible irony of me thinking I'm this incredibly smart and learned guy, and then I'll try and belittle you some more?"

To which I replied, "You've already done that one as well."

Then he said, "I'll keep trying. How about I tell you that the Halloween piece you wrote in which you describe how your Batman costume ripped when you were in nursery school is sexually suggestive because I'm out of my incongruously tiny mind?"

To which I replied, "Yep, you already did that one, too."

Then he paused and seemed to be thinking as hard as he could, which to me suggested a man on a toilet straining despite his doctor's warnings, and rocking back and forth, like that would help the process.

"I got it," Taranto said in this nightmare of mine. "I'm going to bop you with my prodigious FUPA (Fatty Upper Pubic Area)!"

This one he hadn't done before and he began the process of unbuckling.

But luckily, as in mental matters, he was slow and I was able to escape, awaking shortly thereafter.