i was arrested for driving under the influence by Edie Falco last night.

Apparently I’d had a little too much to drink while I was having a come to Jesus talk with Madonna about her attitude and her recent career choices. I know what you’re thinking! “Who is Brat to be telling the golden one about career choices”. To you I say… “rapping about soy latte”?!?! I think I’m entitled to at least having a concerned discussion with her about this.

In reality, I wasn’t just talking about her career. I was talking about her attitude. She’s a bitch. Though, since she’s found the Kabalah she’s supposedly not such a bitch, she’s still a bitch and I knew that someone had to have a real heart-to-heart with her. I was worried that she wouldn’t have any friends in the nursing home when she got a few years older. She needed to change her attitude and I was just the person to tell her. Over a few cocktails of course.

It was pure hell. Being the first person to ever have a shouting match with Madonna about this topic is a daunting task. She brought up some valid points. (she’s rich, beautiful, gets fucked by Guy regularly and the world adores her). I didn’t care she needed to hear some tough love.

“Mum” I said, “You’re career choices are making you the laughingstock of the gay clubs.

She started crying and realized that I was right. Moving over to the well stocked bar, she fixed me a martini the way I like it (She’s made me one before I guess)

We talked into the night and she finally started to come around. Being that I had to work in the morning, unlike Mrs Ritchie, I bid her “Adieu” and told her I’d always be here for her if she needed me.

A quick hug and I ran thru the rain to my little car for the commute home to Chicago from London.

The next thing I know, there are the red and blue lights of the police cruiser in my rear view mirror. I dutifully pull to the side and lower my window, license and registration already in hand. I am pleasantly surprised to see Edie reprise her roll from OZ as a keeper of the peace. (I know, prison guard, not police officer) She was very gruff with me. I tried to explain that I was tired after having solved Madonna’s career problems, but she wouldn’t hear it and made me go thru the inebriation exercises in the rain.

I Failed.

You would too after 3-7 of the Martinis Madonna fixed. (I think she has a drinking problem)

It was off to the station for me. Edie was very polite. She held my head as I got into the cruiser so that I wouldn’t end up with an ugly lump and we laughed and joked about Tony Soprano and how they met.

Once at the station, I was booked and processed, but because Edie and I had bonded so thoroughly, she let me sit at her desk with her instead of throwing me into the Gen Pop as they call general population. We sipped coffee together and laughed about my current predicament. Me in soaking wet clothes and handcuffs, she in the normal blue uniform with her hair pulled tightly back into a bun and a gun at her side.

After a few hours, she winked at me and said, “Ya know what… I like you and I’m gonna just let you go.”

She undid my cuffs and we embraced the embrace of new found friendship, knowing that we would be seeing a lot of each other in the coming moments of our lives.

I walked out into the sunshine of a bright new day dawning. A clean record and just a little bruising on my wrists from the cuffs. I’d have proof of my evening to share with my friends who’d never believe me.

At this point, I woke up and searched franticly for the visible handcuff marks without any luck. Damn it! It was all just a dream.