Fixing the blame

OK, I know that descriptions of other people's dreams are tedious. But I really have to share this one, even if only in abbreviated form.

My sometime colleague RD and I are trying to hitch a ride with some guys in a pickup truck. I notice that they seem to be in a hurry and are all carrying handguns. I suggest to RD that maybe we ought to find someone else to give us a ride, but he seems untroubled. That is, until one of the guys shoots me in the shin, breaking my leg.

Flash forward. (There's some other odd material in the dream, about finding an apartment and arguing with a secretary named Bobbie from this place I worked about eight years ago, but let that pass.) My leg having been treated, I receive a visit from President George W. Bush. He insists that I must pin the blame on an undercover police officer, against whom he has a vendetta for some reason. He hints that if I value the safety of my family, I'd best do what he says ...

Cheney also makes a brief appearance, looking somewhat glum. Perhaps he shot someone else in the face.