Sickly

Last night I got home from watching a movie around 12:00.

(Aside:
Dear Angelina Jolie,
You and your huge lips complete me. Your dedication to completely incongruous nudity in a serial killer movie is awesome. Call me.
Love,
Jason)

By 12:45 it became apparent that I was in the early stages of some sort of sickness. You know, when you can totally feel the onset of a virus settling down on your chest like a thick blanket of untimely death? You don't? Whatever. Focus people! So I felt sick and was not getting any sleep and I had to be up in under 6 hours. Thus I took some medicine, guaranteed to knock you into a coma.

As a result of scary serial killer movie and drugs, I had a dream that I was at the International Rooster convention (where people come to discuss their love of roosters, I suppose). I remember carrying a large ceramic rooster with me everywhere I went and this guy in a chicken suit was trying to kill me for it, because it had won a prize for Best Rooster. Somehow I escaped in my Truck of Malfunction, but it was raining and a bird crashed into my windshield (a rooster, naturally) and I ran off the road and the TOM flipped. At that point I woke up, as I fell off the bed.

Now it's 10:00 in the morning, I'm barely functioning at a semi-conscious level, and I can't get the image of that creepy chicken-suit-wearing killer from my dream out of my head.

This is going to be one of those days.