I woke up in a cold sweat — I'd been dreaming

I woke up in a cold sweat — I'd been dreaming again. I dream every time that I sleep on my back. Always the same dream, I'm curled up in an ice cream cone, a tongue getting closer.

But the tongue doesn't lick the ice cream fast enough. It melts. Soon I'm drowning in a giant puddle of liquid rocky road, holding on to a marshmallow. That's when the giant walnut

the pie. It was a fruit pie with a crumb topping. Homemade. The smell wafted up. I wondered whether the walnut would be worried if I revealed that the crust was made with walnuts.

If the walnut was worried, I couldn't tell. Its expression was unreadable. Stoic. Mysterious, even. I rested my chin on the counter, inches from its shell, and gave it a little ta

ramasalata. The walnut's little tongue licked the Greek confection off my finger. Who knew nuts were piscatarian? I cracked open a jar of soused herring. The walnut hopped into the

jar as if it was a hot tub and beckoned me enticingly, shedding his nubby shell. I was about to join him when I came to my senses. My GAWD! I'm interactng with a WALNUT! I cracked

It open only to find a message dated August 6, 2027. It read: Dear varmints, I have travelled using my own time machine. I built it all myself, using instructions by H.G. Wells. He

And Victor Hugo were kind enough to pack me a nice lunch the day I launched my time machine. If any of you varmints is hungry I still have a goose liver pâté hot pocket left. As I

live and breathe, you shall never go hungry again. And they didn't, seeing as they died soon after eating the hot pockets, since their stomachs had not been primed for modern crap.