I hate taking sleeping pills. Apparently,

I hate taking sleeping pills. Apparently, I get up in the middle of the pm and buy stuff from Infomercials. I only know this bc today, I received a HarryPotter ninja sword.Yesterda

to the bed. But it was a roll-away bed. When I woke up, I realized I'd slept walked all the way to the grocery store and had dragged my bed through

to my favourite aisle: cakes and biscuits. I established my boudoir there and lay in my crumby bed surrounded by jam puffs, custard tarts and swiss rolls. I was a pet to the staff

of poundcake, immune to all other callings save bundt cake, sponge cake, carrot cake, biscuit cake, cake biscuits, biscuits over cake with a biscuit reduction and densified cake

OH and are those crumpets there I see? I was still sleepy, but rolled my rollaway bed behind the bakery counter and heaped all the cakes, pies, crumpets on top.

My rollaway was a motorized FRTWANGL model with a thousand fingers massage, radar avoidance system, and plenty of storage drawers. I stuffed them with cakes pies & the Magnificent

Motorized escape began. On highway 61, I met Bob Dylan, who sang "Highway 61 Revisited" and he asked If he could jump in. I said yes, and so we sped off into the twilight and never

once mentioned the muffled cries, grunts, and moans that emanated from somewhere below the Nash Rambler's leather seat. Nor did it ever appear in any Dylan song. We dropped him off

the edge of a cliff and watched him fall in silence, but turned before he hit the waves below. In the car on the way home, no-one spoke. We just listened to a Xavier Cugat CD.