I had three dreams last night, only two of which I remember in any detail. One of them was freakin' fantastic, uplifting, and, I dare say, inspiring enough to possibly enact changes in my waking life.

The other one was horrible: I was in a vast room containing Simpsons-type characters (yellow skin, three fingers, etc.) that had been crucified. Hundreds, if not thousands of them, all nailed to the walls, bleeding, collapsing under their own weight. I was repulsed.

I don't remember which dream came first, but I enjoyed that there were two of them.

"I got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm!"