n'est pas

Last night I had hours and hours of dreams running the gamut, running away from something horrible induced by falling asleep at the end of annie hall (?), to scene-end-scenes of a lake and a record store and buying a very small house and then losing a u-haul, all of it ending at night with a dead tree shaped like a cross and hundreds of angry workers on strike. Analyze that! you stupid people that made that stupid movie.
I really have nothing new going on that does not involve work or my sleeping patterns or postmodern ennui or ordering shoes and nobody wants to read about that although hell I guess that is what you are reading about right now. Suckers.
Earlier I went to Borders and bought the McSweeneys comic annual, some pseudointellectual dude came up to me and said something about how good it was and I was like "yeah it's McSweeneys". Borders is lousy with pseudointellectual-types and yeah I guess you're not too shabby on the eyes, unfortunately it's in that "I really wanna talk about Foucault" kinda way, which gets annoying in oh let's say about five seconds. Flat.
Ok adult swim must run, Ciaomybebes!