Had a dream last night that Dick Van Dyke was driving around my childhood neighborhood with a dead Mickey Rooney in the trunk of his car.

And I stopped by my old house and Alan Cumming was fixing it up to sell it, and Phil Collins was in the garage recording, and Jane Fonda insisted on walking with me to my other old house (which, in reality, was not in the same neighborhood as the first old house, but for the intents and purposes of this dream, it was, I suppose) despite having lost the heel of one of her shoes.

None of this makes any sense, because that first old house didn’t *have* a garage.

Board Games in My Playboy Party Dream (Because I Can’t Fucking Reply to Replies Dammit)

Lol, not Bibleopoly (is there really such a thing?) They were made-up games that don’t exist in reality because they make absolutely no sense. Like there was some game with little balls of Play-Doh…yeah. And there weren’t a lot of people at this party. It was sort of a bomb. But, you know, I guess even Hugh Hefner can throw a crappy party sometimes.