It seems that at the moment the only vaguely interesting thing I have to blather on about is my dreams. Case in point, considering the amount of the Mighty Boosh I watched last night (not to mention all the screencaps I was taking) I *should* have had some sort of excellent dream about Saboo that I would be unable to write about here. This, of course, would be if my brain liked me. Apparently my brain doesn't like me, because instead I dreamed that I was sitting at a table in a run-down coffee shop, having a shouting match about politics with Harrison, who I finally hit with a chair before storming out. #sighs# No, I don't get it either.