Sweet dreams are made of these...

My dream from last night:

Charles Nelson Reilly and I were cleaning my shower. Both of us were standing in the tub, cleaning opposite ends. We were listening to a CD of Madonna's hits as played by an orchestra. He was using that patented laugh of his all the time, and just cracking me up. We were both barefoot, which kinda grossed me out considering all the gunk on the walls and the cleaner used to get them off were running down into the tub and then the drain...but over out feet as it went. But I didn't say anything, because I didn't want to appear to be a wimp in front of Charles Nelson Reilly. And I could smell fried chicken coming from somewhere.

And most surprising of all, I did NOT take any Nyquil or anything before bed to provoke such a dream.

POLT Listening to "Rehab" by Amy Winehouse Oil: 110.58 (+1.94); Gas: 3.33 (+.03)

I'm glad to talk about ranching, but I haven't seen the movie. I've heard about it. I hope you go - you know - I how you do back to the ranch and the farm is what I'm about to say. - George W. Bush, on why he's not seen Brokeback Mountain