Yesterday, after midnight, I was bored stiff and staring at my great grandpa’s nose. A crazy white cat screamed at me: “the goat ate my apricot!” I started doing the dirty dishes and imagining myself swimming with dolphins, but all I could smell was a dumpster. A purple squirrel casually retreated into a lizard cave, which she called her “smiling house.” Itching for a special occasion, I went camping on an airplane, which was green like a verdant bunch of spinach-infused pasta. It oozed of fresh floor wax and salty air. On the way out, my shoe got stuck in the mud, and I began attracting a swarm of gullible mosquitos. I asked some friendly twins for some spare change so I could buy myself a fire-red scarf which would cover my abundance of nose hair. It was a hard pill for them to swallow, as they were spent and tired from chasing around a white cat in the rain. By that time, I was snoring with the taste of chicken. It was bittersweet and black, and my mind started to splinter as I envisioned three grapes. I felt absolutely crazy, covered in big waves of blue warriors all crammed in one tiny shoe. It was like all of that junk you read in books. Vomit bubbled in the back of my throat. Eeeerrrghhh.