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Dreams make me shit like Exlax. Or maybe it's time, but I like the idea of it being dreams because I can't stand dreams. I wish to live a dream-free existence. I'll run a drill through the section of my head that impregnates my days with them and it will be very nice. I will not wake up flailing my arms at some unknown opponent. If I ever sleep with someone again, maybe I won't punch her in the face while I'm snoring, if I snore. I do not sleepwalk. I sleep punch. I sleep kick. I commit acts of domestic violence in my sleep. Domestic violence against my walls. Domestic violence against my pillows. Domestic violence against my two hundred dollar mattress. That one time I woke up my girlfriend with my fist. Alarm clocks are cacaphonic and undesirable. You would think a fist would be in higher demand. Market research has told me that it is not true. I am shocked. I am so shocked that I need to feel a physical representation for my incredulity. So I lick a battery.