Inside the Dream Factory

It's Friday night, slags. I love you. I'm done with the grind for the night and am gonna drink up this wine and give you a glimpse into my dream factory. And by dream factory, I totally don't mean what you think I mean. I never do, do I? You are used to this. Here's where I conceive all my greatest ideas - flanked by cats at my dining room table, wine and phone handy.

Also, I was meaning to tell ya'll, I recently woke up in a bathtub full of ice, with a note pinned to my clothes that my kidneys had been removed and I should contact a medical professional immediately. That'll teach me to get fucked up in Mexico again. And those damn chupacabras! They're everywhere. Here's the photo evidence to prove it. The whole kidney thing, not the chupacabras, that is.

So you see why this sojourn into this bottle of pino noir is so well deserved. Working, goat sucking beasts, and missing internal organs. You'd be hard pressed yourself to not want to do the same.