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I can't sleep. It's 9:56 pm, and due to the nature of my life style and the constant struggle against those who shall not be mentioned at this given time in my post, I would- under normal circumstances mind you- be asleep by now. I am, however, unable to function in the area of REM sleep without the horrifying terrors of memories past and present involvement with the penguin hordes. That is, to the point, due to the horrifying nightmares that haunt my night time hours.

Honestly, this does not make me happy. My eyes are blurry and they itch, and I've yawned so many blasted times that I do believe my mandible will soon unhenge completly and fall into my lap at which point I will scream shrilly enough to shatter glass, after which I'll make a mad dash for the superglue and a squirt gun.

To the point, once more, I suppose I'll move onto a crude retelling of this bombardment that has bulldosed my dreams with the lovely itallics henceforth from this line:

I'm talking on the phone with Rayne, walking down the sidewalk as I do so, telling her about random things that pop into my head as I normally do just to fill the boring pot holes of my life with interesting tid-bits. Suddenly I'm surrounded by penguins on all sides. I'm rudely tripped by a webbed foot and I sprawl upon the concrete, my phone sliding over the rough surface, ending up just out of my reach. A nearby lawn gnome laughs insanely and stalks over to the shiny blue object and stomps on it with his ugly pointed shoe. Next thing I know, the penguins are closing in on me, bringing their friend with them. Impossible!- I think at first- that particular foul fowl is dead! Its the one Marble interrogated the day before. But no. He's here now, drooling and moaning, wailing for the sanity and the food it had sought to obtain in my home. I grab my ears and curl into a ball as they begin to torment me with ice cubes down my shirt and slush in my long, beautiful hair... then they get seriously down and dirty, kicking me and stabbing me with ice stakes just as the lawn gnomes picked up their weapons....

After that I snapped wide awake and rushed from my room, making a thorough search of the house, with Marble at my heels. Of course I found nothing. The damage had been done by them sending their filthy, lone kibble seeker yesterday.

With careful consideration, I have come to the conclusion that, while they did not know their weakness to the feline race, they did know what they were doing, breaking into homes and allowing themselves to be caught for interrogation and destruction: they sought to infiltrate our dreams with the horror of their deaths, and thus break our sanity by screwing with our dreams.

Lets get one thing straight: my dreams are not to be screwed with. Ever.

I'm taking my squirt gun and I'm going to sit in the living room with the lights off. One bad sound and I'm spraying the blasted house and all infiltrators with acid. No way are they going to catch me off guard, mouth hanging open because of the sleeping pills I just thought about taking. NO WAY.