I’m having sex with a headless woman but her head is on a chair on the corner watching us, giving us dirty looks. The head mouths the words “disappointing,” and “seeeeeen it.” I’m embarrassed but try to press on. It’s not worth it and I finally give up, not knowing who to apologize to, the headless woman or the body. I end up half apologizing to both and both seem angry, the head of the woman because she rolls her eyes and the body because she crosses her arms and generally has body language that indicates as much. I try to leave the room but the door has become very small, and as I crouch down to fit through my pants rip, as well does my shirt and my hat. I’m embarrassed again, and now the head begins laughing and the body is slapping its knees. I scream at the head to stop being so mean, the body slaps me, and then I pretend to take the head’s nose, and tell the body that, and because the body can’t see anything, it believes me and chases me round the room. We both collapse from exhaustion and have a good laugh. Until I make a crass joke about putting a bag over the body and having sex with the head, which isn’t well received and I immediately feel bad about saying it. Then I woke up suddenly, sweating but only around my neck area.

I open a convenience store in Delaware but all of our shelves are too tall. No one can reach them without a ladder or help from a stocky young stock boy named Scott. We sell step stools, but they’re on the third shelf, which is roughly 20 feet in the air. I try to jimmy rig brooms with coat hangers, but the twine is on the 2nd level in Aisle Sleven. That’s another problem. The numbers of the aisles are all made up. Light bulbs and Snickers are on aisle Poonannynine. Customers begin to complain, and my suggestion box is on top of a paper shredder and doesn’t have a bottom to the box, so I can’t figure out what they’re complaining about. My head cashier has a baby there in the store, and the baby offers us all cigars. Before I can ask if the baby had a baby, we smoke, toasting the newborn and the sprinklers go off. Instead of water it’s Good n’ Plenty and I jokingly say “I’ve had good an plenty enough of these sprinklers. You know what I mean? Because of the candy? I’m referring to the candy that is raining down on us. It’s a play. A play on words. You know? Regarding the terrible licorice candy that is raining down on us from above like a sweet, sweet apocalypse.” One person laughs, but I find out he was thinking of a joke he heard yesterday about nuns on skateboards. Then I wake up.

Nightmare last night. I am in Chicago, and I want to stay longer. I have forgotten that we are supposed to drive on the right side of the street because I’ve been in New Zealand so long. If I can stay longer, I can go to Sundance, which has music and I can perform with Nick Thune in a Marriott Courtyard. I have mixed feelings about this. Ben Affleck’s ex-girlfriend approaches me in a movie theater where she makes fun of me for sniffling and snorting so much. I am embarrassed but it’s clearly a way to approach me romantically. I’m confused. I’m worried that I haven’t called my girlfriend because I missed my flight back to Los Angeles, and I’m afraid she’ll be mad. We’ve been fighting because she wants to laminate all the dried rose petals from the flowers I’ve given her and strew them all around the bed. I insist this will lead to small paper type cuts. I’m going back to high school to finish some sort of program and all my old friends are there. I’m in a class with a teacher that is sort of like Mr. Madison but looks different, he also looks like a music teacher I used to have. We are verbally sparring, but at my age and in my current profession he can’t kick me out and everyone is laughing. Also I am better at walking the line and not taking it too far—he thinks he is being funny too because of how I am manipulating the situation. The whole classroom looks like it’s in a huge Borders bookstore. Afterwards the hallways are crowded and I try to talk to him to smooth it out. All the water fountains shoot water high enough that you can stand while you drink from them. Antoine, a very cool black kid from high school who is now a DJ says what’s up and that I’m funny. I still crave his approval, and say thank you calling him A tone. He corrects me (this is obviously from a recent mishap with a comedian in my real life) and I try and say I thought his DJ name was “DJ A Tone.” Before I know it he is on a school bus and I am chasing along side of him saying how much it meant to me in High School that he was so funny and that I thought he and Felix Abrams and a couple other of the guys who weren’t in all my classes (they weren’t in X Classes) were all so funny and I would tell them that and that was so cool and even back then I was thinking of humor critically and then his bus gets too far ahead of me. I decide to email him instead of running along side the bus. After all, I did get his email at the high school reunion. Then I wake up.

There's a store in New York that is called "99 Cent Dreams." I had the most incredible 99 cent dreams last night. There was this off-brand washing detergent and a kazoo sort of worked. That was the dream. I woke up feeling like a hundred bucks.

I’m helicopter skiing but of course they take the helicopter with the propellers that are made of Twizzlers. We crash into the mountain and I realize my skis are made of smaller, thinner people. I have to make a decision. Ski on them, or eat them. It was a hard decision, but I decide to ski on them and eat the power bar I brought with me. I make it down to the base of the mountain but it’s a false base, kind of like a false summit but with more hot chocolate stands. I order 2 hot chocolates, one for me, and one for my left ski, because the right one keeps complaining about my weight. Rude. We decide to try and make it further down, but my high school basketball coach is there and he’s kissing my grade school crush. I demand to know her age and threaten to prosecute him for statutory kissing, and she reveals she’s only 11 but she has a law degree: There is no such thing as statutory kissing.
Infinitely frustrated, I build a small igloo and decide I will spend the night, only to wake up finding I hibernated like a bear for 8 months. Everything is about the same, but my TiVo is full. Then I wake up, but under the bed.

I was at a pool and one of my neighbors from my apartment in Los Angeles was a bomb maker. He assured me he wasn't going to kill me, and started doing cannonballs. We talked about how it was good apartment, cheap, difficult to break into and in the middle of Hollywood. He lived more in the center of the complex because he was making bombs.

I’m playing sand volleyball and I’m gay (obviously). But everyone thinks I’m straight and keeps trying to hook me up with old polish women who are having a bake sale. I can’t buy any of the products because none of them are gluten free. This makes me angry but when I try and yell I simply make a batch of lemon squares. The more I try to yell the more I make lemon squares. One polish woman in particular has taken to me, her name is Perogi, and I’m convinced she’s stuffed with potatoes and cheese. I smear some sour cream on her when she’s not looking but she turns away before I can proceed, and all the other women are impressed by her fashionable use of dairy. Three days later I’m walking by a newsstand and a GQ for teen girls has her on the cover. I curse into the night, and it begins lightly raining whoppers (the candy not the burger king sandwiches). They hurt, and aren’t my favorite candy, but I eat them anyway. I’m ashamed that I consumed something called “malt balls.” Then I wake up.

Something about my fingers getting cut off and there was a really cool guy there I wanted to be friends with. That's about all I remember. I saw Saw IV last night. I've seen Saw II and I'll see Saw III, but I hadn't seen Saw IV. It's pretty gory. That jigsaw is a real enigma.

Last night I had a nightmare. I thought I was crying, but instead I wasn’t…I was going to the bathroom out of my eyes.

It’s the opening night gala of my museum of famous Kevins. Everything is in order, many celebrities are there with various names, when one of my underlings informs me that the signed Waterworld poster is missing. I panic. In my panic I realize that we really only have Kevin Costner artifacts and the Waterworld poster was the centerpiece of the collection. I’m mortified. People begin milling around drinking specialty cocktails suck as the “Kevini Martini” and “Kevin Cosnmo.” Immediately there is a buzz around the museum that it’s a limited collection with “no Waterworld poster.” I overhear someone call me a charlatan and a pinkie ring, but I’m not sure what they mean by the second insult. I cry in a utility closet. When I come out everyone is gone and when I yell out to them, there is an echo, but it has a distinctly feminine tone. Then I wake up yelling, and my voice cracking.

I’m taller than usual, at least 2 inches. Everyone notices, but no one is saying anything. It’s driving me insane. I can tell they’re wondering, staring, judging. Their whispers are most assuredly “is he wearing lifts?” and “he’s definitely taller, he’s on steroids fo sho, look at that giraffe lookin’ honkey” It feels like a conspiracy. For whatever reason I don’t want to bring it up. I attend a high school musical, it’s an adaptation of Brecht’s “Three Penny Opera” but they’ve taken out the musical sections and replaced them with Boyz II Men songs sang acapella. It’s avant-garde, ambitious, and nauseating. I vomit, buy my vomit is Pepto Bismol and so I drink some barf afterwards to settle my stomach. For whatever reason I don’t find this disgusting. A young toddler is staring at me, watching all of this, and I can tell he wants to fight. I stare him down and he eventually looks away, when he turns back he has my father’s face. I immediately feel like a disappointment and I slink away to the bathroom, which is actually the playboy mansion. Hugh is there but he’s young, he looks about 70. I congratulate him on his sale of playboy and he dies in my arms whispering “it was a pretty cool life, but very empty.” I wake up suddenly, feeling around my head for bunny ears.

I’m alone in a metal cube, but lunch is being served. The line is long and I’m concerned there won’t be any macaroni salad left. I explain “Oh Dear” and an actual deer glares at me, thinking I was referring to her. I consider having intercourse with the Jello, but decide against it, citing my girlfriend’s wrath as one of the reasons, although I feel that Jello isn’t really cheating. There’s always room for it. Wanda Sykes opens a refrigerator and I begin to weep. I wake up.