So the other night I had a dream right before I woke up; we had gotten a new futon. I had wanted a new futon for many reasons (in real life that is). The old futon was as thin as George W's vocabulary, and as uncomfortable as Pat Buchanan at a Black Panther meeting. This thing had more stains on it than a Sherwin Williams model deck. It was older than Bob Dole. Now many of you may be thinking that I'm lobbying for Dennis Miller's job right now, or at the very least a gig as a political Rodney Dangerfield. Nay. I'm simply describing my piece of shit futon, and why my dreams are that of getting a new one. When I woke up this morning Micah walked into my room and plopped down on the bed next to me. "I got a new futon," he said. "What?" I asked, unsure if I was still dreaming. "Last night, I got a new futon." "No you didn't." "Well, see, Chris and I were drunk, and I was showing Chris the model apartment in Dennis' building, and the door was unlocked." You can fill in the rest from there. "It's sitting in the middle of the office," he said. So I got out of bed, walking into the office, and there, laying on the floor was a huge new futon that had, only hours before, been sitting in a model apartment. I was appaled at the level my brother had stuped to yet....it was a new futon! The W thin! The Buchanan discomfort! The Sherwin stains! All gone! We took the new futon and put it on the frame, and for the first time in...God knows how long, enjoyed TV in peace and comfort. I have clearly packed up my morals and values into a moving box and shipped them 3rd class to Abu Dhabi. ...Sigh. Gay Pride Parade news tomorrow, PLUS an extention on your lists, since I've only received TWO! You people make me sick!