Saturday I thought I couldn't stay awake because of a Guitar Hero/Happy Gilmore marathon.
Sunday I I thought perhaps I am really getting old and can't hold my late nights the way I used to.
This morning I thought a midget was using my head for a bass drum in order to give the little garden gnomes in my stomach, with their steel toed, hobnailed boots, mail covered gauntlets, and World War I Kaiser helmets, something to tap dance to. Or were they doing the polka? No matter. My tongue feels like a week old wool sock and I'm pretty sure I've had some kind of fevered out of body experience today while watching WWII films like Bridge on the River Kwai and Midway.
Excuse me, while I go shave my tongue.