Another Night, Another Visibly Emerging Psychological Ailment

To attempt a serious post right now would be a disservice to myself, my hordes of readers and devout followers, and indeed, all humanity. I'm just in no mood. I can't say exactly why. Maybe it's the caffeine wearing out, or the diphenhydramine kicking in, or maybe even the Taco Bell starting another pointless brawl with my digestive system. But it's probably none of those. That would be too easy. I'm not even going to try right now. Let a night of dreams about plummeting to my death and my incisors falling out sort out this issue for me. Always does the trick, and for just about anything. My own personal snake oil. If I could bottle and market my dreams, I'd either be a hero or a war criminal. Either one works, as long as it secures a page on Wikipedia with my name on it for decades to come.