Intermission #1: Irreality intrudes

[muckefuck]

Sunday night, I had bourbon and dreamt of having sex. Last night, I stuck to gin and dreamt of French postmodern philosophy texts. I had one that was printed on a fruit. I had to eat off about a quarter-inch of fleshy pulp to expose the writing, which wrapped all the way around; it seemed familiar and I thought Didn't I already read this and find it all a load of hooey? It wasn't exactly a nightmare, but, lord, it was no sex dream either!

This morning, one of my co-workers dropped three rush books in Arabic on my desk since I'm the only one who can even fake it. aadroma, do you want to come over and tell me what the hell they say?