The other night I dreamed that Robert Blake was at my house hanging out w/hubby & me, and I handed him a loaded bong. Instead, he took the stash bowl out of my other hand and then accidentally spilled it all over the carpet. My husband yelled at both of us, at him for spilling it and at me for letting him take the bowl. My response was 'Don't yell at him! He's on trial for murder and she needed killing!' Weird. And why the hell would anyone teach monkeys to smoke cocaine? As if monkeys don't have enough to deal with alreadly!