I can’t seem to get Katy Perry out of my brain. She’s like the dream police, entering my dreams during the night. Only she’s not the police; she’s, well, just Katy. She keeps telling me about how she kissed a girl and liked it. I reminded her that she’d already told me about that incident and that it’s old news. In fact, I’ve kissed a few girls and liked it most the time. But that’s not news; it’s life.
Anyhow, this dream invading Katy Perry is starting to get on my nerves. Sometimes in my dreams she brings Snoop Dogg along. Snoop always wants the three of us to engage in a game of Candyland. However, Mr. Dogg, as I like to call him, smells to the high heavens of pot. Sometimes when Snoop is in my dreams my wife will roll me over, look into my pupils and sort of sniff around, as though I’ve been smoking pot with Ol’ Snoop.
So, you can easily understand why I’m really tired of Katy Perry invading my brain.