© 1999 Jamie Zawinski <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Usually my dreams have some kind of narrative to them, but this one was just an image. It was this guy, totally bald on top, with those weird head-wrinkles that some men get: imagine forehead wrinkles that are very deep and go almost all the way back, as if the act of raising the eyebrows were to cause the skin on the top of the head, or even the back of the neck to move. Well, this fellow had these massive head wrinkles, and they came down his forehead so far that he didn't actually have eyebrows. Or even eyes. The forehead wrinkles just sort of kept going, all the way down to his cheeks. The wrinkly rolls detoured around his nose, which wasn't actually a nose at all, but was in fact a Hunter S. Thompson-esque cigarette holder, sticking up right out of the middle of his face at forty-five degrees, like some kind of carcinogenic flagpole. And he had this wide, shit-eating grin, and a bright purple sparkly leisure suit, with lapels like you wouldn't believe, lapels out to here.
He was so very pleased with himself, this 90 year old nose-smoking blind man.