George Takei shot me in the face last night. (This was in a dream. Obviously.) I was in one of those countries where they beat you with a cane for saying “shit,” and apparently I had done something pretty egregious because I was required to clean all the barnacles off the hull of a sailboat and then George came to wherever I was being held and he had to point a revolver with one bullet in it, Russian-roulette style, at my face and pull the trigger. The first time I was like, Okay, whatever I have to do to get out of here. The second time I was a little nervous, not gonna lie. The third time he took me outside, just for a change, I guess, and I said, Can we do this after lunch? I need a break. He was okay with that. I woke up before he came back to shoot me in the face a third time. Dreams are so weird.