I had too much to dream last night.

With apologies to the Electric Prunes, there was no drinking involved in my dreaming, but there was too much dreaming anyway.

It was probably because of a new medication -- a new medication the dog is on. He has not awakened me to go pee since he was brand-new and still had that new puppy smell. But lately he's been extra thirsty. At 1:30 Saturday night, he was whining like a fuzzy engine for whining, maybe just about the time I was going from dreamy REM sleep to flatline delta wave sleep. Or something like that. By the time we came back in it was hard for both of us to get back to sleep. So basically, I feel like I was in deep dreaming all night, when I wasn't out in the yard.

Two things I want to make 100% clear:

1) I have never been a student at Yale. I have never even been to Yale. I have never even passed New Haven. I have barely ever been in Connecticut. Members of my family are more likely to have gone to jail than Yale.

2) Prior to the last couple of months or so, I've never had any of those dreams of being naked in public. I know it's a very common nightmare, like falling or forgetting your lines on stage.

So why I would dream of being a student at Yale perplexes me. Worse, I was a new student in the middle of the semester, so everyone else was well along in their classes. Worse still, I was working my way through school by helping out with the buildings 'n grounds department, which the other Elis disdained. Worse worse still, my dog Tralfaz made a cameo as the school's dog, who dug up an underground vent, which I had to fix. Worsey worse worse, I realized that I had bonded with that crazy dog, and was very sad because when I left the school I would have to say good-bye to him. And totally worst or all, at some point in the proceedings I realized I had no clothes on -- maybe my wristwatch -- and had no idea how to get back to my dorm so I could get dressed.

There goes ol' Fred, streaking through campus.

This went on and on, and was far from my only dream that night. When I staggered awake my wife sent me back to bed, where I slept for another couple of hours, and still felt like a zombie all morning.

I don't know where all this nudity is coming from. It's not like I've never had anxiety dreams -- I have actually had that dream where I'm about to go on stage in a play and realize I have no idea what my part is. I've not been in a play since fifth grade, and the last time I was nude in public the doctor swatted my butt to get me crying. So I guess I'm due for a falling dream, which, with my fear of heights, could be the end of me.

If you should hear that Fred died in his sleep while clinging to the headboard, say a prayer. Because while people may think I went quietly, in truth I died while naked over Manhattan, losing my grip on the helicopter. (Which was probably being piloted by my dog.)

Mix to the roof of your mouth.

Found this on the checkout line at the supermarket:

Whuh...?

Apparently this is a new or newish product that Welch's has put out, a trail mix with all kinds of stuff in it, as trail mix generally is. Welch's is the grape-intensive outfit owned by the National Grape Cooperative Association, and produces many grape-centered products, like juice, jelly... and even grapes!

So, raisins being a typical ingredient in trail mix, I guess we'll find a lot in this!

Um... Are they behind the cranberries?

The package says (according to Amazon and my own taste test), "A delicious blend of Honey Roasted Peanuts, Salted Peanuts, Grape Flavored Cranberries, Peanut Butter Coated Grape Flavored Cranberries, and Candy Coated Jelly Flavored Gems."

No actual grapes?!

I looked around the Welch's site and found plenty of fruit snacks, but no real raisins. Didn't see that coming! Welch's has branched out into all sorts of non-grape fruit stuff, but the lack of raisin products surprises me. Maybe I just missed them. Anyway, they aren't in this. Why use grape flavored cranberries, tasty as they are, rather than actual grapes?

Don't let that dissuade you, though, raisin fans! The trail mix itself is quite tasty and filling, and is made especially terrific by those little violet things. Those would be the Candy Coated Jelly Flavored Gems. Which would appear to be like a grape-flavored white-chocolate M&M's candy. They are delicious and quite sweet, and make a nice combo with the salty stuff.

But remember, kids, this is trail mix, not candy. Its high caloric content is supposed to make it a lightweight food to keep you going during energy-expending hikes, not to fatten you up while watching cartoons or, uh, writing blog entries. Wait, never mind. Just eat it.

Slipped our minds.

Now that it's June 4, the truth can be told.

We had to cancel Talk Like Slip Mahoney Day.

He's pissed. 

For the past couple of years, June 2, the date of Leo Gorcey's death, has been the day we've celebrated by talking like his famous character Slip Mahoney. But this year we have had to cancel that special day. I didn't have the heart to mention it on June 3---Gorcey's birthday.

Why did we cancel it? Was the storm too hard, the sleigh couldn't get through?

No, as hard as it is to believe it, Americans have failed to rise up in force and start blabbing malapropisms in Brooklynese. How can this be, when so many are willing to talk like a pirate on September 19?

Well, I still think it's because malapropisms are hard. To make a good one, you really have to know the meanings of the words you are misusing. Frankly, any dummy can go "Arrr" and "Avast ye" and "Blow me mizzen" or something, but to sound dumb in a clever way you have to be smart.

Leo Gorcey was a lot of things, and many of them not good, but he was not a dummy.

Oh, well. Holidays don't always last. Abraham Lincoln's birthday has been lumped into an all-purpose Presidents Day. Victory Day was last celebrated in 1975. Ireland dropped Whit Monday from its bank holiday calendar in 1973. Talk Like a Grizzled Prospector Day (January 24) and International Talk Like William Shatner Day (March 22) have failed to gain the traction they deserve.

God rest your soul, Leo Gorcey. Give our regads to da poily gates. Hushed in the abalone arms of Death / Our young Marsupial sleeps. Recapitulate in pace. See yez in the funny papuhs.

Hell's shells.

This program contains graphic images and mature subject matter. Viewer discretion is advised.

(EXT: Street. Beat cops have roped off the area. CSI folk in lab coats and gloves kneel, looking at things. Detective Bacon, bearing a frown behind his whiskers, approaches the lead investigator, Peter "PB" Barilotto. Bacon is tired of the bloodshed. PB is tired of the bloodshed. The audience, though, digs the bloodshed.)

Detective Bacon: Another day, another cadaver, eh, PB?

PB: Lots of job security in police work, Bacon. Brace yourself.

Bacon: (rearing back) Ew!

PB: Looks accidental, but...

Bacon: But what? This is roadkill, PB.

Time's running out!

My wife got this urgent item in the mail:

LAST CHANCE TO ORDER! YOUR LIFE IS ALMOST OVER! ORDER NOW BEFORE DOOOOM OVERTAKES YOU!

This actually is better than their previous catalog pleas, which usually included a phrase like "THIS COULD BE YOUR LAST CATALOG!" on the cover. To which the answer was "Good," and into the recycle bin it goes.

Here's the thing: It has probably been at least ten years since my wife got anything from Maryland Square. The last time I got anything from them was never. And yet they keep trying, filling our mailbox with shoe goodness, hoping that this time she'll see that pair of pumps that she simply must have.

Maryland Square -- may I call you Mary? -- I'm sorry, but it's over. It's just not going to happen. It's not you, it's her. She's moved on to other places for her shoe needs. Her work attire requirements were part of it. Yes, I know, you have everything from dress heels to work boots... Don't make this harder than it has to be, Mary. Take it on the chin.

Sadly, I know the catalogs will keep coming, until we move and change our names. And every one will have some kind of petition, maybe even sound a little threatening.

One word, though, Mary: "BUY NOW OR WE SHOOT THIS PUPPY" will get the authorities on your case. Don't make us have to resort to that.

The dishwasher gag.

I didn't say it was good.

Worth the dough.

Regular readers will know that we are obsessed with Dunkin' Donuts coffee, and as such my travels take me into the stores where I occasionally succumb to temptation and procure a doughnut. These are generally just dandy, but sometimes they are off, or even too sweet for me -- and almost nothing is too sweet for me. When your doughnut is sweeter than chewing a quarter cup of sugar, you know you've passed into the Glucose Zone.

But I must give them their due: The Blueberry Cobbler Croissant Donut is top notch.

They're goin' fast!

DD's croissant doughnut is, of course, their answer to the Cronut, Dominique Ansel's copyrighted pastry that was a citywide sensation in New York a couple of years ago. Dunkin' charges more for these raised doughnuts, when they have them, than their average rank-and-file G.I. doughnut, and while I haven't had a Cronut I can only say that if Dunkin's is a fair approximation, then I don't know what the big deal is.

Except for the Blueberry Cobbler Croissant Donut. That's righteous.

The key is that the blueberry filling is not too sweet. You can actually taste the blueberries. They actually have some blueberry texture. The doughnut/croissant hybrid is soft on the inside, crispy on the outside, with only a touch of icing.

Good job, Dunkin' Donuts! Perhaps it still is a far fry from the Ansel official Cronut, but I probably won't be able to get down to Spring Street soon to find out. Meanwhile, you've given us something very tasty that won't make me sweat corn syrup. Gimme one and a large coffee to go!