Two nights ago

A shadow man was attacking me. Finally, I was able to corner him and crush him into a ball. I ate him, feeling this was the only way to get rid of him. I vomited up a pile of black mud, hoping this was the end of what I knew to be a demon. Brad Pitt, who was there of coarse, seemed suspicious. We were obviously in love, and didn't care who knew it. In public trains, on the street, we had no discretion. But he felt that the horrible shadow demon was not behind us. And that's when black ants started to crawl out of my mouth. We fled into a nightclub. There, a childhood friend, clearly in league with the shadow demon, was wearing a dress made out of letters. And then the ants turned into letters, small black letters, flowing out of my mouth and spilling out onto the floor. The only coarse of action was to open me up and to clean me out. Clearly, the shadow demon had not been slain.