Last night, I had a dream that John Scalzi laid a curse on all books, and refused to remove it until authors were paid at least minimum wage for all the hours they spent writing.
What the hell, brain? Is this a sign that I shouldn’t read Redshirts and eat turkey bacon club sandwiches before bed anymore? Because too damn bad, that sandwich was worth the crack-dream.
This isn’t the first time I’ve had dreams involving authors. It is, however, the first time said dream has been so monumentally screwed up.