Last night I dreamed that I was at a party in the middle of a group of people who were all feeling up my bicep while I stood there and – modestly, of course – flexed for them.
Then I woke up with my arm trapped between my head and the mattress. I was drooling.
p.s. My friend Kelly, who drove me out to Trader Joe’s in Jersey yesterday, pointed out that if you rearrange the letters in “dogpoet” you can spell: “Got Dope?”