Granted. You are now sure the bee's knees are now knocking in secret code, sending creepy messages about you to the cat, whose pajamas have little happy faces on them that are mocking you, laughing at your tasted in bread and interest in Biblical sex, and that hookah smoking caterpillar doesn't really think you deserve to turn into a butterfly, and he's growing, growing, getting big enough to prevent you... Where is that cherry flavored Zyprexa?
I wish plot ideas grew on trees.