I was, just now, standing in the kitchen. I was by the sink, about to get myself a bowl of custard. I was the only one awake, and silence was all around me. A scene from a bad Adam Sandler film started playing in my head, only it was one that I had never seen before. I was Adam Sandler, I was in a pub with my friend Mark; Mark was just Mark, I'm surprised that he wasn't Rob Schneider.

We were standing at one of those tables that are taller than a usual table, the kind that you can't sit at. We were in Canberra, although there was nothing to indicate that we were in Canberra, I just knew. I spied with my little eye two young ladies, about our age (we were university-age, slightly older than we are presently), they were at the bar. Mark turned to me, gently elbowed me and said, in a voice that isn't his: "Hey man, I bet you can't get that girl's number over there". I looked intently at the lady on the right, she was wearing a black-and-white striped (horizontal stripes), long-sleeved shirt; one that hung from her shoulders and made them look sharp. "Oh yeah?", I moseyed over to her.

She turned to me, and I smiled. "Hello, my name is Andrew (why not Adam?), how are you?". "I'm (some name, some name that hardly matters), I'm fine". Now leaning with a straight arm on the bar, I moved a little closer to her: "Look, I have a bet going with a friend; you can see him over my right shoulder, he's the one in the white shirt who's probably staring at us now. To win the bet I need to get your phone number, you can give me a fake number if you like". Suddenly she punched me in the nose, blood was dripping from it onto my shirt. I stepped back, and saw the red on my hand after I brought it to my face.

In both the dream and reality I was in uproarious laughter, stumbling about while holding my stomach; It was the kind of laughter that makes you feel as though something viscous is being pushed out of your mouth. I can't explain why I was laughing, but it was absolutely hilarious to me. In my dream the bartender was looking at me as though I were a madman, as were the other patrons. He asked me to leave and I turned to the exit, shouting: "Mark, we're being kicked out!".

I have no idea what any of it meant, I have no idea why it was funny, but it's the funniest thing I can remember. When was the last time I laughed that hard? I can't think of anything.