I'm a Hacker
This looks exactly like me, except I'm not bald and male. Or a cartoon. Still, uncanny resenblence. Notice the spewage, note the look of hatred and disgust on the doctor's face. I do that to people, too.
I think I have pneumonia.
Anyway, I had this dream last night that made me question my sanity. I dreamt that I was a lawnguy for some rich somebody 'r other, and Angelina Jolie was one of my employees. My lawn business must've been doing quite well.
So I was going about my business, pulling weeds and whatnot, coughing, and Angelina showed up riding a tractor mower, and she was wearing nothing but a tiny white bikini. I couldn't stop staring at her flat, tanned tummy, her long legs and perfect toes. And then, the most appalling thing happened -- I grabbed her from the mower, threw her down, and proceeded to ravish her like the manly brute I was. I kept saying, "I love you, Angelina," in the most frightening baritone I have ever heard come from a human being. Think Linda Blair in the Exorcist.
It's obvious that this dream symbolizes my hatred of perfect-looking young women whose tummies will never sag due to childbirth, as well as my fear of having my voice drop eighteen octaves when I'm old, like my Great Aunt Esther's did.
Or, it's just one more indication that Ms. Lori is not well. Not well at all.