Scones

Lo how capricious the human heart! How weak the foundations of moral fibre!

That night I dreamt of England's mild and pleasant shores, of blues skies and country hedges that do not seek to suck out your blood. I dreamt of Elizabeth, the vicar's daughter and of afternoon tea on the Downs. She poured cream upon my scones but then the phantasmagoria changed complexion. The cream jug grew long and possessed of an elegant curve. Somehow the jug became part of my body. Then I felt the chin whiskers upon my scrotum and I realised that cheeky fellow had stolen upon me in my sleep once again.

From Professor Mancheeks' Alamanac of the Astonishing.