I’m sorry folks but I am going to have to take a leave from the forum for a while. The SAT thread has been too much of a strain on me. I can’t sleep, I’m having nightmares, and the whole thing is starting to affect my real life. The nightmares are all basically the same but the one last night was particularly harrowing so I am taking a break and going away. They have all started out the same. I’m in Philadelphia the first Saturday in December. It is bitterly cold. The four-plane F-14 formation has flown over as have the Apaches, the C-130 is overhead getting ready to drop the Golden Knights with the American flag and the game ball, both the Brigade and the Corps are in full form, and the skits have started to show on the big screens. Out of the corner of my eye I notice a figure literally lurching down our aisle, obviously headed for the lone empty seat immediately to my left. He is knocking over drinks and popcorn and spilling his concessions on people’s laps. As he gets closer, I notice that he is decked out head to toe in Class of 2011 paraphernalia, some of it crudely hand made. When he passes in front of me I also notice a strange sweet earthen odor, almost as if he has been rolling around in either rotten leaves or a dirt pile. He plops into the seat next to me and immediately spreads out, encroaching on half my seat and half of the seat of the person to his left. You know the type. Mildly irritated, I shoot him a glaring look. As he settles in, he starts to mumble. Due to the cold, he has a Class of 2011 scarf which he has wrapped over his face and I can only pick up bits and pieces of his mumbling. I make out words such as “insignificant”, “delusional”, and “anecdotal”. Since he is obviously deranged, I start paying closer attention as I will probably have to report him to security. I now hear snatches of full sentences: “I can’t believe he dragged me out to such an insignificant game” and “they would have to play 30 games a year against each other for this to mean anything.” Warning signs are starting to go off but I still don’t place them. Maybe if I can get a closer look, things will come together. I glare at him again. Obviously a man with no friends, he misinterprets my stares as friendship. He pulls down the scarf to talk to me. I immediately notice the strange groundhog-like facial features. A scream starts to build up deep within me. He thrusts out his ketchup and mustard stained paw. “Hi”, he says, “I’m Whistle Pig”. I scream. I get up and start running. This is where I’ve awakened in the past but last night, the nightmare continued. Being dressed for the bitter cold, I’m way overdressed for running. I start stripping off the encumbering heavy clothing so I can get away faster. As I pass the Navy Yard the nightmare ends. I stood facing a very bright white search light. Our local police have picked me up a half mile from my front door running down the middle of the street, stark naked, still screaming. It was a typical police team, the young hard-charging bright-eyed rookie and the seasoned fatherly veteran. They brought me home, settled in, and started listening to my story of the SAT forum. Once they quit toying with their billy sticks and hand cuffs, I decided it was safe, so I made a pot of coffee. After taking his first sip of my coffee, the senior policeman said he too was a Navy veteran. We bonded. At the end of my story, the old guy, with a tear in his eye, said he understood completely, and was himself working a double shift to pay Kaplan for his daughter’s SAT prep course. I finally came to the conclusion that they weren’t going to arrest me so we had a nice chat about Navy life. I think the young kid might enlist. As they were leaving, the senior officer put his arm around me. They had allowed me to put on a robe when I got home so I didn’t take offense. He told me that this could not happen again. He said that I should seek immediate professional help even though the odds were not good, probably only 4 in 100, that it would help me. I went to bed again and had a good nights sleep and when I awoke this morning, as I lay in bed, I decided the officer was right, I needed professional help, even at those poor odds. I couldn’t wait and let this happen 30 times before I took action. I went into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee and clean up the mess from last night. There were no empty coffee cups. Did I wash them up last night? No, that’s totally unlike me. Was the whole thing a nightmare? It couldn’t be. It was too real. Why was my underwear hanging in the magnolia tree in the front yard? What to do? How could I call the police station and find out? If only I could remember the officer’s name. The more I concentrated, the better the visual image of his name tag became. I had it. I called and asked for him. The desk sergeant said. “We don’t have anyone by that name working here". Relieved, I decided it was indeed all a dream and started to hang up only to hear the officer ask, “By the way, that sure is a strange name. What nationality is Zaphod?”