Went to bed last night with the sound of mortars still going off in the next room down the hall. The Cal of Duty marathon was entering the 11th hour by that point, and I was about sick of it. Every time the deranged lunatics would start firing the .50 cal, I'd have to put a pillow on top of my head. And did they really have to call down an airstrike every 5 minutes? If I end up dreaming about Apocalypse Now and have Wagner's "The Ride of the Valkyries" stuck in my head all night, I know who I have to knife.