I woke up in a cold sweat this morning after having the worst nightmare.

At some point I plan to get a new tattoo commemorating my latest daughter, as I have one marking two of the others (there’s another one in the mix I will also commemorate when I figure out just what to get). But since my youngest is named Lucille, I was going to get B.B. King’s guitar (coincidentally also named Lucille) tattooed with a banner with her name and some flowers floating around it or something (if someone wants to take a crack at designing it, feel free).

Anyway, in this dream I was going to an artist I didn’t know, but who assured me he was great, had all this experience, etc. I should’ve known better – he looked shifty, like an unshowered Eric Roberts on a long binge.

So the guy works on me, gets done, pulls out a mirror – and there, on my bicep, is a giant sloppy Rolling Stones logo with a black apple next to it and, behind it, a giant, loud banner in 70s style writing that says “JOURNEY!” Yes, with the exclamation point.

Then Shifty Eric Roberts charged me $275.

I showed my wife, who was understandably horrified. I just figured, what the heck, I’ll get it covered up when I find some more money. And don’t ask me to explain what any of this means. Other then I really don’t want Eric Roberts giving me any tattoos.