Today you could have been... 

Well, here we are again. You with your pensive eagerness, teeming with piranhas of curiosity; and me with my head full of ideas and rabid Cheshire blasting cap of a smile.  I am stuffed, stacked, and double-packed as if the magnesium of my imagination were tamped in by a happy-go-lucky pyromaniacal demon with no conscience, no other hobbies, and a used copy of the book "Grass" as inspiration.  You poke me cautiously with the sharp (and, wisely, long) stick of your conversation to see just exactly what might happen if this balloon should blow.  And, as if on cue, yet seemingly without warning, giant tentacles of analogy and didactic metaphors shoot out of my head and fill the space around us. Some will be either amusingly horrified or horrifically amused, but due to the detached sense disenchantment which permeates their reality, they are unable to discern the difference and go on with their work.
 
The vast panoply of imaginary words and non-Crayola-approved colors comes pouring forth from my dreamscape as I spin verbally. You look up at me from your watery marinara and half eaten chicken.  I am sitting, two-fisted and frothing, on the not-comfortable-enough-to-sit-for-more-than-20-minutes faux-leather naugahyde tree-frog-green vinyl bench seat waving my vernacular about madly as if it was on fire and I was trying to convince the locals to salute it.  They won't, of course; not with all this whip cream and milkshake on my face.
 
You didn't quite know this would happen, but the inkling you had was like a mouse in a labyrinth; cute to follow, and about as reliable as your own better judgment, so why the hell not and you just never know who you might stumble into when you have no stop signs on your path…! 

Hilarious! I swear I saw fruit punch shoot out from your nose.