I had a dream last night that I had to burn a bunch of penguins to death with a flame thrower. It was okay, because I had metamorphosed into a grizzled escaped convict with stubble, a scar across my cheek and a penis, and somehow I knew the penguins were bad and had to die. Still. The squeaks they made as they bubbled and scorched have haunted me all day, and I feel terrible. I know they're only dream penguins, and I know I don't have a scar on my cheek or a penis (thank God; most awkward organ ever), but I feel guilt.