5318008:

I was riding the red line escaping a zombie outbreak. The train pulled up into the Harvard station but crashed into a huge pile of bricks fallen from the ceiling, scattered on the tracks.

It was dark in the station, though lights flickered on and off (as required by the horror). It reaked of zombies. Before I knew it, the other passengers on the train were being grabbed and bitten, converted, all at once before I was the only non-zombie left.

I tried to escape into the station, but they were clamoring for my throat and brains. I kept pushing them away. Before I knew it I was punching zombies in the face or impaling them with metal poles that were loosened from the crash.

Then I woke up with the slightest of hangovers.

Then I went back to sleep and had a more vague dream, involving synchorized dancing and fedoras.

…wait a second. This is all because of Michael Jackson, isn’t it?