In college I had a roommate one semester who talked in his sleep almost every night. Being a night crawler, I heard most of it, and wrote down the good ones:

“Space Monk, wanna sharpen my knife?”

“I said I want some pie!”

“Put a little foam on it so the kids can play.”

“Bill, I don’t know anyone. Give the pad to Ray Roberts.”

“Can you get those ladies to sh*t? Who gives a sh*t?”

“If she doesn’t get in there fast, tell her to f*ck off, goddamit. Good!”

“My mother has a wolfpoint.”

“You bastard! You bloody bastard!”