Dion McGregor was a songwriter in the 60s.
Dion McGregor also talked in his sleep. Not in quiet, barely-comprehensible mumbles but at conversational volume.

While he slept, McGregor would essentially narrate his dreams. As a narrator of his (often terrifying) dreams, Dion adopted various personas but frequently established a fey, argumentative, insolent approach to the subject at hand – be it a hot air balloon trip to the moon with a group of multi-ethnic children, a frantic journey around New York, or a tattooing job on a woman’s tongue.
Most of McGregor’s dream narratives end with him shrieking in terror.

I think I must be.
I went and saw 300 today
on IMAX fer crissakes
and I was bored

yeh

bored.

2 hours of sweaty mens and yelling. Can I not feel? I must not be real.
Time to get swallowed by a whale in hopes that a fairy will turn me into a real boy.

It’s true. I had forgotten myself, it had been so long. But he did. I was there. Drunk. and embarrassed.
It was in 2003. At the Atlanta IMAGE Film and Video Awards Gala. Burt was among others (including a dykish Parker Posey, the original Morgan Freeman – Ossie Davis, and legendary Ruby Dee) being honored at the event. In order to lighten the mood at the usual stuffy event, my friends Sean and Lucky were asked to host. Sean as a human, and Lucky as a puppet. Because what’ better way is there to lighten a mood than with the adorable Phinneus J. Monkey? The monkey that can usually do no wrong. But, that night, Sean and the monkey made wise about Hollywood, Georgia films, and Burt himself. I think what set Burt off was a comment about Brad Pitt and Keanu Reeves lacking intelligence. The Bandit walked over to the podium Lucky was hiding behind and proceeded to punch and choke the monkey. I think he even tried to tear its head off. You really haven’t lived until you’ve seen a grown man lose his shit and his cool at a puppet on a hand.