There's a very famous Hot Dog stand on La Brea in Los Angeles called Pink's. No matter when you go, any day of the week, day or night, there is a line down the block for this place's specialty sausages, hot dogs and other assorted junk foods. Now I don't want to slander anybody, but I just want to point out that I (and others) find myself experiencing strange, vivid dreams after a night at Pink's, and even immediately after ingesting one of their spicy sausage dogs find myself feeling in somewhat of an altered state.
Think about it. What could REALLY make someone stand in line for two hours to get a stinkin hot dog?