No Sleep for the Wicked

You know that scene in Trainspotting when Ewan McGregor's character is in withdrawl and hallucinates about the baby crawling on the ceiling? Mildly disturbing as the baby is, I find myself wanting a ceiling baby of my own. You see, I'd like to teach my (otherwise lovely) upstairs neighbors just what it's like to be awakened by a baby playing with the pots and pans on the floor/ceiling (at 7am on a Saturday). Then, if I'm still feeling spiteful, I could sneak the ceiling baby into their apartment to creep them out when it swivels its head all the way around.