Transcribed from pieces of a diary found in an abandoned shed in the Louisiana wilderness...
July 3, 1994
Daylight. I awaken with a stiffened neck, but no matter. I swab the sand from the corners of my eyes, and sit upright. I pound my chest and supple stomach in an effort to get the blood flowing. I have a mission.
I strap on my moon shoes and my fanny pack - time to roll. My thunderous stride propels me towards my destination... it's your house. You're still asleep because you're a baby.
I let myself in, fart your dog unconscious - it begins. I inch my way closer to the piano, feeling the heat rising up...
I let loose and honk a fabulous stream of bile all over your ivory keys and step back to admire my handiwork. This is my symphony, now listen to my song. I am...
November 20, 1996
"What to do today?" You ask yourself and your common law wife at the same time. "Well I know, let's go indoor rock climbing." You have made your first mistake of the day... entering my arena.
Approach my wall. It's the easy one in the corner. I am 25 feet up with my shirt off and a bag of 'ritos. Doritos that is. I'm munching and hanging out, building strength and a load of Cool Ranch bile The harness rides up on my taint; I am nearly 400 lbs.
You walk up to the wall intent on scaling the beast and impressing your C.L. wife but what you don't know is about to hurt you. Yes. Yes. My aim is perfect. I flood the back of your neck with my chunks and your woman watches the puke littered with the tiny blue and red seasoning powder grains (Unmistakable Doritos Seasoning) roll down the back of your polo.
I bellow a laugh from high above you and wipe down my chin. Forfeit your manhood to
We clear up the BREXIT for confused Americans wondering why the global economy is collapsing this time.
BEEP! BOOP! ZAP! Video games aren't for my dad anymore! Because he's dead.
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