july 21st, 1981
Dear Diary,
I am disappointment!! but your my only friend. We've had great times, unlike the time in paraguay, the mashed potatoes are real, and not laced with your unforgiving jonsey breath and your drugged up compassion. but this time you have crossed the line, you and your stink fingies of death and dishonor, calculating the equation for evolution. your no longer mantastic with your hotmale accounts and your pasta master. i went to the bathroom today, for 6 hours, and no one could translate partial nudity, your 8 tracks are crass (and i don't have coupon for that), your jolly feeding jack rabbit sticks taste motor shanks. jeez, hamburgers cant help me anymore. someone did tell me i was a ballicker. i just wanted you to know that i am no longer afraid of undergarments and juice pops. i know how to do my own calisthenics. the proper way. i wrote a side show jingle called "maybe, maybe not" and i don't have anymore personable donut holes!!
fuck you and fuck your friend jocund (i want receipts)!! ill talk to you tomorrow.
sincerely not,
john jacob belvadier
p.s. thanks for the numb dumps on my childhood memories (that was real, fuckin, cute).
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