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Boo hoo...sob.
Apparently, a couple of diary writers have so little substance to their inane lives that I, beleive it or not, am their sole inspriration for a diary entry. Not just one entry even!
In fact, I even read more of the incessant dribble on the page...
sob, sob...
It was hard for me to write this entry. It was hard to...
oh who am I kidding - it was hard because I didn't see the point because I care SO LITTLE.
Don't like my diary? Don't read it fuckers! It's not for you anyway - it's for me! It's MY diary. If I wanna put some substance into it, I damn well will. And if I want to rant and rave about fucking malteasers, which yes, you guessed it, might just be some stoner-fuck nonsense that I found amusing, then I fucking will and I won't be seeking your approval!
Thank you. :)
In a few years, after you've been anally raped by a your prison officers and I'm still stoning and drawing those 3D oggs (which I love so dearly) we'll see whether you're able to draw your own fucking penises.
I'll get you an X-ray for some guidance dont worry.
--------------------------------------
So, Mars Bars... they're deep right..?
... wrap, crunch, burp. Sure as hell fucking are...
written @ 4:56 p.m. on 19 May, 2003