Dear diary,
It seems like people are reading my mind lately. Like they know my innermost thoughts and are provoking me because of it. It's almost like they read my...you. Diary, you son of a b***h, I swear if your are leaking the words I'm writing in your flimsy f***ing pages I'm gonna rip your cover off and feed it to you in bite size portions. Uh, speaking of portions check out this text message I received:
Guess who had the audacity to hope I wouldn't go off when they said that to me. It wasn't Barack Obama. It wasn't some alcoholic that thought Barack Obama was my uncle because of a picture of the first family that somehow made it onto my china cabinet. I have a feeling I'm gonna have to address that at some point, but not now. It was the lovely one lashing out at me because I ate her bag of trail mix. Well believe me, I laid down the law and set her straight. I replied, "well, yes you're right honey." Boom!!! She didn't know what hit her. Then I'm at lunch and the alcoholic orders a coke knowing full well that I'm off that stuff. He proceeds to have several refills all the while burping so that I could smell his breath. How rude. You'd have thought that I ordered a bottle of wine and drank it in front of him, pouring some in his glass when he went to the restroom. Well you'd have thought right diary. I told you never to f*** with me. I should have told him too. I'll tell him when he gets out of jail. I'm not sure what made him grab that knife and run on to the floor before the Clippers game. He said he wanted courtside seats. Believe me, he'll have seats in the court fairly soon. They'll even give him a uniform. Good thing he likes orange. Before the Clippers situation, I ordered a shrimp and rice bowl. I refused to get the lunch portion just to spite the lovely one. I got the regular portion and said "I'm glad I got the regular portion because I'd have been pissed if this were any smaller." I proceeded to eat what I imagine was less than half and took the rest home to eat. The lush questioned my manhood. So did I. But I wasn't hungry anymore. Just to make sure I gave it a minute and took another bite or two but there was no room left. I was done. How's that for portion control. Yes, I know I didn't control anything but I stopped when the belly said so. So f*** you diary. Moving on. So when we were leaving the restaurant I spotted what looked like a delicious steak being served to some people in a booth. Turns out the server was picking the food up! F***ing normies wasting a perfectly good steak. She had to have eaten less than half. I'm assuming it was the ladies plate since they are so concerned about portion control and s**t like that. Right? Also, yes. Well, that's it for today diary. Ta ta for now. I've got better things to do than to talk to piece of s**t, leather bound lunatics like you. A**hole!
PS. Oops that's not it. I came home to a chick party full of supreme and pepperoni and sausage pizza and cookies everywhere. What the he'll did I do to deserve that? I mean how f***ing petty can you be? The bag of trail mix wasn't even full when I took it from her. Wait until she gets another bag. I'm gonna rip it from her hands like I do your pages when you're an insolent little jerk. I hate you diary. I wish you were a phonebook. You're just as useless.
PSS. Looks like I've hit a wall with losing weight. F***. I was trying to do it as lazily as possible. By day 15 if I haven't started losing again I'm going to take drastic measures and exercise. Perhaps ride a bike while watching TV. Let's hope it doesn't come to that or its your a** diary. You too scale.
Climb every mountain sir!
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