Dear Diary,
Unicorns piss glitter and give leprechauns rides to the other side of the rainbow to bury their pots of gold. Screw that. I was trying to paint a beautiful picture and maybe not make things painful for you but it's not gonna happen. Not that I can't do it, but because I don't want to. If I could dig up Frank he'd tell you that he did things his way. That's what I'm gonna do. No a**hole. I'm not gonna do anything his way. I'm gonna do it my way. It's worked ok so far. Speaking of working I did some last night. I rode the real bike for 7 miles last night through the mean streets of Gardena and Torrance. I say mean streets because they were rough. The sidewalks were in disrepair. It was rough, but I kept it pushing. I wish I knew the conversion rate for real bike miles to exercise bike miles. Maybe it's like the food stamp rate, but who do I ask? Can't ask the scale anything because it doesn't know how to do anything. Dumb f***ing machine. Sugar and spice and everything nice, thats what you are made of of diary... I'll kick you in the nuts if you try to say you aren't.
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