August 8

Diary, Journal, Sunuvabitch, Dear Journal, You,

Gah fuck it

Dear… diary,

Ok, so… I'm not really sure what to say, but… hi? I guess?

Not like you can answer. Way to go, self.

Right, so… mom buys journal, acts like total bitch, tells me to write, hands me pencil… whala. walaa? woila? voila? viola?

…whatever

Point is, I don't wanna write in you, but God's word is law, and God says this is therapeutic and good for my mental health, so here I am. So… accordin to what evil bitch supa hata says, I'm sposed to write about shit… my day, my dreams… my feelings… which is not happenin cuz there is a line- a large rainbow line which I am NOT crossing. This is already dumb as hell, an im not makin the situation worse by gayin it up with my feelings, mother-god-thing be damned.

Sooo…. School. Yeah. Yawn. I guess it's… normal? I mean… how to describe school… it's like any other school, purdy much, only it's freakin full of people from, like, everywhar. There's this Italian guy who curses like a flippin sailor and his idiot brother who acts like a chihuahua on speed (only less scary. Seriously, those things can bite. My aunt had one- Foofie. Little bastard bit me on the ankle and made it bleed. Fun-sized piece of shit…they work for the devil, I swear…)

And then there's this tall ass Russian guy who is, no kidding, scary as fuck. Scarier than Foofie, even. Like, take the guy from that horror movie with the elevator and the screaming and…and… oh God, I'm gonna have nightmares tonight. Anyways, multiply that by 5, and you got yourself a big-nosed Russian douchbag (aka Ivan). Like, fo serious. Watch yer back…

Cuz he's climbin in yo windows, he's snatchin yo people up, tryin'a rape em, so ya'll need ta- ahhh get out of my heeeead. Damn you auto-tuned black guy, why must you haunt me?

So, ehm… where was I? Oh, Right! K, so. Crazy-ass Russian, check. Annoying Italians, check. French pedo-bear….. right. The Frenchie… Francis is… the most perverted thing since Michael Jackson's dog's sister's niece twice removed, and that's pretty damn perverted, if anyone's wondering.

Damnnn… get it together brain. This is a journal. JOUUUURNAL. It can't talk back….. yakity yak. Haha. Love that show. Where did it even go, anyways? Seriously, that show was da bomb.

Ahem. (Written ahems are also da bomb, fyi ((before ya buy~)). As I was saying. If anyone were ta climb in your windows, it'd be him. He's, like, the definition of creepy as hell. Enter an alleyway, and Francis will be there. To comfort you. With sex.

HE'S A CREEEEPER DDDXXXX

Do not attempt communication unless you have a ranklin for some good old fashioned family fun. Traumatic life-long mental scarring included.

And fer serious, where are all these commercial references coming from?

Cruuuuuunch

…THE WORLD MAY NEVER KNOWWW O_O

Right, so. Next up, Bombshell Russian Barbie.

Man, sounds like the title of a porno. And dear God, I'm totally imagining Ivan in a hot pink Barbie bakini right now. Tell me that isn't scarring. Oh God… now he's strutting down a runway… now he's petting his poodle… which is white…

actually… that sounds kinda like a perverted joke…

…

…

Aha. Haha. BAHAHAHAHA.

Make that poodle a chiuaua and you bet your ASS that's a perverted joke.

TAKE THAT IN YOUR BALLSACK IVAN

Waaaait… dick… chiuaua… chiuaua sized dick… damn. Ok, let's say comparatively Alfred's dick is the size of a fucking GREAT DANE. ON STEROIDS. IN TEXASSSS.

And the day is saaaved. Close call Al, close call.

Anyways. Enough about Ivan's tiny ass dick.

Alright, so…I'll sum Katyusha up in one quick word.

Boobsboobsdamnthemissomeboobs. (Yes, that was totally one word.)

Katyushas breasts are like… wow. Just wow. If that chest isn't God's gift to mankind, he seriously needs to get his priorities straight. I swear, if I could legally marry a girl's cleevage, it'd be Katyushas. You can hear those beasts bouncing from a mile away. And I know that SOUNDS like an exaggeration, but… holy hell, it's not. I timed it. I fainted. IT WAS INSANE.

Aaannddd… yeah. That's all I got.

Thumbs up for double g's :D

Right, so, next person. Let's see… ah, got it.

Gilbert. Gilbert is one bad ass motha fucka. And by that, I mean one not-quite-as-bad-ass-as-alfred-but-still-pretty-bad-ass-mutha-fucka. He is the cheese and there is no denying it. IF THE CHEESE WERE SPAWNED FROM THE DEVIL, DIGESTED BY RATS CARRYING THE BLACK PLAGUE, SHIT OUT, LEFT TO ROT IN THE SUN FOR A FEW MONTHS, REDIGESTED BY A PACK OF BOVINES WITH MAD COW DISEASE, PUKED UP ON SOME SWINE FLU RIDDLED PORK PRODUCTS, AND THEN SENT TO GROCERS ALL OVER THE WORLD, CAUSING A HUGE WAVE OF MAD COW, BLACK PLAGUE, AND SWINE FLU TO SIMULTANEOUSLY WIPE OUT THE HUMAN RACE. Gilbert+Alfred=INTENSE AND VIOLENT HATE. He is NOT the cheese. If he were cheese, I would have to kill myself. If anything he's… spoiled milk. Or rotten yogurt. THAT MUTHER FUCKER. Speaking of cheese…

Is that…steak?

…OHMYGOD IT IS. THAT IS SOME FUCKIN STEAK. God, if mom ain't grillin me some delectable slabs of cow, kill me now.

…

I will take that as a yes. fuckin SCOREEE.

Ah mannn, it smells like heeeeaven. If heaven smelled like burgers and steak, I'd totally go there. Otherwise... no Al, don't even think of that. You've cried enough.

Heaven without burgers isn't heaven, it's HEEEELLLLL. Get that through your thick divine head, God. H.E.L.L. With a capital H.

Now, if Hell smelt like steak… now there's a thought…

Y'know, death would probably make a person really hungry. I mean… all that moving on business, running back and forth from God to Satan trying to figure out where the hell you belong… and just the actual death would be a killer… Oh my gods that is the awesomest pun ever. But anyways, you'd definitely have some rumblies in the tumbly after all that supa hard deathy work. And then, you would get ta mother fuckin HEAVEN (hopefully), and you'd be like, Take that Mom! Told you I wouldn't see you in Hell! And then… THERE WOULD BE NO BURGERS TO STAVE OFF THE HUNGERRR - DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNNNN. It'd be like my worst nightmare come true…

Man, heaven is sounding more and more like hell all the time.

In fact… why should I even put up with this bullshit? I can't! I won't! This cruelty must end!

Down with heaven! Up with Hell! Ask for a fast ticket to the place with the fire, cuz the devil makes a mean patty. Unlike God, that pussy. He's probably European. Or gay. Or both. Probably both.

GOD, WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN HIDING FROM US? :OOOOOO

Well Satan, fire up the grill and ice the beer, cuz Alfred F. Jones and his legion of followers are headed your way.

Hell FTW!,

Alfred F Jones (who still hates this dumb ass journal, by the way. STARVE IN HEAVEN YOU PIECE OF SHIT.)

A/N: Ok, wow. This is… so offensive, I'm not even sure what to say. How about some disclaimers so I don't get flamed to kingdom come? I don't have anything against gays, Christians, Christianity in general, Europeans in general, Frenchmen, Russians, or anything else that may have appeared offensive. Aaaaand to an extent neither does Alfred. It's more the specific people, and honestly, if he's supposed to be America, shouldn't he be at least a little racist? I maintain that this is an AU, but he should have the characteristics, you know?

Also, spelling and grammar mistakes are intentional. It's supposed to be a written diary. Alfred isn't the smartest crayon in the box (though of course he's acting stupider here than he actually is… though not by much lulza) so, ya know, thanks for pointing it out, but it is on purpose.

Yeah, so anyways, this is going to be a story about Alfred's life as a teenage boy. Sometimes it will be serious, but mostly just humorous. Ehm… updates won't be too regular, at least I don't think they will, cuz I'm fairly lazy, and all around not prone to updating. I have some scenes written out, but… yeah, just some. We'll see how it goes.

Oh, and there will be USUK later on. Just so you know.

Oh right. Actual Disclaimer. Don't own APH (yah, no dip Sherlock)

I'm sure you know what im going to say now, but I will say it anyways; please review :D Reviews are awesomeness, and awesomeness is… awesome.