This isn't fair. I'm only eight years old, and I'm dying. At least I think I am. No one knows what death feels like until they die, right?
There was so much I wanted to do before I died. Get out of South Park. Or at least the ghetto part of it I'm in now. Touch some boobs. Learn to drive. All the teenage stuff they say you're supposed to want to get into like sneaking booze before twenty-one and going to dances and shit. Having a life at all, really. What kind of life did I have bleeding to death at eight? Who's even going to remember me now besides my family?
I guess no one can live forever. You just never know when it's your time. Still, I would've liked to have lived a bit longer. If I'd known I only had eight years, I'd have done some things differently.
Like not putting that hat on Frosty. Those Christmas movies are wrong; Frosty's a dick!
I just hope Stan and Kyle make it. They seem like nice guys.