Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. I do own this story though, which is based on it. It isn't exactly AU... it's AC, altered circumstances. Rated for the language and eventual maybe lemon. If this does well, I'll write a companion piece from Matt's point of view. This is all just Mello rambling in a "fecking" diary. Thank you for the reviews, once this is done, the companion "Betchin' Blog" or something of the sort shall certainly commence.
Fecking "Diary"
Day Three.
Dear Fucking "diary",
I'm going to Kill that bastard. I'm So damn tired because he didn't bring home chocolate, he brought home a Goddamn GIRL. Yeah, he can do whatever and whoever he wants, the fucking fucktard grimy faced MANWHORE, but he doesn't have to be so loud about it. I was trying to SLEEP. Not to mention the fact that he was out to get chocolate, not go find someone to get laid with...I'm So Fucking Pissed. I want to shoot the inconsiderate red head right between his goggled eyes... aw shit. If I did that, who would bring me my chocolate?
Damn. I'll have to let him live.
Still though. So pissed. And no chocolate. And I'm tired. I swear, if one more thing goes wrong, I will fucking kill someone... crap...I have to do laundry today... I got blood on my last pair of leather pants...need to go out...in...jeans...GODAMNMOTHERFUCKING GRAAAAAAHH!
oh. and I'm out of bullets. I so that would be why my random shooting up the room while swearing like a madman thing didn't work about thirty seconds ago. Good thing Matt isn't here or he'd be laughing his ass off. When he gets back...or when I get back from laundry... next time I see him, we are having a goddamn talk. I LONG Goddamn talk. I can't stand this anymore. Anyways... I'm off to do laundry. I'll write after the talk.
M
P.S. I hate goddamn jeans.
P.P.S He had better not expect me to wash any more of his goddamn "wannabe Waldo" shirts. He's outta luck, I am NOT His housewife! er...househusband...WHATEVER! LAUNDRY!
