Dear Dairy,
Oops, I've been working on the farm too long. Sorry, Pal. Anyways, I thought I'd start off by telling you my problems. First off: my hair. It's ugly. I don't like it. It's spastic! No matter how long I spend on it in the morning (just a modest 2 hours!), this little piece of hair stands up and disobeys all my commands. My mom says it's a cow lick. Why, oh why, did I have to grow up on a farm? If I had been raised in Metropolis, those damn cows would never have gotten near enough to lick my lovely head! Problem 2: the circus has been calling to me. They came last week, and ever since then, I've been practicing the fine art of juggling. What is more noble, dear diary? I bet my dad doesn't think I can do it. He never supports me. I'll try not to cry too much on your pages, diary, but sometimes they just flow. I'm going to another show next week. Diary, I'm thinking about running out into the ring and doing my juggling act. How else could I get an audition? And anyways, I'm sure the audience will be overcome with awe at my skills. Or my smile. Diary, what is it all about? Sometimes, when I'm in the barn, looking through my telescope at the vast heavens, I wonder to myself " who am I? Where do I come from? who am I?" oooh cookies! My mom must have left them here, when she was cleaning my ant farm. I hope I don't get fat. I hate Pete. He can eat whatever he wants and never gain a pound! Goldfish. I've been thinking about them lots. Don't ask me why. Oh right! Pete's died. I had to console him. I'm lucky with my ant farm. They never die. I sit and count for hours and am surprised that in the 5 years that I've had them, not ONE has died! Life is full of mysteries. Pete was so sad about his goldfish, I thought I'd write a poem to soothe him. Here it is, I'm quite proud of it:
Tears fall into the bowl; now a void, Where are you, Lloyd? With one flush you left, my friend, No goodbyes; a bitter end Sadness sits on my shoulder like a dove on a cane, Why did I not send you down the drain? What a cruel exit I have sent you on, And now I find that you are gone. You were never eaten by a cat, You lucky stinkin' rat. Down the sewers you go now, You fat stupid ugly cow! I don't have to feed you anymore, Or see your face, dumb boar! You leave me all alone, Stupid fish; I hate you!
Pretty profound, I think. Notice how it transcends from sadness to bitterness. AND how it rhymes! Damn, I'm good! Mom and Dad bought some pigs. All day long I stood staring at them, trying to decode their special pig language. Unfortunately, after a long day of decoding, I was still not able to communicate with them. I was heartbroken. Honestly. But to make me happy, my mom said I could name them. I decided on Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner, and Bacon. Some might say that's sinister, but I think it's profound. I guess I'm having a good day. Okeydokey, as my dad says, daily, at breakfast, before he goes to work, I've had a long day, and I want to take a nap. As my dad always says: " A good nap, is one worth taking." But in my book, nap=good!
Oops, I've been working on the farm too long. Sorry, Pal. Anyways, I thought I'd start off by telling you my problems. First off: my hair. It's ugly. I don't like it. It's spastic! No matter how long I spend on it in the morning (just a modest 2 hours!), this little piece of hair stands up and disobeys all my commands. My mom says it's a cow lick. Why, oh why, did I have to grow up on a farm? If I had been raised in Metropolis, those damn cows would never have gotten near enough to lick my lovely head! Problem 2: the circus has been calling to me. They came last week, and ever since then, I've been practicing the fine art of juggling. What is more noble, dear diary? I bet my dad doesn't think I can do it. He never supports me. I'll try not to cry too much on your pages, diary, but sometimes they just flow. I'm going to another show next week. Diary, I'm thinking about running out into the ring and doing my juggling act. How else could I get an audition? And anyways, I'm sure the audience will be overcome with awe at my skills. Or my smile. Diary, what is it all about? Sometimes, when I'm in the barn, looking through my telescope at the vast heavens, I wonder to myself " who am I? Where do I come from? who am I?" oooh cookies! My mom must have left them here, when she was cleaning my ant farm. I hope I don't get fat. I hate Pete. He can eat whatever he wants and never gain a pound! Goldfish. I've been thinking about them lots. Don't ask me why. Oh right! Pete's died. I had to console him. I'm lucky with my ant farm. They never die. I sit and count for hours and am surprised that in the 5 years that I've had them, not ONE has died! Life is full of mysteries. Pete was so sad about his goldfish, I thought I'd write a poem to soothe him. Here it is, I'm quite proud of it:
Tears fall into the bowl; now a void, Where are you, Lloyd? With one flush you left, my friend, No goodbyes; a bitter end Sadness sits on my shoulder like a dove on a cane, Why did I not send you down the drain? What a cruel exit I have sent you on, And now I find that you are gone. You were never eaten by a cat, You lucky stinkin' rat. Down the sewers you go now, You fat stupid ugly cow! I don't have to feed you anymore, Or see your face, dumb boar! You leave me all alone, Stupid fish; I hate you!
Pretty profound, I think. Notice how it transcends from sadness to bitterness. AND how it rhymes! Damn, I'm good! Mom and Dad bought some pigs. All day long I stood staring at them, trying to decode their special pig language. Unfortunately, after a long day of decoding, I was still not able to communicate with them. I was heartbroken. Honestly. But to make me happy, my mom said I could name them. I decided on Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner, and Bacon. Some might say that's sinister, but I think it's profound. I guess I'm having a good day. Okeydokey, as my dad says, daily, at breakfast, before he goes to work, I've had a long day, and I want to take a nap. As my dad always says: " A good nap, is one worth taking." But in my book, nap=good!
