Dear Fred,
It's been a rough day today. Way too much resetting. It takes some twisted little punkola to take time and space and shred them to pieces with the push of a button. And I'm POSITIVE some people are doing it JUST to make me mad. No one listens. No one CARES. AND IT MAKES RESETTI MAD. ARRRRRRRGH
*somewhere outside the diary entry...*
"Brother, you're scribblin' awfully hard in that diary, you're not yellin' at it, are ya? You've only had it two days..."
"Uh, I'm just bein'...uh...expressive, Don. Yeah. Reeeeal expressive..."
*back into the diary entry...*
Lemme tell ya, that Don ain't no more helpful. He wants me to treat you like you're my first-born child or something. Fred, let me ask you something, mole-to-book. How many children ha-OK, wait, imagine yourself in a scenario where you're actually alive and ya see children every day. Now, how many parents relieve their stress by writing on their children? How many converse their problems with their children?
They don't.
Why?
Because the child IS the stress.
And he won't sit still enough to get written on.
And what sicko writes on their kid?
Lemme tell ya a little more about my job and about these kids that make my life a misery. I'm hanging out in the Reset Surveillance Center when all of a sudden, someone resets their game and this siren goes off and the red light goes flashing like some punk in a football field being chased by security...
IT'S SO BRIGHT, IT HURTS MY BRAIN!~
Oh. Woudlja look at that. My pencil broke and I had to go and get a new one. I can't help but feel that's gonna bother me a lot in the future. But anyways...
I tunnel through with the help of my super-duper Launchpad Chair and I'm sent straight to the front lawn of some twerp who decided to wreck time and space. Then I yell at him a little bit and tunnel back down. Whatta life, am I right?
Oh, good, Don said I can be done. So goodnight, Fred. Oh, and...one...last thing before I go.
I normally don't issue complaints about "your, you're" and "there, they're, their," but just keep in mind...there's a problem when they're not using their grammar right there! It makes them look stupid. You don't wanna look stupid, do ya, Fred? You're MY book.
Now...
SCRAM!