Dear Fred,

Well, I...guess ya got introduced to Coco! I didn't want you to meet ANYBODY, but what kinda writer keeps his stories concealed!? A dumb one, that's who! UNLESS HE'S WRITING A DIARY-er-JOURNAL.

But now I betcha she's REAL mad at me. Thanks a lot, Fred. You're really good at keepin' secrets. I thought doin' what you're told NOT to do was HUMAN nature, but I guess Freds of any species are born with this rebellious little punkitude. I guess I should go and apologize to Coco. ...I'll just wait 'til it blows off.

But Coco aside, lemme tell ya about Don! Ya thought he was weird before! THINK AGAIN, FRED. HE'S CRACKED AT LAS~

Arrrrgh! These stupid pencils are so annoying! I gotta start a WHOLE new paragraph or everything looks WEIRD. AND I DON'T LIKE IT WHEN THINGS ARE OUT OF PLACE, GET M~

ARRRGH! OK...calm down, Resetti...breathe...breathe...phew. I'm ok. But back to Don. He's done cracked at last. He was up all night watching black and white episodes of some stupid TV drama that was taped 60 years ago...he had his face smeared up against the TV with his mouth gaping open (OK, his mouth is usually like that, so that's not too weird). This morning, he starts seein' everything in monochrome. It all started when he told me, "Brother, that's a nice pair a' gray overalls. But YOU ain't lookin' so good. You're...like...really pale or somethin'." And I wasn't any more pale than usual, see. And my overalls are ALWAYS blue. I figured he was color-blind at first, but then he started sayin' my hairs was gettin' reeeeal gray. Then I KNEW somethin' was up. I was wearin' a hat. DON'T YOU COMMENT ON MY HAIR. I know I'm gettin' old, but I realize that on my own! I don't need a bunch of twerps commentin' about it! It's jerkin' my CHAIN, Fred! AND I DON'T NEED TO BREAK ANOTHER PENCIL!

But Don's been a wreck all day today. He thought it snowed last night, too, because of his new grayscale eyeballs. Tortimer got a little riled up trying to explain it to him. I ain't seen him so mad since that time Isabelle lost his election campaign speech. I tells ya, I had some competition that day when it comes to blowin' tops!

But anyways, we took Don to the doc this evening after the reset rush (yes, there's a reset rush). Dr. Shrunk claims he has a college education, but I don't believe him. He told Don to "drink lots of fluids and read magazines with LOTS of pictures in them." He gave him a whole stack to look at to "restore the color in his eyes." I don't know what he means by that. It's one of those girly magazines with models all over. Looks like trash to me, but Don sure didn't seem to mind. Dr. Shrunk seems more like a perspiring comic than a doctor.

I'm a great impressionist, by the way. I showed my talents off in some fighting tournament. I was hired as a...what was it again? System trope? I can't remember. But what does it matter? No one cared. Everyone kept fightin'. I dunno what they were fightin' for, but they were sure into it. Except for this blue porcupine guy that kept blaring "YOU'RE TOO SLOOOOW" at the top of his lungs over and over again while running in place. I...don't think I like him. He...rubbed me the wrong way, y'know? Kinda like...mixing guacamole and ratatouille. It's not a good combination.

But I think I'm through for the night. My wrist hurts and I gotta sleep. I wonder what Don's doin'? He ain't made a peep all night.

Well, Fred, I'll just leave you here at my desk tonight. I think I can trust Don. He's serious about this diary journal stuff.

Oh, but one last word of advice...

People like to say, "I could care less" to say that they don't care about somethin'. But if you could care less, that means you still care. You COULDN'T care less. But people SHOULD care about that little mistake. Got me?

Now...

SCRAM!