Dear Diary,

The craziest shit happened to me today. I fell down and bumped my head. I got up. I went to the store and I met a whore. He mopped my floor.

Well he mopped, if you want to call what he did cleaning! It was disgraceful. I kid you not. I said, "Ay, you blimey bastard, clean my floor."

He was like, "Ay, if you brought me some descent cleaning supplies maybe I could do it properly."

The thing is, the mop I have in my apartment is more than adequate. I may have bogarted it from Princess/Duke Ferdinand the seventh while watching the part of Superman Two when Clark does something back in 94', but damn kid, it's still a good quality mop.

See the thing that pisses me off about this person who offered to mop my floor is his views on Super Macho Man. Seriously dun, you can't dodge his shit by pressing left or right. The cleaner of floors proclaimed that you could somehow side step his macho punches. I got mad evidence. There was a paper published a few units back that claimed that my epistemology was correct.

Left him in that store. Ran over to the bad part of town. God it's really horrible down there. I can't deal with all of the poverty that consumes that part of town. I saw a bum's kid playing with power ranger toys. That shit is mad old. That part of town is indeed the periphery. To discuss it in other geographical terms is mad. The thing that touched me the most, was the hooker I paid 13 ducketts to give me a ride to funkyberg. I had never been there. I like it there. I might go back one day. The terrorist climate prevents it though. As long as were not on orange alert, I can still crack my face on the monkey bars protruding from your pops anterior lobe.

After I finished that, I ate a cheeseburger sandwich!

The end

Signed,
You,
ten years from now