Entry #8

Oh life how you trudge on with not joy nor sorrow. How it all seems like too much yet all is nothing. How life is lifeless and I end each day without failure but never succeed. Alas, I find I grow stupider each day. Oh poetry, how full of shit and rainbows you are. Even chocolate brings no leprechauns, and all that remains are memories of their evil laughter.

Mistakes

Everyday,
we are forced to see,
what should have been forgotten.
But like all things lost,
it never leaves,
and soon becomes quite rotten.
...
Just like that time you went to bed to find Elmo trying to crawl through your window and he looked kind of angry so you freaked out and accidentally killed him with a staple gun. You panicked and feared his neighbors on Sesame would come after you if they ever found his body, so you stuffed his furry redness into your closet. Only--your closet was so full you couldn't close it all the way and one eye could still be seen through the crack of the door. Everyday, you're forced to see it, and you just want to forget it but can't. Though his life is lost, his presences never leaves and he watches you through that crack every night, slowly rotting away...
After such a situation, there are only two possibilities:
1) One day, his fuzzy corpse becomes so rotten and decomposed that he is no longer recognizable so you can finally throw him out your window and put the whole matter behind you.
2) You realize that Elmo is actually an immortal and cannot be killed by mere staples, so one night, he emerges from your closet in the dead of night and murders you in your sleep.

Regret

no wait, yes. too late
oh deer if only
twasn't so
butt
tis so,
so berry munch too late
always far too late.

Entry #7

DEPRIVE ME OF MY FOOD AND I SHALL EAT YOUR BRAINS. THEN, in the dead of the night when you MOST suspect it, BOOM! I’ll break into your house and STEAL your chinchillas so we can FROLIC on the LAWN like leprechauns on CRACK.
…
What? I don’t know. Just shoot me. Or samurai slice me. But not just because I’m Japanese. That’s called racism.

The Hairy Potter

Gandalf pulled over at the nearest gas station. He got out of his brand new Prius and went inside the store to get a Snickers bar.

They were out of Snickers bars.

He sighed…if not for the bet he had made with Dumbledore—to see who could last the longest in not using magic to conjure up muggle products. They’d let him do it in Gondor, but noooo, stupid Dumbledore had eyes everywhere in this land. Where was that Dumbledore fellow anyway? He hadn’t seen him for quite some time now, ever since he met that funny looking fellow called Foldawart or something. And then that other lad…some hairy potter of some sort…

Gandalf sighed again. He really wanted that Snickers bar. Screw it, he thought to himself. He’s Gandalf for crap’s sake. He could have a damn candy bar whenever the hell he wanted a damn candy bar. He didn’t go to The Ultimate Wizard’s School for Ultimate Wizards for nothing. How could Dumbledore possibly find out?

He began to head towards the door of the store when suddenly, it opened from the other side. And who else but the hairy potter himself to show up.

Gandalf tried to turn away quickly, but it was too late. Shit, Gandalf thought. He had seen him.

“Yo nigga! Hey, ‘member me?”

Gandalf sighed again…what a stupid kid.

“Oh, hello there potter boy,” he responded politely.

“It’s Harold to you, old man,” the boy responded cockily. He still hadn’t taken off his sunglasses. ”What’re you doin here anyway?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing. I was just leaving in fact.” It began to rain outside. The sun hadn’t been out all day.

“Swaggg,” Hairy said as he walked past.

Gandalf stopped and turned around. “What?”

“Eh?” Hairy turned back. “Oh, naw, I just said swag is all.”

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“Swag.”

“Oh…nothin nothin, nevermind.”

“No, I want to know.”

“Yeah?" Hairy laughed. “Whatevss,” and he turned back around.

“Hey!” Gandalf shouted.

Harold rolled his eyes and turned back. “What?”

Gandalf’s fist was in his face before he saw it coming.

“SHIT OLD MAN. WHAT THE HELL ARE Y’DOIN? You broke my shades damn it.” He was holding the pieces and staring at them.

He punched him in the face again.

“SHIT. STOP IT DAMN IT.”

“Make me,” Gandalf laughed.

Hairy began to draw his wand. Gandalf laughed again.

“Not man enough?” he taunted.

Hairy threw his wand aside and launched himself at Gandalf. The old man dodged him, but the kid still managed to grab hold of his beard. He pulled and Gandalf’s face went smashing into a bottle of gin behind the counter and he fell to the floor. The terrified store clerk had already run away. Gandalf lay on the floor as Hairy looked into a piece of broken glass, trying to fix his nose. Under the counter, Gandalf saw the traditional store clerk’s shotgun. Quietly, he grabbed it and then shot Hairy in the foot.

With a girlish yelp Hairy fell to the floor crying.

With one last kick to the gut of the sobbing potter, Gandalf grabbed a bottle of scotch and left the store, shotgun still in hand.

Reign of the Octopi

“Send them to the cow ward! It’s cow tipping time people! Move it!”

“NOOO, don’t shake the milk!”

“I will not sacrifice cream, cheese, or cream cheese for the sake of the happiness of cows! We will milk them for all they’re worth. Or else…to the butcher’s.”

“Why are you so cold?”

“Quit spoiling the fun. All cows belong to me, and I will do with them as I please. That will never change. Because of your insolence, I must punish the cows to set an example. We set them afire tomorrow, before dawn. Are you happy now?”

“You go too far! You know what happened last time we lit the cows. They contain incalculable amounts of methane! Do not underestimate it. We cannot control it. They will burst before they reach the river.”

“So what? So what if a few of them explode? We will collect their hides and use them like we once did in the olden days. We will roast their rumps and eat them like we once did in the olden days. You cannot possibly think we can set them free. We made them. We invented the cow. They exist for us and us alone. They are nothing without us.”

“You have lost your way, my friend. I shall have nothing to do with this. I didn’t want it to come to this, but tomorrow, I shall leave to the land of the chickens. Do not blame me for where your actions take you. The cows will not stand back and let you use them like this forever. Just you wait.”

“Wait for what? Wait for them to swish their tails at me? For them to MOOO their loudest? Ha! I don’t fear the cow. Go ahead and leave. I thought we were in this together, but I guess you’ve changed.”

“Yes, yes I have changed. But only because the cows have. They have evolved. For Pete’s sake, they walk on their hind legs now! Does that mean nothing to you? We may have invented them, but they have taken on a life of their own. You can’t just tip cows that walk on their hind legs! It just isn’t right.”

“Four legs, two legs, what difference does it make? They will always be just cows. Nothing more.”

“One day…one day you will regret this. And I will not be there to help you fix it. This is your last chance friend. Do not shake the milk.”

“I’ve had enough of you! Just leave! I will not let you get in my way or weigh me down with guilt. I have made up my mind. I will tip the cows, I will shake the milk. Their udder juice is gold. You will be the one who will regret this. And when you come crawling back like the octopus you are, I will not let you in. Good-bye.”

Entry #6

There are times I kind of want to laugh evilly and maniacally and then curl into a ball in the corner and cry and then get up and run around the house and down the street flailing my arms screaming/making weird sounds. Then I want to lay down flat on my back with my arms and legs splat out, just out in the middle of a street without moving. Maybe I'll be smiling. And if anyone stops to look at me, I'll look at them and frown until they go away. Then I will go back to smiling.