lördag 14 februari 2015

18 January

What’s up, diary?

This was a sad week for our apartment building. Our neighbor downstairs and to the right, the Captain, died. He was a funny guy. His apartment looked like a bomb had hit it and on the walls he had guns and two war maps. The Captain liked to swing with us kids out on the playground. Sure, he was 59 years old, but he played like a 12 year old. Mom told me once that the Captain had been hit in the head with a bullet when he was younger. Since then he’s been a little wacky.
“Same to you,” I said. “Do you think that us kids are wacky too just because we like to swing on the swings??”
The Captain died of a sport’s injury. He got so mad when his favorite football team was losing in the playoffs. His heart stopped during half-time.
I’m sad about the Captain. He was a good friend. He wasn’t wacky at all. For example, the Captain told us once about when he and a friend had gone out to catch lobsters. The Captain punched holes in the lid of the bucket so that the lobsters could breathe. Then he let them go. A man who cares about lobsters just can’t be wacky.
When the Captain was alive he used to always talk about losing his mind. Tomorrow Arnold and I are going to go look for the Captain’s mind. We’re going to put it in a jar. But we have to remember to punch holes in the lid so that his mind can breathe.
The Captain doesn’t have any relatives left. The local authorities are going to have to pay for his funeral. I doubt anyone will even go. But Arnold and I are. Even though we’re not related to him. I’m thinking of reading a poem that I wrote myself:

Poem to a Dead Friend

Your funeral is for eternity,
paid for by the city.
You played like a little kitty,
with lots of dignity.
You were a really good friendly. Amen.

“It should be: You were a really good FRIEND,” Arnold corrected me when I read it to him.
“No it shouldn’t,” I said, “because then it doesn’t rhyme.”

Farewell to our friend,

 the Captain.

17 January

What’s up, diary?

I can now reveal who it was who broke into my school. It’s a guy who has the ability to look “pretty good” for certain violin-playing girls. In other words, with 99% certainty, the thief is the new boy in Nadia’s class. How do I know? Well, the thief stole a whole big bag of frozen french-fries from the school cafeteria so that all the students would starve to death, including me. ESPECIALLY ME! As soon as I’m starved and dead, the new boy will be able to have Nadia all for himself. Once I figured it all out, I just had to call Nadia and warn her. Here’s how the conversation went:
Person A: Hey, it’s your starving boyfriend, Ned.
Person B: Hey, how’s it going?
Person A: I’m still alive. But barely. I need to warn you about something.
Person B: About what?
Then Person A told Person B that Person C had broken into Building 1 and that Person A was starving since Person C had stolen frozen FF so that he could have Person B for himself. So Person B should definitely NOT let Person C into Building 2.
“I don’t understand a word you’re saying,” Nadia said.
“Person A can’t say any more,” I said. Then I hung up.
Yesterday afternoon I hid outside of Nadia’s house to do some snooping. I made a note of everybody who came and left. Here are the people I noted:

* Nadia’s mom’s friend’s boyfriend
* Nadia’s three spooky and disgusting brothers, Mick, Meck and Moreland

Help, I thought when her brothers came out. I threw myself down headfirst into the snow so they wouldn’t see me.
Whew, I made it, I thought. But I was wrong. I’d thrown myself down headfirst into a pile of dog crap.

Thanks, bye,


16 January

What’s up, diary?

Big scandal at school. Someone broke a window and broke in. Maybe they had just broken out of prison. The principal broke out in anger. There haven’t been any break-throughs on who did it. Heh heh. I’ve been trying to figure out what happened. Detective Milton the Caveman has taken the case. There are certain problems with being a caveman when you have to interrogate important suspects. For one thing, all you can ask is: “Uggh?” This is going to be a tough case to solve. First, the facts:
First - the thief came in through the window in the cafeteria.
Conclusion - he/she was hungry.
Second - the thief stole a VCR.
Conclusion - there was nothing on tv that night.
And third - the thief stole a big bag of frozen french-fries from the cafeteria kitchen!!!
Conclusion - he/she wants all the kids at Eliza P. Perkins Junior High to starve to death.
If the students starve to death then all the teachers will be unemployed. The government wants everybody to work, so this is a case of national security. I’m going to look up the number to the FBI and offer them my valuable help.
Today at school Benny said that his Dad was going to buy him an NBA all-star basketball. I told him it was too bad he wasn’t one of the stars.
“God you’re ugly,” Benny said and left.
When I got home today, the sun was shining on my heart. I had gotten a little romantic card from my wonderful Nadia. Unfortunately, Nadia’s three brothers had made the card a little less romantic. They’d drawn naked people all over the front of it. Nadia wrote that she missed me. She couldn’t understand why I had gotten so mad last week. I feel both happy and confused. What should I do now? Should I run all the way to her house and kiss her passionately? Or should I call her up and say, “Cool, Baby. Let’s get together...”?

Zippie, zippie, zack,

 Nadia is back!

15 January

What’s up, diary?

Now I’m tired of Arnold. Arnold Martin. My so-called best friend. He was here all week-end, and last night he snored. I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep.
“Arnold! You’re snoring!” I said.
“Of course,” Arnold said. “I’m sleeping.”
Then he started snoring again. I had to go sleep on the couch. Great. The couch is made of itchy fabric. And the pump in the fish tank was buzzing almost as loud as Arnold’s snoring. Double great.
“You have to go home now,” I lied when Arnold got up. “Grandma is coming over for breakfast.”
Arnold left. I relaxed. Then the door-bell rang. It was Grandma who was coming over for breakfast.
“It’s just like I said,” I said angrily.
“Huh?” Grandma said.
“To get rid of Arnold,” I said.
Grandma looked confused. I turned around and walked away.
Grandma wanted to know what was wrong with me. Mom said I was in puberty. But I wasn’t in puberty at all. I was in my room trying to get some peace and quiet.
Whenever Grandma runs out of money, she comes over to our house to eat. At least, that’s what Dad says. Sometimes Dad’s mouth turns on before his brain does. Like last summer when he ran into one of his old girlfriends.
“Hey, congratulations!” Dad said and patted her on the stomach.
“Congratulations for what?” she wondered, surprised.
“Well, I see you’re pregnant.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Bye,” Dad said and turned bright red. My brilliant dad is an optician and sells glasses and contacts. Glasses are cool. The most intelligent and important people in history have worn glasses. I, for example, wear glasses.

Bye for now,

 don’t have a cow!

14 January

What’s up, diary?

It’s now been three days since I’ve talked to my love-bug Nadia. I just can’t forget what she said about the new guy in her class. She’s probably in love with him. Well, I’m certainly not going to call her. She’ll have to call me if she so chooses. On Wednesday I was hurt. On Thursday I was sad. Yesterday I was half dead. Today I’m bitter. And tomorrow I think I will have forgotten Nadia. Today is Saturday. During the weekend, you’re supposed to go around in slippers and a robe and say “Sweetie Pie” if you’re married. I’m not married. More like divorced and forgotten. Arnold spent the night last night. All morning we walked around in slippers and a robe and looked comfortable.
“You two look so comfortable,” Mom said.
“We know,” we said.
During the weekend, everybody is supposed to be respectful to each other. Especially to older people. Arnold and I each put on a hat and went for a weekend stroll. Whenever we met older people, we greeted them respectfully and lifted our hats.
“Good day,” we said.
“Such polite little boys,” one old lady said.
“We sure are.”
“Maybe the polite little boys would like to help me carry my grocery bags?”
“And maybe pigs will fly out of our butts,” we said respectfully and ran away.
Tonight Arnold and I are going to pop popcorn. We’re going to try for a new record. A popcorn-popping-record, that is. If you pop popcorn without a lid, the popcorn flies all over the kitchen. Our record height is 4 feet 7 inches. Then we always have to break a new sprinting record too. To run away from Mom.
Now I’m thinking about Nadia. Even though she’s not here, she’s still here anyway. It’s kind of hard to explain, diary. But if you fell in love with a nice cook book or something, you’d understand.

Nadia, Nadia,

 I’m thinking of you...