lördag 23 januari 2016

31 January

What’s up, diary?
 Today is the absolutely last day ... of the month.
 Maybe I should write a little summary of what’s happened during this, the first month of the year. Well, it started with ... um ... and then ... what happened next?
 Well ... no, forget it, nothing really happened.
 Or wait, NOW I know. I got three zits and a cold.
 Otherwise, nothing to report.

 Today my band the HOT MARTIAN HUNTERS has rehearsal.
 Jasper bought a new guitar string that he wants to try out and Little-Eric got to borrow a broken drumstick from a real drummer.
 But that’s nothing compared to what I’ve done.
 I’ve written the words to our new song.
 It’s about the end of January.
 First you sing “yeah” four times, and then you sing: “Laaaaaast day, fiiirst month. January says game over. February wants you to put in a quarter.”
After singing that eight times you sing “yeah” and then the song’s over.
 It’s totally cool.
 Christopher is always talking about this new video game called Sludge.
 His head is going to turn to sludge if he doesn’t stop playing video games so much.
 At least, that’s what they said on the news.
The Paytonville Pumas played last night.
 I don’t know where Paytonville is, but the Pumas lost.
 It’s too bad. 
For them at least.

And now onto the tragedy about the toilet paper stuck in my ear. Arnold tried to pick it out yesterday with a pencil. The tip broke off and so now I think I have lead poisoning too.
 Thanks Arnold - what a pal you are. Friend for sale - cheap!

30 January

What’s up, diary?

I can’t hear you. 
Because today I’m deaf. 
Are you wondering why, diary? 

Well, it’s because I was hanging out with my main-squeeze Nadia today after school. 
She wanted to play some songs that she’s been learning.
“Cool,” I said, and thought she was going to put on a CD.
Nadia took out her violin. HELP, I thought.
I acted like I got the flu and pretended to have a runny nose.
“Ooops,” I said. “I just got a snot attack.”
“Gross,” Nadia said.
“Yup,” I said and snuck off to the bathroom.
Then I stuffed my ears full of toilet paper. 
So her violin couldn’t torture me. 
When I got back into her room, I couldn’t hear a thing. She started moving the bow across the strings.
“Oh, how wonderfully beautiful!” I said, and clapped.
Which I shouldn’t have done.
“Do you have PEAS for BRAINS??” Nadia said. “I’m just tuning the strings.”
Nadia got raging mad and started using her bow like a sword. Unfortunately, she poked me in the ear with her bow-sword. The bow pushed the toilet paper in so far that it got stuck somewhere between my ear-drum and my brain. And now I’m deaf.

Dang, dong, ding,
 can’t hear a thing!

29 January

What’s up, diary?

I hope that the police don’t have special fire-works dogs. 
Because if they do, then Arnold and I better run away to Alaska. 

Here is a true description of what happened when we celebrated Arnold’s reign as king with home-made fire works.
The innocent culprits, Arnold Martin and Ned Floyd, met together by pure accident at Arnold’s house. 
There, by chance, they put together a few completely harmless bottle-rockets. 
By mistake, the two boys happened to bring the bottle-rockets with them to Castle Park. 
Just as the mistake was discovered, Arnold accidentally lit a match right near the fuse. 
Unfortunately, the bottle-rockets flew off toward a house.
“Long live the king! Run for your lives!” the boys screamed as the bottle-rockets disappeared into somebody’s yard.

What happened next, is at the current time unknown. 
But as we speak, surely hundreds of reporters are trying to uncover the truth. 
The whole story is tragic. 
Maybe it never even happened. 
And if it didn’t, then Ned Floyd and Arnold Martin weren’t involved. 
And if they were, then it wasn’t on purpose.
Long live the king!

Bye, bye,
 royal pie!

28 January

What’s up, diary?

Arnold and I rented a video yesterday that had a king in it named Arnold. 
Now Arnold wants to be a king, too. 
In the movie there were thousands of people who were crowded together in the town-square to wave at their king.
“Look at all those people waving at me,” Arnold said.
“Idiot,” I said. “They’re not waving at you.”
“Then how come they all have signs that say LONG LIVE KING ARNOLD?” Arnold asked.
Arnold told me that starting today he’s going to start talking like a king. 
Since he’s a king, he won’t have to go to school any more. 
Because royal people don’t have to go to school. 
Royal people just have to be at home and glide gracefully from room to room.
Then I told Arnold that royal people have to go to fancy balls and eat caviar and drink wine.
“Mmmm, yum,” King Arnold said.
“And you have to eat with a knife and a fork,” I said.
Then Arnold resigned as king. He doesn’t know how to eat with a knife and fork.
But Arnold still wants to have a big celebration, just like the king in the movie had. 
Arnold has a recipe for home-made fire works that we can use. 
We’re going to experiment some later this afternoon. 
Arnold said that I should write a will before I come over, “just in case.” 

I can’t figure out what he meant.

Just in case,
 I’m getting out of this place!

27 January

What’s up, diary?

Last night I wanted to watch tv. 
I was planning to watch a nature program about squirrels and moss. 
But I couldn’t. 
I couldn’t find the remote control. 
You can’t watch tv without the remote control. 
Everything gets all fuzzy and you can’t turn up the volume from the couch. 
You have to get up. 
I called Mom.
“Mom, Mom, come quick!”

Mom came running in and thought I was about to die. Which was true, too.
“What is it?” she asked, worried.
“Could you turn up the tv for me?” I said. “I can’t hear nature.”
Mom got all upset and called me a lazy bum. 
She told me that if I couldn’t hear, then I could turn it up myself.
“But how?” I said angrily. “The remote control is gone.”
“You could start by getting up and walking the ten feet to the tv,” Mom said, irritated.
“Are you crazy?” I said. “I might wear out my muscles with all that running back and forth.”
Then Mom threatened to send me to Siberia - where they don’t have any remote controls at all. 
But if that’s the case, then how do they watch tv?

I’m not lazy,
 Mom’s just crazy!

26 January

What’s up, diary? 
 My life has been given back to me. 
 I am no longer a starving plankton. 
 Our diet is over. 
 It ended yesterday. Mom found two sauce stains on Dad’s tie. 
 He had eaten lunch with his boss. 
 Today I am both happy and glad. 
 I’ve been busy developing my sixth sense. 
 Answer: your sixth sense is when you can predict things, like when you KNOW what is going to happen in the future. 
 Example 1. The next word I’m going to write is going to start with the letter x. 
 What did I tell you?! 
 My sixth sense predicted that the next word was going to start with an x, and it was right! 
 I picked a hard letter so you wouldn’t think I was bluffing. 
 I even know what we’re going to have for lunch at school tomorrow. Without looking at this week’s menu!!! 
Now I’m turning on my sixth sense: ZZZZZZZHUMMMZZZZZZZ. 
We’re going to have pizza. 
I tried to prove my powers to Mom. 
 She said that we always have pizza on Fridays so it’s not all that hard to guess. 
I was insulted. 
 “Do you think I’m a fake??” I asked her. 
“If you’re not a fake then maybe you can tell me next week’s lottery numbers so that we can all be millionaires,” she answered. 
“Too bad,” I said. “My sixth sense works best in poverty.” 

 Don’t panic, it’s magic!

25 January

What’s up, diary?

Thank-You Speech to a Dad:
Thank you, Dad. 
Thank you for denying me food. 
Thank you for letting my muscles rot and die and for letting biologists now classify me as spineless goo. 
Thank you, Dad, for letting my weakness deny me the joy of pushing down a fourth-grader when we were playing 
King of the Hill at the park today. 
And thanks for letting the fourth-grader push me down instead!

No, diary, I didn’t write that wrong. 
A fourth-grader beating up a seventh-grader! 
And it’s all Dad’s fault. 
I’m experiencing the greatest depression of my life. 

My ex-best friend Arnold tried to cheer me up by telling me that I’m going to be in the next issue of the school newspaper. 
“The headline is going to read: FOURTH-GRADER BEATS UP WEAK SEVENTH-GRADER,” Arnold said.
“You’re a big help,” I said.
Arnold wanted to perform a re-enactment of the events. 
I refused to take part. So Arnold said that he’d have to hire a stunt-actor to play my part.
“And who are you going to get who looks like me?” I asked.
“My frog, Todd,” Arnold answered.

Thanks, peace,
 hotdoghamburgersandwich grease (I wish!)

24 January

What’s up, diary?

My starvation continues. 
The Floyd family is on a diet. 
Including their skeleton of a son. 
Stay tuned for ten gazillion sequels. And don’t miss today’s episode called:

I am about to starve to death. 
I can feel the last of my strength draining from me as I write these final tragic words. 
In a hundred and three years someone will find my diary and my skeleton, and the truth will be revealed. 
Dad will have to go to jail for illegal dieting.
Yesterday we ate chopped sprouts and drank carrot juice for dinner. 
I see carrots in my dreams. 
They’re chasing me. 
It even seems like Nadia’s rabbit has been flirting with me. 
A little while ago I measured my front teeth to see how much longer I have until I’m a bunny. 
The transformation should be complete by Saturday morning.

Now I’m getting ready to go have my diet breakfast: a cup of herb tea and half a piece of toast with fake, sissy cheese.

I wonder if the Red Cross could set up a private steak collection for the starving children at 1804 Raspberry Drive. 
If they do, tell them to look for the door that says “Floyd.”

Bye, bye,
 mmmmmmm ... pie ...

23 January

What’s up, diary?

The crisis has begun. 
In a BIG way. 
Just a little while ago my clumsy dad got around to weighing himself on the bathroom scale. 
It turns out he’s gained seven pounds.
“Seven pounds!” Dad screamed. 
“The new diet starts NOW! Only soup and water for a month.”
“Oh, I feel so sorry for you,” I laughed.
“Too bad the diet goes for all three of us,” Dad said.
“Oh, I feel so sorry for me,” I cried.

I tried to convince Dad that he looks a lot better with seven extra pounds. 
He didn’t believe me. So I tried a tougher approach.

“If you’re fat,” I said, “it doesn’t have a thing to do with me. Get it through your head, old man!”
“I’m the one who buys the food in the house,” Dad answered. “Get it through your head, pipsqueak.”

Now for the first time I understand what the phrase “exploitation of the people” means.
In a very short time I’m going to look like an x-ray of myself. 
I’m going to end up lying like a twig on the sidewalk begging for bread crumbs. 
The social-service department will have to pick me up and take care of me and the newspaper will write a scandalous article about the whole tragedy.

There’s going to be a riot,
 if we stay on this diet!

22 January

What’s up, diary?

On my way home from Nadia’s yesterday, there was so much snow that I felt I just had to roll around in it for a while. 
I rolled thirty-two times to the right and four times to the left. 
Then these two drunk guys showed up. 
I was sure they were going to rob me or force me to drink whiskey. 
But they didn’t. 
They started rolling around in the snow too. 
They had thought it looked fun when they saw me doing it. 
We rolled around for half an hour. 
Then Berry wanted to throw up because he was so dizzy. 
He felt he had to have a drink. 
Sam took one too. 
They asked me if I wanted a sip.
“No, thanks,” I said.
“Good thinking,” Sam said.
Then Berry offered me a bag of chips that he’d stolen from the gas-station. 
I thought for a minute about whether I could get in trouble for eating stolen chips. 
I decided to chance it. 
Berry and Sam were super nice. We talked about cows. 
Berry liked red ones the best. Sam preferred Swiss cows and I said that black-and-white ones were the best. 
Then I went home. 
Berry and Sam asked me if I wanted them to steal me a car so I wouldn’t have to walk.
“No, thanks,” I said.
“Good thinking,” they said. 
Then they stayed and rolled around in the snow a little more. 
After I left, I couldn’t help thinking that it felt just like Berry and Sam were old friends. 

Earlier today the Floyd family had a visitor. 
Not a visitor from outer space but from 682 Orchard Road. 
The visitor didn’t have four green eyes or stringy, microscopic legs. 
She had thick-rimmed glasses and round thighs. The visitor’s name was Grandma.
“Believe in the Lord,” Grandma said when she came in.
“Leave in a Ford,” I rhymed, trying to be funny.
Grandma asked me if I wanted to go with her and Henry on a bus trip to the big outlet mall at Jones Mill Junction next weekend. 
It’s a local retirement home that’s organizing the trip. 
Grandma is going to buy plant-colored yarn and a Valentine’s Day table cloth. 
Iris Lindboom is going to take one of her grand-kids. I politely answered “no” by screaming hysterically right in Grandma’s face. 
Then I took off. 
I didn’t dare turn around in case my bad breath had knocked her out.

Gotta go rush,
 find my tooth-brush!

21 January

What’s up, diary?

A dead man is talking to you.
Yesterday I had the worst luck in the world. 
Our class had a history test. 
I knew everything ... about the wrong war. 
“I’m a little before my time,” I told our teacher.
“You’ll get another chance next week,” she said.

I saw Nadia today, that’s what the yabadabadoo was about. 
She’s become friends with the new guy in her class. 
That’s why I’m a dead man. 
As soon as Nadia started talking about him, I could tell that the marriage was over. 
Nadia told me that the new guy has cute dimples. 
I glanced at myself in the mirror. 
I have puffy cheeks. 
But then Nadia told me that she loves me. 
I didn’t believe her. I had to make her take a lie-detector test by taking her pulse.

“You can take someone’s pulse best near their heart,” Nadia said.
I took her pulse. It felt 100% ok.
I told Nadia that someone had broken into my school.
“Yeah, I know,” Nadia said.
“WHAT?!” I screamed and remembered my suspicions about the thief being a certain guy with cute dimples.
“Yeah, it was in the paper that they caught the guy who did it.”
“WHAT?!” I screamed again.
“Are you going deaf??” Nadia asked. “It said in the paper that they caught some 56 year-old guy who had done it.”

56 year-old, I thought to myself. Do they have kids that old in Nadia’s class? 
He must have failed a whole heap of times.
“Did the thief have cute dimples?” I asked.
He didn’t. 
My suspicions were wrong, both about the thief and about Nadia. 
And unfortunately, about the new guy in Nadia’s class.

Bye, bye, bimpels,
 I hate dimples!

20 January

What’s up, diary?

Now I’m going to tell you the tragic story of what happened when my class had their history test on World War II. 

Yesterday I studied like a real pro. 
I read through 83 pages in 16 ½ seconds.
“Are you finished with your homework already?” Mom asked.
“Sure,” I said, “because I have such a strong foundation in History.”
“Good,” Mom said, and quizzed me for two hours. 
During the two hours, I had two heart attacks, one stroke and was transformed into Milton the Caveman somewhere around 14 times. 
By the time I went to bed, I knew everything there is to know about World War II. 
By the time I woke up, I didn’t know a thing. 
My brain had collapsed during the night. 
I think doctors call it a brain-fart.
“Mom! Mom! I had a brain-fart!” I screamed out from my bed.
“Nonsense! Get up and eat,” Mom said.

Before school, the poor children of class 7A were nervous. 
Everyone bit their nails, except for Arnold who bit his knee-caps.
“It’s bad hygiene to bite your nails,” he said.
Benny tried to cheat. 
He wrote down all the important dates on his palm. 
Unfortunately for Benny, he’s an extra nervous kind of guy. 
His hands got so sweaty that all the numbers disappeared. Now Benny has a new nick-name. Sweaty-Benny.
I was standing there wishing intensively that I knew what the questions were going to be. 
Then I got a hyper-smart idea. 
I snuck into the classroom and dug through the files until I found last year’s test on World War II. 
I wrote down all the questions. 
Then I ran back outside and looked up all the answers in our history book. 
After that, I knew World War II inside and out. 
The test went super-great ... until I looked at the first page. 
It said: “History Test. World War I.”
 I died.

Bye, bye,
 wrong war pie!

19 january

What’s up, diary?

Hip hip hurray! Today is a special day. 
Because today is January 19th. 
Our principal’s birthday. 
January 19th is the only day of the year when our principal laughs. 
All the teachers buy him a cake that he gets to eat in the teachers’ lounge. 
It’s a big party. 
Cake, ice cream, coffee, cookies and candy ... for the teachers. 

The only party that us kids get is raising the flag in the morning. 
All the seventh-graders try to throw snowballs at the flag as it goes up. 
After all, we should get to have some fun, too. 
It’s extra fun when the principal sees our snowball attack. Then he chases us around the school. 
One time he almost choked on a piece of cake.

I really shouldn’t be writing in you right now, diary. 
I have to study for my history test. 
The execution is going to take place tomorrow. 
We have a test on World War II. 
Good thing it’s not on World War III. Then there wouldn’t be any Earth left. 
I hate studying. 
I wish I had photographic memory. 
Then you can flip through a book and like take pictures of all the pages with your mind. 
It sounds totally cool.
A friend of a friend of mine had a friend who knew this guy who had photographic memory. 
He got everything right on every test. 
Except for once when he had to look up somebody’s number in the phone book right before class. 
When he got the question: WHO STARTED WWII? the guy answered: Andersen, Oscar - 301 Rose Field Ln - 555-3924. 
The guy could only remember what he had seen in the phone book. 
I guess maybe having photographic memory isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
Now I’m going to fix a new recipe I made up: Cheetos with sweet and sour sauce. 
If it’s good I’m probably going to win the Nobel Grease Prize.

Thanks, peace,
 sweet and sour grease!