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 THREW ME DOWN FROM THE BIG SNOW PILE ON THE PLAYGROUND.
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.
hotdoghamburgersandwich grease (I wish!)