2002-01-24 - 12:10 a.m.
One day in the deep dark childhood of yours truly, I was doing something that my mother didn't approve of. I, of course, disagreed and had no problem pointing out the many flaws in my dear mother's logic in the matter.
Wasn't I the good son?
Wasn't I the one that could do no wrong?
My mother knew I wasn't any of those things, and told me so. She also threatened to slap the crap out of me if I didn't cut it out.
I considered this for a moment, and thought of a plan so brillant I must have been channelling Ghandi.
Without blinking I looked my mother in the eyes and smacked myself as hard as I could across the face. I said, "There, I did it for you."
She looked at me for a second and then just walked away.
This is the first in a 3 part investigative journal entry series, to prove to you the journal readers, that I am indeed insane.
Stay tuned for the next installment, "Burn, St. Denis, Burn." Sponsored by 'Sblood, the power drink that peps the Pope's peepers and prayers. The Vactican says, "Heeeey. Drink it or fry, pagan."
