Dear Die-ry: 7
Nothin’ too exciting on this end happening only managed to bring in two heads in the past month.
With the absence of excitement and all I was drafted by his royal priestliness to run the dunking booth for one of his little fund raisers. God I wish I had a mission. I mean the only people they get to run the dunking booth are women with hoobajoobs that are so big they operate independently of their mistresses…and people they don’t like.
Well my man boobs…they don’t exactly follow suit with the former, you know ‘watch it wiggle, see it jiggle’ wink-wink and nudge-nudge.
What the fuck are they implying? I’m loveable.
It’s a good thing that most of the people that showed up were dead-eyes…and the more you insult them the worse they got…the majority couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn from ten feet away. There was this one kid though…50 balls…great arm…I wanted to break it off and ram it down his throat.
Of course the highlight of my day was the shower room…old men...and all that steam. It was like Gorillas in the Mist. Almost wished I coulda ripped my own eyes out, scrubbed ‘em with a metal brush, then stuck ‘em back in my sockets backwards.
I’m looking forward to my next bounty…hopefully it will take me far away…really far.