My parents called me Jack, everyone else calls me an ass. This is my diary where I write shit because no one else gives a damn except for me myself and my writing hand. Funny, that writing hand. At school in third grade this guy sees me drawing monsters and swipes my pencil when I put it down to admire my creation - a mix between Godzilla and the monster from that horror movie where they shoot it like it's really happening like the Blair Witch, but the other one. He breaks my pencil and says I should quit drawing gay monsters just because my parents were gay monsters. Which is funny because his parents divorced after three years and he lives with his mom and my parents were decent, I just had to fake taking the ADHD pills they started pumping me with at age three and we got along fine. Fifteen years later I started writing about my life and manic depressive nuts who like starships and alien sex - I write science fiction - with dead end jobs and ugly children started buying what I wrote so I've been writing ever since then. Thanks for buying, if you stole this book then you're probably poorer then those nuts who buy my sci-fi - I sell at colleges where the nuts buy my crap and put it next to other science fiction and druggie bullshit, they sell it for $8 a book and I'm on the forty-seventh in the series, those nuts eat it up as long as I put it at least one new alien sex species sex scene and make at least three of the characters batshit insane and in command of large armies or warships. First novel tried only two characters and a quick cock-tease with an alien bitch who looked like a peacock and a rabbit combined and it didn't sell that well so I bumped it up a bit and made the plot more convoluted and now these college jerk offs argue over which religion the newest aliens closely follow and the possibilities of creating alien lifeforms from human genetics - at one college they even started a genetic experiment to splice human genes with a bat but that got shut down damn fast, no dean wants weird shit like that happening in his department. So these diaries are where I write what happens to me and what I think about it and these words are probably the only thing that keeps me from being the next clocktower sniper, picking off those college kids like the spoonfed cattle they are. Enjoy.

November 16, 2008

I keep a tape recorder running at home, in case anyone ever breaks in I can hear them swear and take the tape to the police to get a trace on them. Tonight it recorded a damn funny speech on TV so I played it back and typed it on my computer - a news reporter freaking out about her some guy named Richard. Here it is.

"From CNN to Richard, you still have not called me! After all these announcements and titling underlined news with the letters of your last time, speaking ONLY to co-workers whose name begins within only one yes Richard, ONE letter from R. My number is RIGHT THERE covering over the police tip line, the Call Mrs. Sue - she's not really a psychic or a counselor, just an old lady living inside a tent off of Highway 8. I think the Indians give her cactus or something because she's always got that gorgeous look in her eyes WELL HER TOO RICHARD - she said - she said to me! You know what, she said "Your heart will come true" and my heart is on you Richard so call me, please, I'd get fired for this spiel already because the United Shiva Expansion Fraternity is dropping bombs on the Pentagon (run by pagans you know! witches!) but since I'm sleeping with Mr. Rupert Murdoch I can keep my job here no matter what I say dear you've got to call me, I'm *sniff* begging you please baby, I'm sorry about our kid, just call me and let me know.. know.. oh! What you think of McDonalds! What? No yes it's news of course Americans care about internal, emotional - and have you seen Mrs. Sue? spiritual ISSUES such as what my heart is doing! and right now it's just playing somersault with me Richard baby I love you the trans fat is being lowered thanks to a new legislation by well my best friend is sleeping with him baby I can't tell you his name but I'm sure you could huh? Break? Commercial? Oh right, advertising you know babe I was in adver ok fine, cut me off bitch, play that stupid commercial."

I dated her once, the reporter. Fourth date things went pretty badly though, she got a call from someone, friend in college or whatever. She started talking to her, told her she was on a date and then STAYED talking on the phone with her there we are in the middle of Carrabbas eating pizza and she's going on about her job and the hairspray product she pushes on the weekends - she doesn't need the money but is obsessed with helping old people. Feeling guilty for letting her mom die from breast cancer, too afraid to touch her tit and check the lump out, poor lady 97 years old and unable to move herself around and too afraid to think the lump might actually be cancer. So she got into this hairspray shit, prevents dirt from attaching itself she told me once right after her mother died three months ago. Anyways shes on the phone with her friend and this has gone on for about 10 minutes, I've finished my friggen pizza half way through the conversation and I'm just looking at her wondering when she's going to shut the hell up and hear me say I don't want to see her again and she's LOOKING at me but whenever I say anything like "Hey, you're on a date with ME" she would nod and turn her head and wave her hand. We weren't even drinking wine, she's just a natural sociopath, like me I guess but at least I'm more subtle about it. After 10 minutes I'm getting pissed off so I decide to mess with her - already knew I didn't want to see her again - and the CNN station is just down the street from where I live but I never brought her over so she can't find me. Good thing because if she did I'm sure she'd forget about that Richard bastard and be all over me. Well maybe not. Because after 10 minutes I casually stuck my left hand in my pants, kept drinking water with my right, and begin jerking myself while she's talking on the phone. Another 10 minutes passes before she notices and with a stupid little horrified look on her face, like a child seeing a penis for the first time, tells her annoying friend on the phone that her date is "playing with himself and I have to call you back love you bye" - never said love you to me, and I'm glad. So she hangs up and asks me "What the hell are you doing!" and I told her straight-up, I'm jacking off just like you are on the phone and everybody's got needs you take care of yours I take care of mine. She stared at me for a few seconds and then I faked an orgasm (I was meeting friends later that night didn't want a stain on my pants) and pulled my hand out of my pocket. Walked out of the restaurant with my water glass, she got up and went to the bathroom. Wonder who that Richard guy is. She's been talking to him for a month now, he must have fucked her and then realized she's an emotionally dependent child and split as fast as he could. Hope I never meet him, she might be stalking him and see me, probably get drunk and try to take me home. I'd just jack off again, of course, and not hold back.