Dear Diary:
I have been thinking seriously lately about the existence
of men, and I feel convinced that it is pasta that separate men from the
beasts.
Today was a rather horrible day, I regrettably report,
for today was the day that I finally mustered up the courage to talk to that
gorgeous looking lady I see as I take my daily stroll around the block--running helps not only to clear my mind but my intestinal track as well. I came up to her and she looked at me as if she were
shocked and flattered that I would pay her any heed, her face was white as snow
and her lips a shade of deep red. I asked her who she was, about her family.
But of course she never replied. She simply looked at me with her mournful eyes
and put one finger up to her lips and then zipped them closed with her delicate
gloved fingers. It was at that precise moment and to my eternal shame and embarrassment
that I realized that she was actually a mime! Imagine my horror. I’m sorry dear,
but an extended relationship in silence could only lead to disaster. And
besides, if something ever did come of our relationship, and we were wed. What
on earth would our children be?! They would suffer from a horrible identity
crisis throughout their lives, and the last thing I would ever want is for my
children to have the same issues as I did as a child. But how I long to find my
earthly companion. I just know that there is someone out there waiting for me.
My mother was a clown and my father was a plumber/electrician.
They married for love, but everything turned septic in the end, as it always
seems to do in my family. The result was an identity confused kid, who grew up
trying to please both parents equally. It never worked out. The relationship
ended in a messy divorced and nine children left in limbo. All in all, though I
am pleased with how I turned out. I like what I do. It’s exciting there’s
always something new and thrilling to keep you interested. And not to mention
distracted from the scathing disappointment of both of your parents.
I recently hired an assassin to take care of those pesky
children and regain the cheese for our cause. Sir Champagne is really the best
at what he does. If anyone can get that blasted cheese back it would be him.
And what a lovely singing voice he has as well. When he gets back I shall have
to invite him to join the crew to music night. We could use another male
soprano for the choir. I hope he hurries back, without that cheese our plans
have really slowed down. We continue, of course, in preparation for the master
plan, but without the cheese we really can’t do anything. The men had been getting a little down on themselves, so that's why I decided to work on other less difficult schemes. (For example, the Global Warming Plan.)
In a more positive light the Global Warming Plan has really
been an easy success. It’s brilliant really, we just tell everyone who we meet,
and put in all of the newspapers, that the world is going to overheat and
everyone will die. Naturally you set yourself up as an organization to stop
Global Warming and then everyone gives you obscene amounts of cash, and then
you use that cash to do whatever you want! It’s really quite brilliant; people
will believe anything they see written in the papers. With our bank accounts refueled
and our spirits high we look forward, and optimistically toward the future.
Lord
Cornelius Sebastian Augustus El Stinko III
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