4-Shituary-2012
Good Evening Diary,
I am sorry.
I am sorry diary, sorry that I picked you up at the stationery. I couldn’t help it. You seemed even more drab and dull than me. It of course has to do with your color. Your fake plasticy pista-green color would even give a noob like me a superiority complex. But all the more, I apologize. Unfortunately, you will have to bear extreme agony, and there is no NGO who could release you from this sadist’s death grip. Agony, diary, as you are destined to be a loser’s jot book. I am going to indulge in some big time whining.
Whatever I write in you, diary is going to be shit. Utter shit. Whatever you find here is the life story of a guy who dreamt big and as usually is the case, underachieved. Success has always been a mirage. Inspite of having a superior opinion of himself, your tormentor isn’t cut out for the big things. I have always been that sort of guy who heaves his chest magnanimously, takes a deep breath, tightens his jaw, clenches his fist and pumps it in the air, feels that ‘it’s time to rock and roll’, goes out there amidst the crowd, takes the stage – determined to set it on fire, gives a meaningful look at the audience which had gone utterly silent, the silence pregnant with anticipation, only to break sweat and lose it at the last possible moment, splutter out some uninspiring mumbo-jumbo and get lost in mediocrity forever.
That is your owner diary, for the rest of your life…
Unfortunately for you diary, you are non-living enough so as not to be able to kill yourself after I sully your virgin pages with defeated and stagnant mucus.
They say meditation is the balm that can soothe pain. Hope it works for you!! :-p
Till then, timeout (for you!). I have much to write and much to complain.
Alienman 