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| January 10 2002 Thursday I had a really horrible thought today. Do not read any further unless you want your life to be absolutely ruined! You have been warned! My thought was this. Whenever you look at a girl's bottom, any girl's bottom, no matter how shapely it is, no matter how pert it is, no matter how wonderfully soft and pink it is, no matter if it is even as shapely and pert and wonderfully soft and pink as an Atomic Kitten's bottom, inside it, lurking but a few centimetres beneath the surface, is a turd. It may be only a little turd, right at the beginning of its development. It might be a medium-sized turd. Or it might be a fully-fledged giant chocolate log of a turd. But a turd it is. Since having this thought I just can't get it out of my mind. I look at a girl's bottom and all I can see is a turd. It's awful! Anyway,I have decided to call off immediately my campaign to get girls to wear their knickers on their heads so that they'll stop wearing their cardies tied round their waists. Now I want them to wear their cardies round their waists, so I won't have to see their bottoms and see turds all the time. In fact it would be better if they were to have two cardies tied round their waists, or better still an overcoat. Anyway thanks for your help but the campaign is definitely off, herewith. I have received an e-mail from a Mr A Bradbury of Epping Forest on the subject of the size of my willy. By calling himself Mr A Bradbury and not just A Bradbury or Alan Bradbury or whatever his name is, he is obviously an adult and wants the world to know it. You'd no need to bother Mr Bradbury, it's quite obvious that you're an adult from the shite you've written. You say that my diary is rubbish because all it is about is my obsession with the size of my penis. All I can say is that if you want an example of obsession you ought to take a look at The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole aged 13 3/4 and read about Adrian banging on about his sodding spots, then you might just grasp the meaning of the word obsession then. Having checked back I can state quite categorically that less than ten per cent of my diary is about the size of my penis. Well if that is obsession then I am obsessed, and all I can say Mr Bradbury is that if you only had a five and three quarter inch penis you'd be obsessed with the size of it. So you can kiss my starboard bollock! I haven't wet the bed for a week now, so it looks like that problem has gone away. Good. |