Archive for Memories

The Diary

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on July 30, 2013 by huntercovington

(I don’t even want to talk about “dairy” vs. “diary” and how stupid I almost looked.)


This WOMAN, let’s call her 41, no, 42.  She’s 42.  She hot.  She’s keeping it together.  The thing is, she’s back at her parents house because her childhood dog died.  Normally that wouldn’t merit her flying back home all the way from the West Coast, but this was different.  If you’re on top of your math game, you can figure out that it being her childhood dog would make that dog REALLY old.  And you’d be right.  (For those of you not on your math game, just re-read the shit I just wrote and it’ll be cool in your brain.)

Her childhood dog, named TITO (after her favorite Jackson brother), was 36 years old!  Besides the fact that that’s nutso, it was a Great Dane and they’re only supposed to live 8-10 years.  But Tito heard that all-too-important word — “supposed to.”  Okay, two words.  He heard two all-too-important words and was like “I’m gonna live forever!”  He didn’t.  But he did make it to 36 and that’s insane all over the place for a dog.  Especially a Great Dane, who we’ve established should’ve only lived 8-10 years MAX.

So this woman, CAROL-ANN, is home at her parents and going through her old room.  Her parents kept her room the same as the day she left because her sister died that same day and they decided to keep her old room the same and it seemed weird to just redo Carol-Ann’s and not her sister’s (Ann-Carol).

Carol-Ann rummages through a box she just found under her old bed.  The bed still has Strawberry Shortcake sheets on it and this makes Carol-Ann nostalgic as fuck.  She smiles and deeply inhales the sheet smell, which is old and not strawberry and not shortcake.  Back to the box rummaging.


What the fuck is this shit?

She pulls out an old diary.  And all you motherfuckers are like “Aw, shit!  That’s why this dude named this thing ‘The Diary’!”  And you motherfuckers are correct.

Carol-Ann caresses the diary, longing for it’s secret memories it holds or some shit.


Well, hello there.


(yes, it’s a talking diary)

Your tits got huge!


The diary suddenly catches fire and bursts into flames!  (Because it broke some sacred diary oath.)

Double whoa!

Carol-Ann smiles, then goes to the hospital and is treated for third degree burns on her arms and tits (huge).