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MOTTO: ANYTHING IN YOUR PANTS WHEN YOU WAKE UP IS YOURS TO KEEP.

I can't promise this journal will not contain objectionable things or hurt your feelings/mind. Enter at your own risk. I will try to warn you for specific things, but no promises I remember or that I will warn to the degree required by your specific needs.

when i camp, i only take a swiss army knife, a canteen, and floss --not for my teeth, mind you, but to garrot squirrels. in addition to garroting squirrels, i endurance hunt all manner of animals, including birds. i collect water from the tears of animals i am about to sacrifice to the woodland gods. i can make unguents and ointments from several types of stones, should i need to, but typically when insects or reptiles bite me, if they are skilled enough to penetrate my pachydermous flesh, they usually fall victim to my venom, which i developed cumulatively through intermittent self-innoculation. if i must protect myself from the elements...if...i can assemble a lean-to using the feathers of waterfowl and the intestines of large game. if i must sleep...if...i typically sleep inside the carcasses of my kill.



I graduated on my sixteenth birthday, with numerous awards and accolades. When they called my name, I got a standing ovation that lasted over forty-five minutes. People were passing out from clapping exhaustion. Our commencement speaker was supposed to be Nancy Reagan (when she was First Lady of the nation, not just California), but she asked me to speak instead. It was quite an honor coming from such an impressive lady. During my speech, I convinced the audience that consumerism and blind religious faith were nearly identical. After my speech, most of the people left the auditorium and directly went on a missionary trip to Costa Rica. The others still follow me and write down everything that I say. I am so great. I can't believe it. I'm like a winning lottery ticket, except better because I win every time, every day, in every way. Ha! Someone just wrote that down. I'm impressive.

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Of course it's a choice. The sight of a throbbing man-sabre makes my inner thighs shudder, like it does every man, and I choose not to act on it.

Likewise, the chopped-liver and spider-filled slit on women makes me dry heave, like it does every man, and I choose to force myself to bury my face in that lady-garden.

This is how everyone is.