Dear Diary

It's me, your old friend. Been feelin' pretty bad about myself lately... down in the dumps. Maybe it's the weather or maybe it's the hellaciously gruesome visage that stares back at me every morning in the mirror!

YIKES!!!! Note to self, lay off the horse drugs. It can only come to no good. Damn. If only they didn't feel so RIGHT.

But innyhoo, more about my lingering sense of malaise. Not even kicking back at the bayou's classiest casino can help lift my spirits.

Durn it! Not even doublin' down on deuce-tastic hand can turn this frown upside down (does what I just said even make sense? I have no fucking clue. Damn horse pills.) Yet I am slightly gladdened by how fucking svelte I look in this picture. Those Ryvita crisps are really doing the trick. You go girl!

And it's no thanks to this gentleman here.

Best part is, when I first saw this I thought that the sausage was massive, but upon closer inspection (with my Sherlock Holmes magnifying glass- you bastards see, but you do not OBSERVE) I see that the man is in fact TINY!!! Even better! It's like The Borrowers and this bastard is making away with my last fucking sausage! STANDING on my plate, brazen as all get out! Off with his head! How handy is it that he has a butcher's outfit, though. Bet he 'borrowed' that shit as well... or MAYBE he stumbled in Rick Moranis's miniaturizing machine and done got shrunk! WHO CARES, despite his thieving ways, he is my new hero. Shine on, you crazy diamond!

And with that, I'm off! Latah playazzzzzzz!