I went shopping today. I bought a pair of shoes and an album. My mom wanted me to get a pair of shoes called bucks. So she paid for them. They’re okay looking. They’re like a plain, tan, suede oxford. I like them, but Julie hates them.
I’m gonna make a list of friends in order of prefrance. The first two will be JK and CL because they’re my two best friends. Then SO, SP, KR, BS, PM, CB, DF, JG, DA, SB, AC, EL, MM, RW, DM, SA, DM, TP, JM, TS, CW, VW, Hitler, Frankenstein, Dracula, Hillside Strangler, Charles Manson, Skid Row Slasher, Skid Row Stabber, AS, CD and NW.
I know those last few sound mean, but I can’t help it if I dislike those people.
I kinda wish I was in school because I wanna talk to my friends and write notes. I LOVE writing notes in class. I think I’ll write another book. But what about? I’m gonna call my new book A Story Of Summer*.
I like writing love stories. I wish I was in love. I hope that when we go to Florida I meet a guy. See, when I write about people they like to read things like:
He wrapped his arms around her waist. She looked into his eyes and kissed him, parting her sensuous lips as he explored the inside of her mouth with his tounge, and her body with his hands. She ran her hands up and down his back sending a tingle through him. His hands went inside her blouse and …
You know, stuff like that. Well, that’s all I got to write so good-bye!
PS – Please turn page, theres more!
*A Story Of Summer follows the lives of Leah and Greg, two young people who meet and fall in love, only to discover that they’re actually cousins. In a literary tragedy on par with The Day The Music Died, the hand-written original of A Story Of Summer was entrusted to the person who’d agreed to produce a typed copy, and whose name I won’t reveal (but it rhymes with “my Aunt Rae Ann”), and was never seen again. Perhaps like other important documents, such as The Dead Sea Scrolls, the missing manuscript will one day be discovered; and, no longer devoid of its magnificence, the world will be a better place.