Dearest Blog

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NOTE: This letter was in response to a 'Bebo Prompt' to make a blog. Now at least we know who to blame.

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To High Editor of Cupcakes and Hanker in Chief/My Blog


What the heck? What are you? Why are you? Where are you? But seriously, where are you? And where is the keyboard? I seriously don't think I'm pressing the keyboard anymore. Nope, I'm definitely not typing to my blog now, the keyboard flew out of my hand a while back, and I just carried on trying to type the air. My parents misinterpreted my typing as some kind of epileptic seizure (well, I was trying to type the air. That's pretty strange and seizure-esque I suppose).

I'm not sure where they are taking me, why is that dude in a lab coat holding a needle at me? Can someone actually hold a needle "at" me? I'm not real-ARRRGGHHH!!!!!! PNHURRR!!

Greeeat. Now I'm institutionalised, they seemed to think that I'm crazy. ¬_¬ This is all YOUR fault blog. And as the capital YOU should indicate, pardon me if it didn't, I'm not exactly overjoyed wiith your exsistence right now. In fact, I have a good mind to write a blog about this.

Of course I can't, I'm locked in a padded cell with my hands tied behind my back. Which, I guess is a shame, but at least my two hands can solve their irresolveable issues. I mean, I may not get to cure world leprosy as I had planned to, but at least the food's good here.


Yours somewhat unsincerely

Testostereich


P.S. I'll be back, with lawyers, and a puppy. Now there's something we can all enjoy, he's soooo cute. Aren't you, yesh you are, yesh you are....

P.P.S. I wrote this using my nose, and that isn't ink either!