Diary Without Pages

Trivia I find Ignored


It’s a Maybe

So maybe I haven’t been the most devoted writer in the world. Maybe I haven’t been the one good thing to ever happen to the world of blogging. And maybe I haven’t been here since – well – forever. And maybe – just maybe – that’s true. But that doesn’t mean its the end of the world, plenty of people are like that, plenty aren’t. Who’s to say who’s better. Maybe they have a life. Maybe they have better things to do than moon over a keyboard all day and night.

Maybe you’ll object to that, claiming that it doesn’t take much to maintain a blog. Maybe I’ll listen, or maybe I’ll wave away your objections, simply because I can. Maybe I’ll say you don’t know me, you don’t what I’ve been through, you don’t know anything about me! Maybe I’ll throw a tantrum to prove my point, maybe I’ll put a foot through the T.V., bang my head against the wall – and jump off the roof while I’m at it. Or maybe I won’t act like a little bitch. Maybe I’ll listen to what you have to say and think on it. Maybe I’ll turn my life around and become a better man, a better son, a better brother, a better father to the son I may or may not have. And maybe I’ll stop beating the wife I haven’t married. Maybe I’ll listen. Maybe I’ll start a charity for gorillas with one leg, gain worldwide recognition and become the hero I was always meant to be. Who’s is to say, maybe you’re right …

But then again, maybe I just don’t give a shit.

I do. I do.

Give a shit that is. Don’t believe me? I’ll have to set up a cam – or a recording? Your choice …

All else aside, it has been a while, though that’s putting it mildly …

Half an year.

I’ll take a moment to think on that … maybe …

Or an hour.

Or a week.

Or another half an year.

Either way, its a maybe …


1 Comment

Flash. Bang.

Look dude, you got money, I get that. But you don’t rub it in just for kicks. Its rude. I mean 6 flashbangs?!! come on!!

Necessity’s a bitch.

You just made that up.

The sentiment stands.

My ass it does. You let a man see you when you’re ripping his throat out.

You just made that up too.

We’re even.

If anything you should take it as a compliment. Your opponent is so afraid of your ferocious combat skills he can’t dare let you see him.

I might just get a kick out of that.

… or maybe you’re just a whiner … whatever fits.

Me? Whine? You’re on bro.

No snipers.

No flashbangs.


Uh … listen …

I gotta go.

Classic whiner.

No, I really gotta run.

Seriously? dude I spent like 8000$ already.

I’ll bring chips.

Oh well … See you Saturday, then … it was a pleasure killing you.


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… Damn!

So maybe the camp’s not all it could be. But at least its there, right? That’s a definite plus. Kids here are sweet. They play, eat and sleep like babies – gorilla babies. Jerry in particular is just adorable, he positively adores the cats, the other day I found the little tyke’s food sprawled all over the cat’s bowl – along with some bile. Some would say that’s just little Jerry being a jackass, I say I hated the cat anyway. How very thoughtful of him.

The word around the camp is that there will be someone from the government paying us a surprise visit. I don’t know what to think. Maybe he’ll be blind, and deaf too just for the heck of it. God, I hope he’s a he, a she is just too much to handle. But then again maybe he should be a she. A she with a shotgun. Maybe I’ll get lucky and she’ll shoot me. I wonder what a shotgun wound looks like. I imagine its something like the head of a watering can. Scratch that, too disgusting even for my taste.

So, the government guy came and went. Stupid fart, he was. but then again I should have guessed; they all are. Couldn’t tell Jerry apart from Jeremy or Julia for that matter. You’d think the braids would give him some idea. But apparently, a little too subtle.

He couldn’t find anything wrong. Maybe it was the weather; or the smiles on the cute round faces that made his mood lift. I go with the weather. But all’s well that ends well. And this didn’t end well. My win.

Oh yeah, before I forget. People probably aren’t as stupid as I make them out to be, I tend to exaggerate. But if you believed even one word of this post … I mean, come on, the three J’s should have given you an idea. I’m not saying that you did believe it, but if you did … Well, then … Damn!


Where? Here

Oh my God!!! Thank goodness I found you. Where were you?!! I’ve been looking all over for you, you know. Are you hurt somewhere? Were you lost? No? Then, where have you been!! I hate this thing about you, running off without a word. You really need to take others into consideration, you know. I am so freakin’ mad at you right now, you have got no idea! Enough is enough, I’ve called all your friends, your classmates, even your homeroom teacher, but did I find you? No. You come strolling back home like nothings happened. Well, something has happened, I am mad. Really, really mad. So, I want an explanation and I want it now. You can’t wiggle your way out of this one. I’ve had it with you and your annoying attitude. I will have no more. No more!! you hear me? So, whatever you have to say better be good, or else. Come on, speak up. Let us all hear what brilliant excuse you come up with …

I…uh…bathroom ?


Snowy And The Goldfish

Oi! Did you hear?

I did.

You did?

I did.

What do you make of it then?

Must be true.

You think?

I do.

But that can’t be right.



I think it can.

It can?

It can.

How come?

Its obvious.

It is?

It is.

You know Valerie?

I do.

You know her son?

I do.

The goldfish?

What goldfish?

The goldfish.


You heard me.

Oh, you mean that goldfish.

I do.

What of it?

Well, you know snowy?

I do.

He had his eyes on that goldfish.

He did?

He did.

Then what?

Well Valerie was out that day.

She was?

She was.

I still don’t get it.

Well, you know the son has toys.

He has?

He does.

You mean the duck?

Yup, the toy duck.

You don’t say.

I do.

Old snowy wasn’t that stupid.

He was.

He was?

He was.

Choked to death did he?

That’s what the vet says.

It is?

It is.

Poor dog, I feel sorry for him.

Me too.


The Happy and The Stupid

The storm subsided. The tornado moved on. Like all things in this world, it has come to an end. Life is beautiful once more …

Now, that the accursed annuals are behind me, the grass is greener, the air sweeter and when I’m not sweating like a pig, the sun almost symbolizes hope. Freedom, sudden and absolute. Its a divine feeling. One you can’t compare.

But …

I’m cheery. I am cheery. No, you do not understand. I am cheery.

All. The. Time. Which is not like me. Oh no, not like me at all. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Because “me” isn’t all that high a standard to begin with.

Although thinking long term, maybe the not-like-me thing I’ve got going right now isn’t all that perfect. I’ll have to stop before I say something so stupid, something so incredibly cheesy, so nauseatingly corny that whole new levels of cheesiness would have to be defined – because that’s the feeling I have.

There. Now wasn’t that like me?


A Day’s Work

“Go away!”

“Uh, very well. I’ll see you at the dining table, young master.”

If you haven’t choked on your own vomit by then.


“Miss Hilary! How absolutely lovely you could join us at the table. The sheep’s ready for you.”

“Uh, OK.”

“I’m hooome!”

Nobody cares.


Now they do.

“O Hi daddy!”

“Hi there sweetie pie!”

“Daddy, Daddy! why does Mr. K works for us? He’s so weird.”

Because daddy is a fart and a sissie who doesn’t know how to say no.

“Now Now, honey, he’s not weird.”

He is

“He is.”

“I don’t want you thinking like that, sweetie pie. It’s wrong. You hear me? wrong.”

Says the man with weed in his underwear.

“OK, daddy.”

“And besides, he’s new to the trade, so I’m helping him out.

I beg to differ.

“Molly? Finally, where have you been all this time?”

Sharpening knives.

“The kitchen, cleaning dishes.”

Close enough.

“Well, I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?”

Limbs with a hint of blood and peppermint.

“Lamb chops.”

What did I say …

“Mr K if you would be kind enough to STOP EFFIN’ DAYDREAMING AND SERVE THE GODDAMN DINNER!!”

“Right away, master Henry.”

“Daddy, what does effin mean?”

Daddy’s life.

“Nothing honey, just an expression of anger.”

“Hey there, Dad, Mom, Sis.”

“You are effin late Jeremy!”

Pffft …

“Whoa! wha-”

“Dinner has been served!”

“What’s up with Hil? Wait, never mind, what’s for dinner?

“Flesh, young master. Cut to fine pieces by a butcher’s knife after the gruesome death and consequent beheading of some lamb unfortunate enough to be healthy and alive and in the same district as the young master’s unholy being.





… Too much?


Trifecta Challenge.