Dear Diary. It has been a rather rainy day. The night is constricting and the grass outside is feeling. I do not know, what i am thinking. Perhaps you may think for me, while i drink some Pokka Peach Tea.

The object of the night, is a pen.
A blue one at that, with a clicker and ink
It fits snugly in the palm of my small hand.
And with delicate little fingers i move my pen.
Slowly, steadily, moving it deftly with skill and precision.
On a piece of white embroided black paper
I write, Pokka Peach Tea.
From under my feet, i feel it rising. Tickling.
It strikes my heart. OOMPH, the pain, the tickling pain.
OOMPH!!!! OOMPH!!!! OOMPH!!!!
I do not know, what I am typing dear diary.
But perhaps it might not be me typing at all.
But some stranger boy who stunningly held my heart for a while,
and now holding my pen under his stubby fingers.
While drinking some Pokka Peach Tea.

Goodnight. Make the Chuckieness get to you.

Jia Jia Liang Teh.
I have lice in my head.