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8:48 p.m. - 2002-01-26
It didn't fucking work.

Here's a lovely trio of complaints to take the edge off my mood!

As far as I'm concerned, all movies should have the words "the movie" at the end of the title. I'm sick and fucking tired of going to Hollywood Video and picking up what I expect is going to be a page turning, can't put it down, relax in a bathtub and delve into it kind of novel, only to take it home and find a god damned VHS tape inside of the box.

There are some conscientious film makers who have gotten the hint, and it seemed to have been a growing trend in the eighties, but unless a standard is set those greedy bastards in Hollywood will do anything they can to make a buck, from exploiting images of sex and violence, to inadequately labeling their products in a mad attempt to dupe the unsuspecting consumer.

From now on I'm only renting movies that are labeled clearly, starting today with "Hot Dog, the movie".

God damn it I'm grouchy as fuck today. I don't really know why, but I am. I want to disagree with everything and be static and unpleasant, yet acting that (this) way gives me no relief from whatever is bothering me.

Fucking shit. Even typing swearwords, usually a very Zen like experience, is not doing the trick.

My little brother Matty Poo started a diary a long time ago and hasn't updated in about two months. The little fucker. He is the Aaron Carter to my Nick Carter (the hands down cutest and dancinest of the Backstreet Boys) He is using my talent to get all kinds of success and Nickelodeon music video deals without the sweat and grunt work that me and the boy band pioneers went through.

Dunked on Shaq my ass!
Fuck Aaron Carter!
Yeah I said it.

I need something else to complain about, quick…um…where are the fucking Cashew M&M's?



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