There are People downstairs.


My relatives, to be exact.


Chinese New Year, sweet Chinese New Year. I love my short story Harriet.


Harriet, dear angel, oh darling Harriet with the sweet tongue that spun untruths!


Green Day PWNS.


I've printed out my Anne Frank poem, Living Sub Rosa. It looks and sounds dumb, and it doesn't rhyme because I've decided to write a non-rhyming poem. Damn my English teacher. $300 (which is $6.35 less than what I've earned from my holiday job) says that I get about 60% or less for it.


Homework, dear, dear homework. I look forward to shaving my head.


You see, there's this society that involves this initiation rite, which involves a pig being sliced apart, alive, and while it's still alive and writhing in agony, its blood has to be smeared all over our bald heads.


I came up with the ritual.


Report me, O Lord. Make me pure.