Dear Diary,
I don’t know what’s coming out of Reggie, but it’s offensive. My nose is a precision instrument, and he’s treating it like a gas chamber.
The kennel? A nightmare. He farts. Constantly. And somehow, Mom thinks it’s me. I’m being framed by a tongue-flopping embarrassment who can’t keep his digestive system in check.
He always has his tongue out. Like he’s proud of himself. Like he’s done something noble. He hasn’t. He’s just… gross.
And ever since one of the masters went to college, this fat, jelly-filled, furry cat has started coming upstairs. She waddles. She flops. She looks… tasty.
I wonder what she tastes like. I bet it’s marshmallow and regret.
— Signed, Arya the Offended