Will the tragic hand of fate never cease to fall upon me! Horror of horrors, Diary...I have lost Frederick. Alas, My copious tears of sorrow have rendered a portion of your page unusable! Is my life forever doomed to misfortune on an epic scale!? I must continue and write around the manifest puddle of sadness.
Diary, I decided to bathe and washed Frederick with the greatest care and
concern. He was so young and innocent, yet bold and warrior-like not
unlike myself. I used my special blueberry
scented shampoo (as I have a belief that
blueberry is the berry of love) to tenderly
wash Frederick of the days' taint. I brushed him
ever so gently, and dried him with a tissue. ALAS!
Diary, I have an unfortunate Pavlovian reaction to tissues!
I sneezed on impulse...and...and...Diary, Frederick was from my chest...
Untimely ripp'd!
Oh, Frederick! I had pulled him out by the very root!
All my manly hair in one fell swoop!
I shrieked in terror, but father had no sympathy for my
great distress. He covered his face and cried, which at first I thought
was on my behalf, but he began to weep for sending DonalBORING away. I suspect it was because the loss of my dear Frederick reminded him of his long-departed son. I was to receive no consolation from father, so I decided that Frederick must have a proper burial.
Frederick died a Christian under the law, but was a creature of warfare, not of peace; a manly creature. I thought it fitting to send him off in the way befitting his noble nature. I constructed a pyre of twigs and leaves. Cook let me have some wood chips along with a snickerdoodle, the consummation of which did little to lift my spirits. I dressed Frederick in the finest cloth and placed him on the pyre with all his worldly possessions (a dollop of Dapper Dan pomade, a pair of grooming shears, and his pajamas I had fashioned from an old sock.) I laid him on the pyre and lit the match, sending him off to whatever future awaited such a worthy creature.
I went inside and devoured snickerdoodles until my tummy ached from their delicious, cinnamony goodness.
Diary, I must repose before I can give any more thoughts to my revenge.
Loves,
Y.P.M.
2 comments:
unfortunately, the html didn't quite preserve the wonderful attempt at avoiding my tear-stained pages.
I'm crying as well over here. Very very hard. Poor, dear, not long for this world Frederick.
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