I cannot express how happy I am to have my unnaturally wolf-like paws on you again!
The feelings I have now that am clutching you to my bosom are very much akin to those that arose in me when I accidentally stumbled upon my third cousin Marlena in the swimming hole 4 summers ago!
Of all the trials I have endured, having you ripped from me was surely the most trevailious.
That may not be a word.
Diary, to you I will unfold the latest chapter in the highly erotic novel of woes that is my existence. On the eve of our Kringlemash celebrations, while I was peacefully slumbering after sharing a pitcher of giggly water with Unca Banquo and being lulled to sleep by Unca Macbeth's Le Chat Chamber Choir, I was RIPPED from my bed, shoved into a sack, and thrown over someone's back.
By someone, I of course mean Young Siward. Or at least that's my assumption. I was clocked over the head shortly following.
When I came to, I was in a fairly rustic looking cabin in an unfamiliar patch of forest. It smelled a bit like a gerbil cage. The cabin was sparse, my fluffy hypo-allergenic down-comforter was nowhere in sight. I had been stripped of all my possessions (including YOU, my most treasured of all booty!) and they had taken my most favorite pajamas (the footie ones with the little duckies on them) from me and replaced them with a horribly tacky set of black and white striped ones. I will tell you, I've been wearing them for over a month now and the material STILL CHAFES. My skin is, after all so very delicate, and I haven't my lavender oil or anything at all.
More on that later...
That first day I didn't see a living soul, except for my roommate (or as we now call ourselves, "bunk buddy") who goes by the name "Saucy Tim". Thank goodness for him, I can tell you. He has been so very kind and welcoming, and showed me all the proverbial ropes.
Alas, Diary! I get a head of myself!
Yes, Saucy Tim.
I inquired of him as to where we were and he replied, after a few moments of mad giggling, that we were "In a vile wilderness absolutely devoid of any amusements, sweet meats, or cream puffs, but positively rife with scandal!" shook is lacy hankie at me and then fell to snuggling his pillow.
He keeps a cat named Viceroy FishyLips...but oddly, this cat doesn't sing OR play t-ball.
After three days of stacking giant boulders while in a large pit chained to Saucy Tim, without the comfort of your warm, open, vulnerable pages I began to feel rather morose. I cried daily and nightly to have you restored to me, my most particular friend, but to no avail.
I discovered Saucy Tim violating your innocent prose by flashlight one night when I was started awake by another terrifying dream wherein I am mere second away from firing a loaded canon into a stone wall, upon which sits my Lady McDelicious calling out to me again and again and again!
I ripped you from his clammy fingers and now keep you safely tucked into my hideously distasteful pant leg. I had to of course forgive the fellow, for he has been ever so good to me. Always offering to massage my shoulders or tickle me until I smile.
You see, last week, Saucy Tim and myself were moved over to the laundry to fold undergarments all day. Saucy Tim was beside himself with joy, clapping gleefully and singing dirty songs while I pondered the WHY of it all. It was then I realized...
I had been sent to KING KAMP!
This is where young, noble, dashing, slightly sensitive princes like myself go to learn to bear the burden of Kingship! I remember several years ago when DonalBORING came here for a short stint right after he filled the trunk of his El Camino with Giggly Water and drove to Texas, and came back with a new car and a baby.
Anyway, I am determined to outshine his performance at King Kamp in EVERY way. Even if it means allowing Saucy Tim to draw a flaming heart in needles and finger paint on my chest. I think it's a fitting tribute to the loss of Frederick, PLUS it's ever so much more manly than the dancing lady on DonalBORING's bicep.
She made an angry face.