"I Just Don't Know What to Do With Myself"

Dear Diary,
I am listening to the stylings of Burt Bacharach on father's gramophone. Current mood: incredulous. Oh this song gets right to the heart of the matter! Dearest keeper of my musings and mutterings, I don't know what to do with myself...do doo do do. It seems the fates are more than contented to give me vague prophecies and hopes only to dash them against the boulder of ironic hilarity! Last week's festival fiasco was bloody mess; my vest is ruined. I DID lick lady MacD's earlobe, which was some small consolation, but not much.
Diary, I am at a crossroads. I have so many diverging paths of inquiry that I feel overwhelmed by the mere possibility of choosing one over the other! I must approach this in a systematic fashion.

• Figure out the nature/cause of my fits
• Just what does father do for a living?
• Is Young Siward-Gainsville's hand really possessed?
• *side point* does Y.S.G. try to foil my efforts because he is (gag) jealous of my attentions?
• Why does Unca Macbeth love cats so much?
• Does Gilmer really love me, or was she merely seeking more of the "Ambrosia de Malcolm" that was covering my face?
• Would marketing "Ambrosia de Malcolm" be a lucrative business venture?
• Is there a second Gilmer, or was it merely a chappy witch lady?
• Why is there a talking manwich?
• Do I go after my Dulcet darling, Gilmer 1, Gilmer 2, or simply move to Utah and become a Mormon like that creepy chick-lit writer? *Note to self* "Spidermonkey" does not a good pet-name make.
• Why do I feel the compulsion to free myself from my cottony confines everytime I start to think about freeing Tibet?
• Would leaving a plate of poisonous cupcakes around...perhaps in nose-shot of the MacDuff household...be murder in the strictest sense?
• Would that qualify to be put on father's "enemies no more" chart? you know the one that looks like a fundraiser thermometer? Mine is embarrassingly low (actually, I am in the negatives...after I accidentally told Lady Lennox that father was planning to "Off Angus." In my defense I thought that meant he was going to let him go on vacation). Father might be pleased.
• Is Wu-Tang really forever?
• Does the invention of compact discs negate the mystique of the "secret song?"

Oh, Diary, my lines of inquiry are so many...but I believe I can knock at least one off the list. The answer is "Yes, Wu-Tang is forever."

Illily yours,

Y.B.P.M. (a.k.a. Jimmy Analog)

All's "Fair" In Love and War!

See what I did there Diary?

Do you KNOW what today is? It's finally here! The Annual Gainesville Homecoming/Paternity-Fest!

I am already at my station in THE KISSING BOOTH (squeee!!!) but business has been a bit...well...slow.

I've worn my best vest, new button and all, PLUS a spritz (or seven) of Father's cologne. Until I can find a way to harvest the mannish scent of Young Siward, that's the best I can do. Luckily, I have brought you for company dearest diary.

I fear it is in fact Young Siward that is stealing my business. He's across the path from me at the Strong Man booth. Diary, you must imagine my exaggerated eye-roll. I just have to keep watching over, and over, and OVER again as the plebeians test their strength against his. And that BRUTE just keeps on dropping the hammer ringing that god awful bell, much to the unadulterated JOY of the local ladies.

OMG.

Methinks? He just WINKED at me.

:::shudder::::

No doubt his arms have been UNNATURALLY strengthened by the powers contained in his demonic hand. I know that he spends his evenings cavorting with THE THREE.

As afraid as I am to see their like again, I do hope they attend, even if it is to wreak satanic havoc on what appears to be a delightful day of deep fried Love Buttah Balls and high-flying kitten trapeze artists. For I MUST know, once and for all, which TTND it was that brought me heretofore unknown levels of bliss.

Oh! OH! Diary!! Diary, I must part with you for just a moment! I can see none other than my Sensual Swan, my Delectable Dish, my Lady McD approaching! Of course, she is arm in arm with her....husband....but it appears that he is distracted by the Cupcake Dispensing Machine next door! Look! There he goes!

Oh my.

I've never seen a man eat a cupcake like that before. I feel sullied an unusual by what I have just witnessed.

But soft! She comes!

BRB Diary!

.....

Oh Diary. I almost lost you! As it is, your cover is a might bit singed. Also, I can see so many droplets of blood scattered among your pages, I could just weep for looking at you. Although, Father will no doubt be pleased since you finally do look as though you've been to battle.

Oh, but a war it seemed today my dearest diary! A war on my poor, poor, heart!

When Lady McD approached my Kissing Booth, her bear of a husband taken off by cupcakes, I was just covered in little goose pimples with anticipation.

She sat across from me, her soft, silken arm resting gently on the ledge between us.

"Oh, Mal!" she said, her voice like a melodious bird song "You've got a little kissing booth! Oh, how charming!"

She then made some offhanded comments about Unca Macbeth's "unsettling regime of discipline" for his cats, whilst I simply gazed adoringly at her. Wondering when and if I should ask her for admission...and then commence with...well...with the kissing.

It wasn't long before I knew I was going to lick her face for FREE Diary!

Let me transpose our conversation VERBATIM for you here!

Lady McD: So, you know how I just adore hosting my weekly themed Cotillions don't you? Well, we've been shopping for the Wren Cotillion, right? I know that Mr. MacDuff just hates it when I go off on a tither with such things, but I can't help it, can I? I mean, these are Wrens, not Ravens. Must keep things classy, you know? Of course you do, dear boy.

Me: Yes, by the fire-like tresses that fall from your sainted head, I do sway and dip with your every move. Just say the word, my lovely Leche.

(Well. I didn't QUITE say that. I thought it though! What I actually wound up saying was something akin to "Lurr...lurrr...yes, yes...heeeee....LECHE.")

Regardless, I took her indulgent smile for what it was, an invitation to 7 minutes of Heaven in MY KISSING BOOTH and leaned just out of the booth where her soft, supple lips awaited me...tongue fully extended as Gilmer/NotGilmer had shown me....when her OAF of a husband came bounding over babbling about those ridiculous CUPCAKES.

ANYWAY, she turned to see him, covered in icing, and instead of caressing her ambrosial cheeks, chin, lips, nostrils, eyelids with my hungry tongue....I salivated all over her inner ear.

Luckily, and I use this term loosely, my humiliation was short lived as it was just at that moment that The Three Weird Kind-of-but-Not-Really-Sisters blew up Old Sow's Keg-o-Blood!

YES! Those Vile Vixens and their Talking ManWitch used their pernicious powers to make that Keg shoot sky high and shower all the Fair-goers with blood.

It was just like when Mother was alive.

:::sigh:::

Chaos reigned, and Lady McD and her dripping ear were scattered to the wind, along with my dreams of kisses.

On top of all of that, my best vest is stained past all hope.

I can hardly even sign off.

Y.B.P.M.

Dearest Diary,
Your ruffles do always comfort me so, as do your firm -yet supple- pages. After last weeks bout of possible skullduggery, I have been flying "incognito" as they say. TTND 1 and 2 have been giving me such trouble. I am wracking my nubile little brain trying to arrive at some definitive answer, but to no avail. But, fear not! I have a plan...
I have heard tales of these magical pleasure machines called "kissing booths" set up for a non-committal exchange of the smoochies. The Annual Gainesville Homecoming/Paternity-Fest is fast approaching, and guess who has registered to man the aforementioned booth? Hmmm?! MEE!
I shall determine, by way of my impeccable recall of sensual memory, which of the two redheaded rapscallions gave me my first chocofly kiss. I have been going through chapstick like Unca Macbeth goes through Meow mix in an effort to give the two old boys a head start and keep the ladies happy.
I must now go about making sure all parties will be in attendance, I wonder if father would follow through with his threat of live burial if I use his printing press again? For love...I'll risk it; who knows? Maybe my matronly morsel might stop by and solve my dilemma once and for all :)

In anticipation of snogging,
Y.B.P.M.

Famous Person

Dear Diary,
Unexpected bliss followed me, snuck upon me, and struck with most pleasant assault last night! I was walking around the plantation looking for some adhesive to accompany my pocket full of Chinchilla fur, when father stopped my search. He told me that we had a special visitor that he would like me to meet! Diary, I had been so preoccupied with Young Siward that I was completely oblivious to the world around me. I did not ask who was visiting (for fear of appearing ignorant), but expectantly walked at father's side. We came at last to the drawing room and who was there diary? You would never guess, in a thousand plentiful guesses, what man of men was standing in the drawing room. The Paterfamilias of the South! The Progenitor of well-nigh half the county of Scotland, LA! The man himself! JONNY GAINSVILLE!

THE Jonny Gainsville, dear Diary! He had heard that our town decided to stick with the name "Scotland" instead of "Gainsville," so he came to create a few more constituants before heading off to spread more joy and paternity.

Diary, not only was meeting this epic sower of men a most unexpected delight, it opened my eyes to a new truth.

I was staring into Jonny's face wrapt with dewey eyed awe, when I noticed that he reminded me of someone. Now, I have seen my fair share of Gainsville Jr's (I mean, who hasn't? You could throw a rock in a crowded market and be guaranteed to hit one), but this was different. I noticed the semi-long flowing locks of hair, the sparkly eyes...the scent of goodness and dewy morns. It was here that my bleary eyed idol-lust turned to cold discovery. "Surely not, there is no way," I said in disbelief. I ventured too far in my curiosity when I plunged my nose into Mr. Gainsville's ample mane. Father immediately pulled me off and sent me to my room without dessert (which was a shame since we were having bundt cake), but before he did I managed to get several deep wiffs of Mr. Gainsville's scent to confirm. Diary, I believe Jonny Gainsville is Young Siward's actual father! This is most exciting news! While the son of a legend, this hardly makes Young Siward special. Outside of having a veritable army of brothers and sisters, Y.S. has no claims to royalty! He is as common as historical bushes around uncle Macbeth's mansion! This is a most blessed arrow in my quiver of revenge...now if I could just successfully get a shot off. Maybe next time. After I sneak some delicious bundt cake.

yours in exquisite pedigree,

Y.P.M.