Mission: Keep petty thieves out of my house. They know who they are. Solution: Change the locks on my apartment and get over it. If necessary run 6 miles at the gym tonight to forget how shitty people can be sometimes.

Mission Status: Locks changed, pettiness forgotten. Too early for the gym as of yet, after work is fine.

Some guard decides to take down our wiki because we're being assholes. I think it unfair that we've been told to make our wiki private and complied but are still getting grief over it. The guard captain herself told us we were maintaining our wikis under acceptable terms. The wiki is private and cannot be viewed by anyone who does not want to see it. I don't understand what the problem is. I'm playing by the rules. Is this what I get for politely respecting the wishes of the highest guard? I find it ridiculous.

The moon was laughing at us. The time: 8:36 pm on a Saturday night. The place: Ozark/Sparta The mission: to locate and retrieve the schmexay man who shall remain nameless from his home and carry him safely to our apartment and commence drinking. Also on the agenda is getting laid. Objective One is complete. Our second directive however, falls through and all three of us retire for the night and I dream of how good that hard tummy felt. The hair was also very, very soft. I had never gotten a boner from such an innocent touch like that before.

Mission status: Partially Complete.

My medicine isn't working and it's way too fuckin late. I'm tired but for some reason I can't sleep. More to come later.

That's it. I'm tired of you uncultured swine out there making a mockery of my Beast Wars poll. I've decided that in order to maintian my sanity and preserve the good name of the Beast Wars, I am taking down the poll. It is inevitable that the slow trickling of answers to my poll, WRONG ANSWERS will slowly drive me mad. I like logic, so i'm going to extinguish this failed attempt to bring a little joy into the hearts of my fellow elftowners. I was wrong to believe in you, and I'm both shocked and appalled (sic?) by this blatant attempt on my life and my sanity. Kiss the poll goodbye assholes. It's you fault.


You killed JESUS!

Okay, who's the ASSHOLE? Antiquated concept? Oh no, my friend, YOU'RE the antiquated concept. Goddamn it. Ruined my day when I saw that vote. It'll ruin yours too, whoever you are MR. Asshole . . .Muahahahaaaa. Check back on the poll. It's been *ahem* fixed. . . ((hideous cackle))

The results of my latest poll are creeping in. People should vote on my poll because it's a good one. None of that "Do you think i'm hot" shit anymore. Just random things I think about during the day. VOTE ON MY POLL YOU BITCH, YOU SLUTTY BITCH. I command thee.

Bored. So bored I started a diary. Enjoy it you cunting whores. By extrapolating the latest results of my poll from 11 people on Elftown to the entire world population, I have ascertained that 82 percent of the world does not like my blonde hair and 9 percent of the world wants me to fuck them raw. I love it, but if I'm this dirtysexyhot then shouldn't people give me the eye more often? Honestly, if one in ten people wanted to fuck me, then one in ten people should be staring me down in the streets, drooling down the front of their shirts and babbling incoherently. Sorry, had to rant about something, figured my ego (Josh thinks I'm conceited) was as good a place as any to start. The results are flawed. I declare this experiment an utter failure.