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Dear Diary. . .
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Dear Diary,
What the fuck? Okay, no ♡ That's not how we're going to start this.
Yoooooooooooo!
That's even worse.
Whatever.
Anywhoooooo, it's the first week of summer and I'm hella! bored !!!!!! This neighborhood is so boring, I swear god. Nothing! Ever! Happens! It's filled with prissy, white suburban moms who stay at home cooking for their husbands. GROSS !!!!. And I don't think I'd be as pissed off if they were nice people, but fucking guess what, inanimate sheet of paper: THEY FUCKING AREN'T !!!!! SHOOOOOCCKKKKEEER. THEY'RE ALL ASSHOLES WITH NO SENSE OF PRIVACY, DUDE (how do you feel about me using American slang????? Mother dearest hates it ♡. ) Especially Petenuia ( ??? ) Dursley, the bird-bitch had theA U D A C I T Yto talk about my mom to the other PTA moms. Fuck her. And fucker her son (HE'S TOTALLY AN INCEL ). And fuck her husband ( that's a laugh, he probably hasn't gotten laid since Dudley??? was c̶o̶n̶s̶u̶m̶e̶d̶ produced )
Stop Emelia Summers slander 1996 !!!!!!
OKAY BACK TO THE MAIN POINT, something did happen, but I'm kinda mortified, so I'm scared to write it down, dude. It already keeps me up at night, and I feel like forgetting about it is best...
Whatever !!
You know that kid I used to play house with ( of course you don't, you're a diary ) — the one that used to live with the Dursleys ( GROSS !!! ). Also, side note, I'm not buying that he goes to the "all-boys school for troubled youths" or fucking whatever because my cousin goes there and guess who he hasn't seen !!!! Him. I smell something fishy ( and it's not the tuna fish casserole that Mrs. Dursley INSISTS on bringing to the neighborhood cookouts ).
