Like All Of My Friends, She's A

“this Is Hurting Me A Lot More Than It’s Hurting You,” He Said. It Was His Standard Line, But I Knew That This Time He Was Right. Worse Than The Boil Was The Stuff That Came Out Of It. What Got To Me, And Got To Him Even Worse, Was The Stench, Which Was Unbearable, And Unlike Anything I Had Come Across Before. It Was, I Thought, What Evil Must Smell Like - Not An Evil Person But The Wicked Ideas That Have Made Him That Way. How Could A Person Continue To Live With Something So Rotten Inside? And So Much Of It!

Faced With An Exciting Question, Science Tended To Provide The Dullest Possible Answer. Ions Might Charge The Air But They Fell Flat When It Came To Charging The Imagination - My Imagination, Anyway.

Hugh Consoled Me, Saying, "don't Let It Get To You. There Are Plenty Of Things You're Good At." When Asked For Some Examples, He Listed Vacuuming And Naming Stuffed Animals. He Says He Can Probably Come Up With A Few More, But He'll Need Some Time To Think.

Nobody Pours Stuffing Like You Do, My Friend.

I've Never Written About Sex In My Diary. Like If You Read My Diary, You Wouldn't Think I'm A Virgin, But You Would Have No Idea What It Is That I've Actually Ever Done.